Chapter Three Carys
My dream man? Oh, he’s got to be a bit buff, hasn’t he, babe.
I’m a gym bunny! I need someone who is going to keep up with me, and who knows a good protein pancake recipe.
What good is a man who can’t throw you around.
[Bridget laughs dirtily.] No, I know we don’t get to see them at the start, but we do eventually, don’t we? We do, right?
I release a deep breath once we’re safely in our shared bedroom. I tried really hard to pretend we were meeting for the first time. I hope I pulled it off. Mum always said I have the face for losing at poker.
It is very strange to see her here. The golden Goddess in my bedroom.
At least I’m not sharing with a total stranger. And I know she’s the kind of woman who will run into traffic to help; that feels like a good character trait for a roommate. Not that I’ve ever shared a room with someone before.
The room is really small, and Reb didn’t tell me I was sharing until we got here. No space to decompress. No escape from the mask.
Two steps into the warehouse, I had to beg Reb for a sit down and a cup of tea. I don’t think she really had the time, but as I narrated my day so far, her eyes got progressively wider with horror. We sat in an empty crew area with steaming cups of sweet tea, which helped. A bit.
I had asked if we were allowed to be there, realising we were on the men’s side of the warehouse, but Reb had just insisted I was doing her a favour, that she needed the break.
Luckily, I didn’t have a meltdown, but the hot sticky edges of getting close enough gum up my thoughts. I feel like a melted candle; even though the flame was snuffed out quickly, I’m still soft.
Maybe my sisters were right; perhaps if I’d told production I was autistic they might have told me about the room-sharing situation.
Or they’d have dropped me from the show.
Dolly has already set her things at the end of one bed, so places my bag at the end of the other. ‘This one okay for you?’
‘Yes,’ I say, hoping that my heart isn’t beating so loudly that she can hear.
‘Do you need a moment, Carys?’ the Goddess asks me, and now, with the door closed, the bedroom feels very, very small. Not because of her body, but it’s like the space shrinks from her presence.
She’s clad in a matching set of scarlet red leggings and crop top, and it’s like looking at the sun. It’s a hard colour to pull off, but she wears it, rather than the other way round. Her icy hair and warm skin seem more vibrant against it, whereas I’d look pink as an early strawberry.
I think I’m intimidated by her. I feel a little thrill when she says my name.
I still haven’t said anything in reply, and I only realise quite how long it must have been when Dolly perches on the end of her bed and, into the gap I left, says, ‘I could do with one.’
‘Yes,’ I manage to say.
This morning should have been an inkling, but I get the sense that Dolly is very kind, very empathetic. I feel… almost safe, protected by all that intimidating power.
My heart ceases its impression of a marching band, but I’m a sweaty mess.
I sink onto my bed, and flop back to lying down, even though I’m wrinkling the back of my pretty sundress something horrid.
The cartoon lobsters around the hem must be all distorted and squished, but I’ve run out of energy to care much about that.
To my relief, Dolly does the same. Flops back, not worrying about cartoon lobsters. I think.
The room is silent except for the sound of our breathing, and I try to match my breaths to hers.
Maybe this will be okay.
My mouth is dry and I regret not grabbing a glass of Prosecco on the way in here, though that would have catapulted my racing pulse. Fizzy always makes me dizzy, as the girls would say. Inhibitions fall away with a drink, but so does my mask, which is a whole other problem.
Like she knew, Dolly goes to our bathroom, and returns with a glass of water.
I drink it down hungrily. ‘Thank you,’ I gasp.
She refills it and sets it by my table. ‘What a day, huh.’
I wonder how she reads me, this moment. Can she tell what I am? I feel the old urges kick in – to sit up straighter, smile more, still myself. But I am going to have to ration my energy for self-surveillance for the cameras. Unless—
‘Are there cameras in here?’ I whisper.
Dolly rolls her shoulders. ‘No. Not at this stage.’
I can’t help but notice the gap her words circle. Not at this stage. It’s not easy for me to read non-autistic people, but I usually notice the holes, even if I can’t see what’s missing.
Still, at least this means I don’t have to mask quite so hard in here. Dolly doesn’t seem repulsed by my exhaustion, which is a low bar some don’t clear.
‘Have you not seen the show before?’ she asks.
I pull a Wallace and Gromit-type grimace. ‘No?’
‘Wow. That’s…’
‘Yeah.’
‘Bold.’
‘I don’t know if that’s the word for it.’
‘It’s certainly one of them,’ Dolly laughs. ‘Just so you know, this cohabiting isn’t exactly normal either.’
‘Oh’, is all I can think to say.
‘I would consider myself a little too much of an expert, but transferring to a new country always brings its own challenges. Like with Australia.’
‘What happened in Australia?’
‘I’m worried if I tell you I’ll scare you off the show.’
I gulp. ‘Okay, don’t tell me then.’
‘Well, Carys, as your literally resident expert, I’ll be your guide.’
My cheeks feel hot. Maybe it was silly not to watch very much at all, but I had this idea that it might colour my choices, my behaviour, to know what I was walking into. For once.
‘I need to get out of this dress,’ I say and I swear I see Dolly’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. Was that weird to say? I feel all flustered again. ‘I mean, Reb… my handler, she mentioned something about filming?’
‘Yeah, later on. They want a kind of girlie sleepover vibe, I think.’
I kneel down and open my suitcase so I don’t have to look at her when I’m red as a beetroot.
‘This one’s yours.’ Dolly taps her nails on the wardrobe door. ‘Here, let me help you hang things up.’
‘No, it’s okay. You chill out. You’ve been on pouring duty. A very, very important job.’
Dolly chuckles, and sits back down. ‘It was very difficult. Those girls love a tiny weeny portion of Prosecco. At one point I ran out and had to hurriedly open a new bottle. I feared for my life.’
I laugh, though it’s on its way to a snort. Not very delicate of me, Mum would say. Not very ladylike, Dad would add. Note to self: no snorting on camera.
The wardrobe is optimistically small given how many outfits they expected us to bring – one per warehouse filming day, plus a separate outfit for filming all our interviews for continuity.
It doesn’t help that most of my dresses have circle skirts, much more fabric per outfit than anything fitted. It’s a squeeze.
Once everything is as squashed in as well as it’ll go, I take my designated comfy clothes into the bathroom to change.
I think all of us chose a ‘looks like exercisewear but is actually loungewear’ vibe.
It’s new, but I wore the outfit at home to test that I could stomach wearing it without fidgeting uncomfortably.
I’m a little too self-conscious to wear a crop top, so I slip into my oversized knitted cardigan with stars on the elbows.
It’s incredibly soft. Ages ago, when I was sad about leaving my sisters after a visit, Ang sprayed her sweet perfume on it, and the lovely scent seems to have bound to the fabric.
The moment I slide it on, something in my brain switches off.
I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s a kind of emptiness because my brain has stopped manually processing.
I can never quite pinpoint what it is, even when it’s taking up so much of my mental energy, but some clothes just give me that feeling. That deep breathing-out sensation.
Unfortunately, it seems to leave space for other worries. I get the horrible feeling that I’ve got her name wrong. I’m sure Dolly is right. But, well, maybe I need to check? Or maybe that’s rude?
She’s sitting up cross-legged on the bed stretching, like she’s gearing up to do some exercise.
‘Just to check,’ I say, still a little nervous of getting things wrong. ‘It is Dolly, isn’t it?’
‘Yep,’ she says, while twisting her torso round and revealing the long slope of her back. I wonder what it’s like to be that tall; I’m forever having to ask people to reach things for me.
When she spins back round, she catches my eyes.
I feel hot embarrassment rush through me, even though she smiles.
I quickly return to my suitcase and zip it up just so I have something to do.
I hope she doesn’t think I was staring at her.
I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable.
She’s so beautiful that she must get people looking at her all the time, but it’s not the same in a tiny shared room.
I don’t want her to think I’m ogling her, for God’s sake.
I don’t want to give her the wrong impression.
Seemingly oblivious to my internal panic, Dolly continues her stretches and says, ‘When I was a kid, people used to think it was a fake name, like I chose it, but nope, it’s my real name.’
I tuck the sleeves of my cardigan into my fist, and somehow that makes me feel more of a person again. ‘After Dolly Parton?’
‘No, but she is an icon. My mum was well into The Cranberries when she was pregnant with me, so I’m named after the lead singer Dolores, but she has literally never called me my government name in my life. Even when I was being a little shit.’
‘I thought it might have been the blonde,’ I say and then realise that’s a very silly thing to say to someone who has very obviously bleached hair.
‘Oh no, this is all the handiwork of Derek on Bold Street.’ She flicks her icy edges, sharp like a knife. Something about it reminds me of protective animal camouflage, like big scary eyes on butterfly wings to ward off predators.
‘It suits you,’ I blurt.
‘Thanks. I agree.’