Chapter Seventeen Carys #2
‘I’m starting to miss my farm fleeces,’ I agree. ‘Here, take this sink. I can squeeze in here.’ I pick up my makeup pouch and move one sink along next to Bridget, who is also nearly done.
‘Thanks,’ Whit sighs, peering closely at her skin in the mirror.
Her makeup bag is organised so that every product or tool has its own little slot, and she opens it out flat to take out one thing at a time.
I wonder if she’s always been this way, or if it’s the side effect of the operating theatre.
She groans as she dabs foundation on with a beauty blender.
‘Not gonna lie, but the daily full face is testing me.’
‘I keep breaking out,’ Lina says in sympathy. It looks like she’s painting little stars on her cheeks. I guess it goes with her flowy skirt and crocheted crop top. The kind of clothes I’d find from searching ‘hippy aesthetic’ on Pinterest. ‘Well, look. This is novel at least.’
‘What is?’ I ask.
‘I’m not sure I’ve got dressed for dinner with four other women in a restaurant bathroom before,’ she continues. I like the way Lina always tries to find the silver lining in every cloud, even a toilet.
‘Yeah because it should not be novel, right?’ Bridget’s accent goes full throated with irritation. ‘It should be fucking pre-novel! Anti-novel!’
‘I’m not sure that…’ Lina clearly decides better than to try and argue grammar with a furious Welsh girl. ‘It would be nice to be in a dressing room.’
‘Any room that smells less like piss,’ Bridget adds as she contours her nose with highlighter.
It’s Whit’s turn to groan. ‘I did ask if it was alright to go before I wazzed.’
‘I’m not gonna deny you your human right to wazz, Whit,’ Bridget says seriously. ‘My complaint lies with production, and their decision to place us in this wazzy room.’
‘Could everyone stop saying wazz?’ I sigh, picking through the lipsticks in my makeup bag.
‘Hush, Whit and I are busy unionising,’ Bridget says.
‘Okay, I think this is as good as it gets,’ Whit announces, throwing her beauty blender back into the makeup bag.
‘Whit, babe, you could literally go out there in a pair of ASDA bags, and Malachi plus the whole world would be too entranced by your beauty to notice,’ Bridget says, and Whit bobs coyly.
‘Fuck my life. Help! Someone is going to have to get me out of here,’ cries Dolly from the stalls. ‘These loos were not made for my ass. I think I’m stuck.’
I probably shouldn’t help her. But she did help me at security. Maybe we can be civil in public.
‘In the loo?’ gasps Lina, rushing to the toilet door in a cloud of glitter. ‘You fell in?’
‘No, I’m—’ The door half opens and closes, something rattling ominously. ‘I’m caught on something.’
Bridget throws her hands up in the air. ‘This bloody wazz room!’
‘I’m coming in,’ Whit says.
‘Coming in?’ Dolly cries. ‘Where? There’s no room in here!’
Whit wedges herself into the door Dolly is currently trapped behind. ‘Here, stop waggling your arms around and let me assess the situation with my highly trained surgeon eyes.’
‘I want you to free me, not slice me open!’ Dolly protests.
‘Stop moving or you’ll rip it.’
Whit and Lina seem to have a handle on it, so I go back to finishing my makeup. When I do, I see Whit in the mirror, bending down to free Dolly’s dress that seems to be caught, her beautifully curved legs bare where the dress has pulled away.
I focus on keeping my eyes on my lips as I slick on my lipstick.
‘Oi, Gog,’ Bridget says, catching my attention. She lowers her voice to a whisper so I have to lean in close. ‘You spoken to her since you moved out?’
I shake my head. ‘Not really. It’s fine. I’ll just keep my distance.’
‘That’s going to be harder here. They’ll be getting us all to hang out together more.’
I grit my teeth, unsure if this shade of pink is clashing with the peachy dress.
‘Just remember, you got the man in the end,’ Bridget continues. ‘Hopefully Patrick will be smart enough to keep away from her too.’
It didn’t take much for everyone to accept that we’d irrevocably fallen out over Patrick. No one even really tried to reunite us, which is a relief but also would be a bit sad if it was anyone else.
With a cry of success, Whit wrangles the door open slowly to reveal Dolly in a black and silver patterned silk dress with a huge slit going all the way up one thigh. It’s not so much an outfit for a beach holiday as a fancy dinner, but it works. The woman really can dress.
Too bad she is, personality and priorities wise, dreadful.
Whit does a quick check over her outfit. ‘I’m not sure anyone has ever stepped out of a toilet looking so beautiful.’
Dolly blows her a kiss, and I feel a sour twist in my stomach.
When everyone is ready, we leave en masse, abandoning our things in the bathroom. The men are already seated at individual café-style tables covered with a white cloth, decorated with flowers and lit candles.
Patrick stands as I approach, and pulls out the seat for me to sit down. Before I do, I kiss him on the cheek, and I feel his mouth curl up into a smile. His cheeks are blushed as he sits back down. I think he’s shyer than I expected.
I’m discovering new things about him all the time, even though I know him already. There’s so much more new to discover.
Maybe I got a little used to having him behind a barrier. Now he’s just… here. All the time. I can’t quite believe it.
‘You look beautiful,’ he says, just as a waiter appears to take my drinks order, so I hope it won’t look too weird on camera when I order a water, a Diet Coke, and a glass of white wine with ice cubes in it. Patrick’s half-finished beer sweats in the evening heat.
‘You too,’ I say, hoping it’s not too weird to continue the conversation after that gap. ‘Look beautiful, I mean.’
I want to make sure he feels as loved as possible, but I can feel the mask working overtime, the grinding of each gear and muscle.
What I really need is to lie down alone, in the dark, with my headphones, David and no one else. That would reset me.
But then, Patrick looks so handsome in his all-white linens, the shirt unbuttoned just enough so I can see the top of his chest. I want to be the kind of woman he deserves. That means I need to be switched on.
Is it really even masking when it’s your partner?
The waiter returns with drinks in show regulation bronze cups. Unfortunately, with my trio of drinks, it does look like I’m about to play one of those hide-the-ball tricks that swindle tourists. Even more so when they hand us another pair of goblets so we can toast.
‘We look like we’re hosting a medieval ball,’ I laugh awkwardly.
Patrick raises his eyebrows and shakes his head as he surveys the table. ‘If so, we’re hogging all the mead.’
I glance over at the other tables where everyone has a much more normal number of cups.
‘Perhaps we’re the King and Queen,’ I suggest.
‘Oh dear, I’m not sure I’m ready to suddenly rule a country as well as a ball,’ Patrick says, tugging at the collar of his shirt. ‘This scenario is rapidly getting out of hand!’
I giggle and take a sip of ice cold water, the sharpness of it a delicious knife through my foggy brain. I’m so glad he likes to be silly with me.
If he’s willing to go along with pretending to be royalty with me, maybe unmasking will be okay. He’ll come into my world, and understand how I see it.
Gasps and cheers erupt behind me, and I crane round to see the Nguyens arriving, in matching and surprisingly chic Hawaiian print outfits.
‘Good evening, couples!’ calls Karina. ‘Let’s toast. Congratulations on your engagements!’
We all raise our glasses of fizzy stuff, clinking echoing around us.
‘Babe, you’re supposed to look me in the eyes,’ groans Zack behind me.
‘Am I?’ Lina asks.
‘Yes. Or it’s really bad luck. Let’s do it again.’
My neck starts to ache but I watch as they re-cheers. I can only see the back of her head, but I can see Zack’s expression turning from annoyed to pleased. My stomach squirms a little, though I’m not sure why.
Meanwhile, Lucas laughs and claps his big hands together once. ‘Let’s not start this off with bad luck! It’s always good to be cautious.’ I wonder if he always sounds like this, or is this his television presenter voice?
‘We’re here tonight to explain to you all how the next section of the show is going to work. As engaged couples, you each have a starting wedding budget of twenty thousand pounds!’ cries Karina excitedly.
There’s a chorus of oohs, and I join in even though I have no idea if this is a good amount of money for a wedding or not. It just seems like a huge sum to me.
‘Throughout your time in the villa, and beyond, you’ll have the chance to win extra money for your budget,’ Lucas continues.
‘But,’ Karina’s voice turns cold and serious, ‘put a few steps wrong, and you might get hit with a penalty too.’
God, I wish I’d watched this show before I came on it because I have no idea what’s going on. Patrick mugs pantomime shock, and the others perform similar overegged reactions. I can’t read the truth in it.
I risk a glance in Dolly’s direction, and I can see she’s not happy about something.
‘As you know, you’ll be sharing not just the honeymoon villa, but the bedroom with your fellow couples.’
What? All ten of us in one room?
‘We see it as an opportunity for PG-rated group bonding,’ Lucas continues with a laugh. ‘And in the daytime, you’ll be competing against the other couples to win prizes for your wedding. We’ll be testing your compatibility, your ability to work together, and how much you guys are into each other.’
I feel a bit strange when Lucas waggles his eyebrows.
‘And if you and your fiancé don’t keep within PG boundaries in the villa,’ continues Karina with a warning tone. Dolly sits up a little straighter. ‘Then all of you will suffer a penalty to your wedding budgets.’
Oh.
Gasps and complaints sound all around us.
‘Oh my God,’ whispers Bridget. Her fiancé Jackson looks like someone just died.
Even Warren makes a convincing complaint noise.