Chapter Five Dolly #2
Maybe Mum was right about all this being a fool’s errand. But I still have one more date today, and five tomorrow. There’s still all to play for. I’m not ready to give up on our future just yet.
I plonk myself down on the velvet couch – this one Mrs Hinch grey.
There’s a dull ache in my lower back, the one that’s pretty much always there by the end of the day, and I wish I could grab some painkillers but they’re in my room.
I can feel the end-of-day puffiness that comes with doing a little too much when you have this annoyingly weird disease.
Fuck it, I can knuckle through one more date, and then I’ll lie down.
I’m pretty sure I’ve worked out where most of the cameras are now. In here, they’re hidden by dried flowers. Another room used funky ceramic statues, and one an abundance of feather boas. I’m not quite sure who was in control of the small-scale decorations, but they’ve had a whale of a time.
I hear a noise that sounds like I’m no longer alone.
Part of me wonders if the men are even on the other side of the mirror.
Their voices could be piped in from anywhere in the warehouse.
We only have to be in adjoining rooms for the face reveals, after all.
How much of this is an illusion, even more so than I know it to be?
There’s no time for wondering about how the sausage gets made.
I call out a cut-glass hello.
‘Hey,’ replies one of the deepest voices I’ve ever heard in my life. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Warren.’
‘Hi, Warren, I’m Dolly. Nice to… hear you?’
Warren’s laugh is belly deep, and I can imagine his body shaking along with each beat of it. The rumble of his voice reminds me of car tyres over gravel.
‘Are you having a nice day so far?’ I ask.
‘Yeah… Yeah, it’s been an interesting one. I’m still getting my head around it all, to be honest.’
‘Me too. I keep trying not to look at myself in the mirror.’
He laughs. Good, finding me funny is key to staying off the bad list. ‘Same. The first date I was like, man, I should have had a last-minute trim. I’m looking messy.’
‘Right? I keep trying to touch up my lipstick. This can’t be particularly exciting television.’
‘I dunno, it’s comedy value, isn’t it? Think of the clips on Gogglebox. They probably got someone checking if they had food in their teeth.’
‘Oh God, now I’m worried that was me,’ I say, pleased with the back and forth we’ve got going. ‘What do you do for work, Warren?’
‘Dolly, I’m a professional basketball player.’
My ears prick up. Proper athletes (not your regular lower league football player on Love Island) tend to come on reality dating shows like The Bachelor for career reasons: fills time between seasons, helps them and the sport find new fans, and usually the management scores decent pay for the appearance too.
Not that I know enough about basketball to know for sure what camp he’s in.
‘Oh yeah? Who do you play for?’
‘I’m between contracts at the moment, which is why I’m here. But I played college basketball in the States and then I’ve played for some teams in Europe.’
‘So, is it basketball off-season right now? I don’t follow the game myself so I’m not familiar with the calendar.’ I know this should make me seem interested, because another of Jas’s recommendations was to pretend you don’t know things so the men can explain them to you.
‘No,’ he says, and I notice the caution in his voice. ‘I got injured last year, just before the new season when I was trying out for new teams.’
‘Oh man, that sucks.’
‘It really sucked,’ he says, and then laughs again. ‘I do not recommend breaking your leg as an adult.’
‘I’m sure kids would argue it also sucks for them.’ It pleases me that he finds this funny too. Okay, Warren, let’s keep cooking.
‘Yeah, but when you’re a kid, you’ve got someone at home all the time to look after you.’
‘And you didn’t have anyone to look after you?’
He sucks his teeth. ‘I did, but it didn’t work out, unfortunately.’
‘Or fortunately for me?’
He replies with a deep, slow chuckle. ‘Okay, girl. Anyway, I should be back to full strength later this year, so I’m hoping to get back to it.’
I want to make it clear what I’m here for.
How do I word this carefully, in a way that won’t get cut out, or won’t be used to edit me into looking like an absolute bitch?
The edit is the only thing I can’t totally control, so all I can do is aim for Strong Female Character, a woman who knows what she wants and is confident to ask for it, and hope that storyline is more compelling than Harridan.
‘Warren, can I ask something? I just want to understand what you’re looking for in a partner. As you have quite an intense career with a lot of travel, I imagine you’re looking for someone who has their own things going on too?’
‘Yeah,’ he says, and I can almost hear him nodding. ‘The personal support matters to me, as I’ve said, but I’d like to have a girlfriend, or wife I suppose, who has her own career and aims too.’
‘That’s very good to hear.’
‘Oh yeah?’ There’s a smile in his words. ‘Tell me about it.’
This is it. If we end up together, this section will definitely be aired, so I have to get the wording right. Warren is the first man I feel I have any compatibility on paper with, and while there might be some other men tomorrow, I’m not holding out hope. I need to play my hand.
I take a deep breath. ‘Well, I am a chef by training, but at the moment I primarily make lifestyle and recipe content for socials. I want to grow my audience and find on-camera work. I want a partner who is going to support that, and if they wanted to be part of it, that would be lovely but there’s no pressure. ’
He’s quiet for a moment and I feel my heart racing in my chest. ‘I think we’re on the same page, Dolly.’
We dive quickly into the stuff that I know will never be aired but which I consider extremely necessary: the political stuff.
Even in a fake relationship, this matters.
I wouldn’t befriend or remain friends with anyone who believed in things that I fundamentally disagree with, so the same standards apply to a fake fiancé.
Yes, we both agree abortion is medical care.
He’s supportive of LGBTQ+ rights – obviously that’s a same-same from me, the World’s Best Ally to the gays and definitely not a card-carrying member.
He was raised Christian but doesn’t really follow it, though his church was quite progressive.
I’m a Christmas carol ceremony level of religious, aka I like the aesthetics more than the content.
While we’re not really supposed to talk about physical appearances, Warren and I do veer that way – he asks me if I’ve dated people of colour (yes) and I ask him his views on societal fatphobia because if this fake marriage is going to work he will absolutely get trolled online for marrying a fat woman.
Our conversation barrels along as we size each other up. I had started to lose hope that I’d find a pragmatic man, and yet here he is.
I swear I hear a couple of doors in the corridor close, which means they’ve given us more time. Another good sign that production think our chemistry is good television.
‘Can I ask what motivates you, Dolly?’ Warren asks, and I smile as he says my name, like it’s the sweetest thing in the world. ‘Like, you’re so ambitious, both of us are. But I want to know what drives you. Where does that ambition come from?’
Of course he wants to know if I’m just a gold-digger, or a gold-digger with a heart. I had really planned for my backstory to be a second date conversation, when I could be sure I could trust my prospective fiancé.
‘You can take your time,’ he says, and that makes me want to trust him.
I tell him about my mum, and our unconventional family life. How I’ve been looking after her since I was a teenager, and how that changes your ambitions, drives and desires. I give him the Spark Notes version to get us started.
He is quiet as I speak but I feel his attention, the reverence to my truth.
I take a deep breath before the next bit, the politics we hadn’t got to yet. Bringing up benefits is always a risk because even people who consider themselves left wing can be very into bootstraps and self-reliance. ‘And the support we get from the state…’
‘Is never anywhere near enough,’ he finishes with such utter disdain that I know he’s familiar with the panic that comes every time the government decides to reform the welfare system.
‘My Auntie Carol helps out a lot but she’s getting on herself,’ I say to camera with a cheeky wink. Soz, Auntie C.
There’s a long sigh from Warren, and for just a second I worry that I’ve misread his frustration. ‘The thing is, the way it’s all set up, is that they make it impossible for one person to support someone else alone. And carer’s allowance is a joke.’
Relief rushes through me. ‘God, isn’t it? What other job would you get less than a hundred quid for thirty-five hours’ work? The public would revolt.’
‘I’ve long considered revolting,’ he says with a sad laugh. ‘The councillors in my ends are pretty good with helping us find any bits of cash or support we didn’t know existed, but it’s mad that we have to rely on so many people to keep going.’
‘Can I ask,’ I begin gently, ‘who you’re talking about? And to be clear, if it’s yourself, that’s not a deal breaker to me at all.’
‘I like hearing that from you, but it’s not me. My little brother is disabled, quite complex stuff, and needs a lot of equipment around the house, and a powerchair to get out and about.’
I can just imagine the bills for servicing that every year, the new batteries, the spare parts, never mind the electricity to charge it.
Most people assume that all that is covered by the council or the NHS, because it should be.
I managed to buy Mum a comfortable manual chair to take her out in occasionally, and people were horrified by how much it cost to get a decent one that wouldn’t make her arse go numb in five minutes.
We’re still a few brand deals off a powered one, but I’ll get it for her. By hell or high water.
‘If I can work hard, I can make sure Connor never wants for anything. Then we can stop waiting for someone else to say yes, alright, he does need this or that, after three feet of paperwork. The game has meant I’m away from him a lot, but the money I’ve sent home has helped refit the house so it is accessible for him.
It’s a decision I’d make every time, even though I miss him and my parents when I’m playing. ’
‘You get it,’ I say quietly.
If I was the type of woman who could fall in love with a man, I think this would be the moment. But I’ve found a kindred spirit, an ally, hopefully a friend.
‘Warren?’
‘Yeah, Dolly?’
‘I hope this isn’t indelicate to say, after everything we’ve just talked about, but I really like you. And I think we’re on the same page. I think you might be the man I’ve been looking for.’
‘I feel that way too, Dolly. See you again?’
The sound rings out that says our date is over, and for the first time I really don’t want to leave this room, even though my back aches, and my pelvis is twinging and tender. I do really want to keep talking to him.
‘It’s a date,’ I say with a big smile.
Even though this isn’t a romantic connection, I feel a flutter of something rush through me.
I think it’s a kind of love, the sensation of how powerfully each of us feels about our people back home.
The understanding of how much we love our family.
We can share that, we can build a strong relationship on those foundations.
There’s a few seconds before the microphones cut out.
‘I can’t wait to hear you again,’ he says.
We both laugh and it feels good. ‘Warren, I think you and I are going to be the couple to beat.’
‘Is it?’ he says with a deep laugh. ‘You know what, Dolly, I think you’re right.’