Chapter Ten Dolly
You want me to explain what a nice guy is?
Isn’t it obvious? I’m nice. I’m respectful.
Perhaps I don’t look like some of the other guys in here – Warren’s a basketball player for God’s sake.
Unfortunately, that’s often what women really want, and that’s really why I came here.
I wanted someone to fall in love with me, for me.
To see how good I am, without all the other distractions of looks and that.
What’s that? Oh yeah, well, my type is usually petite and brunette.
I’m glad I didn’t have to go hard on Reb, who looks to be stuck together with masking tape at this point, because really, it’s not on, making contestants work when they’re vomiting.
If someone is going to reinforce the protections for contestants’ health, it should be our handlers. Apparently, it’s just me.
Hopefully production won’t hate me.
My evening date with Warren is a silent disco, which is really just me dancing in a room with headphones while trying to hear his disembodied voice through the speakers.
Honestly, kind of a nightmare, but we have fun anyway.
Turns out, my partner in crime is a total goof.
I can’t wait to see the footage of him attempting the worm, which ended with a loud crash as he backwards wormed into the side table his sushi was on.
He took it well, laughing it all off, which is a good sign.
Being in the public eye is going to be hard enough without having a sense of humour.
I try to slip back into mine and Carys’s bedroom as quietly as possible, but I find her awake and reading with the bedside table lamp on. She looks peaky, with big dark lines under her eyes like Mum gets when she’s done too much.
‘Hey,’ I say quietly. ‘Did you get any sleep?’
Her eyes dart up to me over the top of her book. ‘No,’ she croaks. ‘But I’m feeling better for the rest.’
‘Good, good. Don’t let me bother you now.’ I take my pyjamas and go to the bathroom for my wind down in the hot shower. I try not to stay in there too long, just in case Carys needs to call someone on the porcelain phone again.
I wish I could say that there’s nothing like seeing your crush post-vom to dispel the feelings.
I feel the urge to fuss over her, but I remind myself I don’t know her that well, and she hasn’t asked for it.
Just because I’m a carer for Mum and used to doing everything for her doesn’t mean I can just slide into that role for Carys.
That feels like overstepping a boundary I’ve laid down for myself too, if I’m honest.
When I go back into the bedroom, the light is off and Carys is breathing softly, so I slip into my bed ready for my scheduled twenty minutes of wishing I could use my phone.
Her calm doesn’t last very long, and soon she’s tossing and turning. ‘Dolly?’ Carys’s voice sounds in the dark.
‘Yeah, Carys?’
‘Oh God, sorry. I’m disturbing you, aren’t I?’ she splutters, and I’m suddenly confused as to why she even spoke my name. There’s a rustle that must be her blankets being thrown back. ‘I’ll go lie on the couch instead. Sorry!’
She starts to get up, and I’m so confused about what’s going on, that I say quickly, ‘I was already awake. It’s fine. Are you okay?’
Carys stills, possibly lying back down. There’s a long beat that makes me worry she’s about to say no. ‘Just worried about tomorrow.’
‘About seeing him in person?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What’s worrying you?’ I regret giving in to my own curiosity when I add, ‘Worried you won’t fancy him?’
I can hear the blankets rustle again as she fidgets. ‘No, it’s more like…’ She sighs deeply. ‘I… I’m not sure I want to talk about it. But my mind is whirring. I can’t shut it off even though I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘We can talk about something else if it would help distract you?’ I offer.
Another long beat of silence, followed by a low whisper. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Of course.’
‘I know we said we wouldn’t, but I want to ask you about… the day we met.’
Well. That wasn’t what I was expecting.
Even though the room is pitch black, I instinctively glance round for cameras.
I’ve not found any in here, and trust me, I’ve looked hard.
There still could be microphones. Just because I’ve not seen them use security footage from the contestants’ bedrooms in the US series, doesn’t mean the UK series won’t.
‘I… I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ I say firmly. ‘Not when you’re feeling so ill,’ I add, just in case we are being watched.
I half want to climb onto her bed so we can talk, but that’s the kind of thing an incognito lesbian on a dating show absolutely should not do if she wants to remain incognito.
‘Well,’ she begins, ‘I was just wondering what your experience is with conflict, between two parties such as those that you were novel to.’
It’s so formal, like she’s on a legal drama, that I have to stifle a laugh.
It’s true I didn’t know them, but I swear I have seen Sara somewhere before. There must be some kind of old saying about the queer community being all your exes and their exes because sometimes it really does feel that way. A geography-less village within a country.
‘Well, it’s quite easy to resolve conflict when both parties are clear about what… said conflict is,’ I say, trying to adopt her strange legal tone. ‘I recall an instance of conflict between two people in particular that was resolved.’
God, I’m not smart enough to fake legal jargon. I’m not even positive what I’ve said makes any fucking sense.
‘Are you familiar with parties such as theirs?’ I can feel Carys’s eyes on me through the darkness.
‘You’re losing me,’ I lie.
‘You know.’
‘I’m not sure I do.’
She’s suddenly hovering over my bed.
‘Jesus Christ!’ I gasp. ‘Did you have to sneak up on me?’
‘It’s dark! The sneaking is inherent!’
I push myself up because lying below her when all I can see are her bright wild eyes is making me feel all kinds of strange. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Women like that.’ Her words are barely audible but still manage to hit me in the throat. Why is she asking about this now?
‘You can say lesbian, Carys,’ I whisper back.
‘I didn’t want to presume their sexualities,’ she hisses.
I resist rolling my eyes because sometimes straight people can be a little too sensitive around queerness and our language, even if it’s a good thing when they correct other hets.
Either that or they’ve watched too much Drag Race and end up appropriating slang from Black ballroom culture that they’ve never heard of.
‘Fair,’ I say gently. ‘But yes, I know women like that.’
‘Oh.’
It’s been a long time since high school where I wasn’t so much out there as never mentioning it, but this small oh sends a shiver down my spine in a familiar, terrifying way.
Fuck, have I just let it all slip? Has she worked me out? Is she going to call me out for being here and queer (not in the general way, in the heterosexual reality dating show way).
‘Is there something you want to ask me, Carys?’ I say it in our normal volume, hoping that it comes across as unafraid.
The question weighs heavy in the air, and her perfume scents on my tongue. I’ve trusted her this long, but I’ve been burned before by straight people’s good intentions.
She shuffles away, back into her bed. ‘No, I just wondered if the parties have resolved their conflict.’
Okay, so we’re back to this. ‘Hopefully,’ I say, my stomach still squirming.
It’s so quiet that I almost don’t catch her say, ‘I think they really loved each other.’
‘And their cat.’
‘Leonard.’
‘You remembered the cat’s name?’
‘I never forget an animal’s name. I’m not so good at people.’
Given she just appeared at my side like a ghost, I can’t really argue. ‘I think you’re doing okay.’ It accidentally sounds a bit like a question.
I hear a snort that at first I think is laughter, but there’s a bitterness, I’m sure of it. ‘If only. People are hard. I barely understand myself as it is.’
‘You worry about that a lot, don’t you?’ I feel like I can be more candid in the dark, especially now we’ve stopped talking like drunk Shondaland lawyers.
‘About misunderstanding people? Yes. Misreading the room. Saying too much.’
‘Well, if I ever do something you don’t understand, you can just ask me. I’d rather we talk about it than you worry, because chances are there’s nothing. If I was pissed off at you, you’d know.’
We both laugh at that, but she still sounds so hollow. What is going on with her? I don’t think this is just some kind of bug, unless it’s one that’s taking over her brain too.
‘Thanks, Dolly, I’m going to sleep now.’
She falls asleep quickly, her breaths deepening, and I try not to think about the way her cinnamon hair must be splayed across the pillow.
It’s quite depressing that even when I think she might possibly be gayvestigating me, I still can’t stop thinking about her.
Overnight, we’d voted for our third dates – the first time we get to see our matches in person, even if across a partition – and I’m so fucking relieved to get a mutual match from Warren.
To my frustration, production seem intent on throwing Patrick and Malachi together with me, so they appear on my date card too.
The full cast of women are still here, though I get the impression a few men have been dropped for definite as there’s no mention of Daniel or the second-day guy so painfully unmemorable I forgot his name.
Everyone is nervously preening. It’s not so much love at first sight, but confirmation of possible love at first sight.
For all the other girls, today matters a hell of a lot.
Generally it seems to be the women who can look past not being that attracted to the men at first – but the dudes? That’s another story.