Chapter Eight Dolly #2
It’s not like reality television has a particularly stellar record with contestant care, be it on or off camera, or after the shows.
They seemed quite thorough when we signed up as we had psychological evaluations, medicals, hell even STI tests, but then, they still made someone like Jackson part of the main cast, a man with clearly unhinged views, and gave him to Whit, a woman with a history of abuse.
Unfortunately, a pattern I’ve seen before on dating shows.
When Whit’s face is restored to its former television-approved glory, she pulls me into a squeeze. ‘Thank you. Love you.’
‘Love you too.’ It comes easily, and I know it’s true. You can’t be stuck in a niche situation with a handful of people without forming sudden intense attachments, but I can see us being friends long term. Provided she doesn’t mind all the things I lied about for the show.
I walk back into the living room, which is mostly empty bar a Hannah and Bridget doing nails – I need to ask them for some pointers later.
I stride straight to the door leading to backstage, rap my knuckles on it and ask for Louise.
‘Darling!’ she cries with excitement. ‘Had a good workout?’
I had completely forgotten I’m in my actually at the gym outfit aka some ratty old leggings and an old band t shirt that’s shrunk in the wash a few too many times, rather than the hot red outfit I wore the first night.
If I’d been thinking right, I’d never have walked into a cameras-on area wearing this.
This is the kind of outfit and body combo that gets posted in the Daily Mail with my head cut off to shame people for not going on weight loss drugs yet.
‘Yes, thanks,’ I say, forcing my thoughts past how see-through the arse on these leggings probably is. ‘I just wanted to check something about my schedule for the next two days?’
‘Yes, you’ve got dates with Patrick, Warren and Malachi.’ She says this without a moment’s hesitation, not even a glance down to her phone. I know it’s her job to know where I am at all times, but this seems… off.
‘The thing is, I didn’t pick Malachi?’ I tilt my head to the side like Carys does, hoping that it looks curious and naive, not aggressive. ‘I mean, it’s lovely to get more time to hang out with him, but I didn’t pick him.’
‘Oh, the show reserves the right to try you on subsequent dates with contestants if we felt that a match was under-explored,’ Louise says flatly. ‘It’s a good thing, darling. And we find that it reduces the possibility of regret once we get to the honeymoon stage.’
Now that I know is horseshit. Regret means drama. The group honeymoon in one big house is the first time all the engaged couples get to see each other in real life, meaning sometimes they realise that the person they wrote off earlier in the process is their type on paper, so to speak.
What are they up to?
There’s two ways to play this: suspicion or flattery, and I choose the latter.
‘Of course, thank you, Louise. That’s really thoughtful. Malachi is really nice,’ I say, putting on my sunniest voice.
I remain convinced that good edits are a result of good relationships with the production team, and I’m not about to risk getting some kind of bitch edit, even if I can see the love triangle they’re trying to plant up. Nice try, guys. You’ve got a lesbian in the mix here.
She takes my hand and pats it condescendingly. ‘You just have to trust the process.’
I’m struck with the sudden urge to bite her. ‘Of course. I’m just so excited to be here!’
‘Call me if you need me!’ She bounces away back down the corridor, leaving me standing at the open door.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Patrick?’ I call into the nothing.
‘Is that Dolly? Wow, hi, Dolly!’
Bless him, he is nothing but enthusiastic. I can see why Carys likes him.
‘It is. How are you today, Patrick?’
‘I’m so good. What a delight to see you today!’
The tone of his voice tells me two things – that he’s perfected the art of appearing personable at all times and that he absolutely did not check me off on his second date preferences sheet. Love triangle number two, perhaps? I wonder what they’re doing to the other contestants.
‘It’s always nice to be called a delight.’
I decide not to hint to him that I know he didn’t pick me; that sort of thing could be reused badly by cameras, so instead I just lean into a nice chat.
The sexual chemistry between us could be described as ‘dead in the water’, so we talk about the people we’re actually interested in.
‘Warren is the best, genuinely,’ Patrick says after mentioning that they are roommates. ‘And he speaks very highly of you.’
‘As does my own roommate,’ I say. ‘Of you, I mean.’
I imagine him smiling to himself on the other side of the glass.
We talk about family for a little while. I wonder if he and Carys will get married, and fill the world with adorable, very enthusiastic children.
I need to check his closet for skeletons but our chat is all superficial, and I’m conscious of how much longer this date is going to last if production also realise it’s dry as a dead well.
And so, I ask, ‘Tell me, do your dates usually ask you to treat their pets?’
‘They really do. I had one girl bring her cat to the date. It had a big abscess on its head, and she was expecting me to resolve that in the middle of Pizza Express.’
I bork. ‘NO!’
‘Yes! And the worst part is I did help the cat out – I drove us to the practice I was working at the time, on my day off. And then, she told me we were more cut out for the doctor–patient relationship than a romantic one.’
‘The neck of her!’
‘Veterinary care is expensive,’ he sighs. ‘But still. It was rather inappropriate.’
‘I can’t believe she subjected the dough balls to that.’
‘Yes, I couldn’t quite look at the garlic butter dip the same after draining that abscess,’ he deadpans, and I die laughing.
Once I’ve composed myself, I return to my mission. This is what friends do, after all. I’ll do the same to Malachi later for Whit, obviously. These two interactions are identical and definitely do not carry the weight of any jealousy, nope nope nope.
‘So, it’s a big jump coming on here to get married, isn’t it? Have you been in a serious relationship before this?’
‘Is this an interview?’ He laughs nervously.
‘I’ll tell you if you pass,’ I joke.
‘I’ve been in one serious relationship, yes. We were together eight years, and broke up about six months ago.’
Wowee. ‘What was her name?’
‘Peony.’ He says the word quietly, reverently. I can hear the love in the letters. I don’t think this is just nostalgia or respect; this is being still hung up on your ex, I’m certain of it.
Poor Carys. Does she know?
‘Do you mind me asking what happened?’ I say, aware this will absolutely make it to television as his backstory.
‘We, err. Well. I moved to Harrogate to set up practice, and she was in Newcastle doing her PhD. We’d been long distance before that too, and we were getting to the point where we could move in together… I just didn’t want to pressure her when she was busy with her work.’
‘So you ended it?’
‘No, I just said it probably wasn’t a good time for us to live together. And she ended it.’
Oh, this absolute dummy. I would eat my hat (if I had one) if Peony didn’t actually want to move in with him. The last thing a girl wants is being told what a man thinks she might want. I bet she feels like he took away her agency. Mistake dating career-minded women 101 right there, Pat.
I manage to steer the conversation back to my (fake) dating history – several boyfriends in the past, no one caught my eye for years, need a man who is career focused yada yada yada. Pip, Ayesha and Josie become Paul, Andy and Josh.
But all the time, I can’t help wonder if Carys knows about the Peony situation. And if she doesn’t, should I tell her?
When our date ends cordially, I find Carys in the corner of the empty living room reading a book.
The tip of her nose keeps bouncing up and down as her nostrils flare in and out.
Her eyes shine with excitement. I guess it’s a good book.
In another life, I see her in a patch of sunlight, curled up on Mum’s couch with a cup of tea, the pair of them swapping reads.
She notices me, and her smile is hot like the sun. ‘Dolly!’ She snaps closed the book, and pats the seat beside her, like she’s been waiting for me the whole time.
I’m relieved that she seems to have returned to her old self after her shortness last night. Perhaps that was like the first night where she just powered down from being too tired?
‘Good book?’
‘Better company.’ I try to ignore the flip in my stomach.
That’s when I know I can’t do it. I cannot be certain that telling her about Patrick’s hang ups isn’t more about me than her. Nothing is ever going to happen, and I need to let it die. I need to friendzone her.
Patrick is a good man. He’ll tell her.
‘Who were you out seeing this morning?’
‘Cobey,’ she says, without the dreaminess Patrick is afforded.
‘The surfer dude?’
‘Yes, he’s very nice, I think. We get on well.’
‘Yeah, I liked him too. We agreed to buy each other a friends-drink when this is all over. Are you going to ask for a third date?’
She wriggles in her seat. ‘Not sure. Maybe? I kind of panicked last night and put an X by too many names because I felt… I suppose bad missing people off who had been nice to me?’
‘I think the key question is do you want to marry him?’
She taps her fingers on the hard cover of her book. ‘I’m still working on that.’
‘That’s fair,’ I sigh. ‘I suppose the other way to think about it is do you want to stop seeing them, and if not, then you keep going and try not to worry about the wedding part.’
She’s quiet for a second. ‘You just went on your date with Patrick?’
I’m relieved she’s brought it up. I twist in my seat to face her. ‘Hey, I just want you to know, I’m not interested in Patrick. I just wanted to get to know him, that’s all.’
‘Really? You don’t have to pretend if you do like him.’
‘No, he’s very nice, but –’ I try not to say clearly hung up on someone else ‘– nothing more than a friend for me. I was just checking out my friend’s possible future husband and making sure he’s good enough for her.’
I feel a smidge of guilt when a beaming smile breaks across her face. ‘You’re the sweetest.’
‘I just wanted to be explicit, so you didn’t get the wrong idea.’
There’s nothing I can do about how this storyline will be edited eventually, but I’ve said my truth and Carys knows it, and that will have to be good enough.
When she shakes her head, her pinned-up curls start to come loose, bouncing around her cherubic face. ‘Never. You’ve a good heart. And, umm,’ her tone changes suddenly, ‘I have to admit I went on a second date with Warren this morning.’
‘Right,’ I say as neutrally as possible. ‘How was that?’
‘He’s a nice man but the same for me as you. I mean, with Patrick.’ She groans. ‘I’m getting my words mixed up. I mean we’re just friends.’
‘Thanks for telling me,’ I say. ‘Maybe we can go on double dates when we’re married and out of here?’
‘I’d like that.’
Carys is suddenly called away by her handler, Reb, a woman I’ve never seen below a nine out of ten on the stress scale.
That went better than I thought it would, at least. And now that I’ve got Carys out of my head, maybe I can focus on what my marriage to Warren will bring.
Stability, I hope. The marriages aren’t legal (though they were on that failed Australian series of the show) but if we felt it would protect our families more, perhaps we could.
A few years of fake marriage so that we can absolutely rinse everything we can possibly get out of our flash in the pan fame, use that to establish our own careers, pool our resources to be most effective, and then, finally, we’ll have a mutual amicable divorce.
Or, well, fake divorce. Real breakup. Or a fake breakup? God, even I’m getting tangled in it.
I think that’s a good basis for a partnership, going old school, marriage as a business arrangement. It’s a tried and tested method that’s worked for centuries. I wonder if it’s still technically a lavender marriage if he’s straight?
Once tomorrow is over, hopefully I can just date Warren. I am clearly not going to find a better match than him. But I can’t help but worry that he might.
I will absolutely have to tell him, at some point, that I’m one hundred per cent only interested in the girls.
I’m not a she plays footballs on Saturdays bisexual, or even someone who could be tempted to fall in love with a man, even as nice as one as he seems to be.
I’m not so conceited to think that he might fall for me, but I’m just realistic about how jeopardy, stress and close proximity can change things for two people even only mildly attracted to each other.
I hope if he goes along with this, he’s not breaking his own heart.
That’s one of the many things Mum objected to, the idea that I might break hearts just to secure a future.
I think I’ll know for sure when we see each other on our third date.
He’ll be able to see it in me. After all, it’s not like we can outright say hey, let’s pretend to be together to beat all these saps and win the money for the people we love out loud, not least because this show drops couples they don’t believe in.
I just have to hope I’m right, that we have an understanding, and that things are smooth sailing.