Chapter Nineteen Dolly #2
Warren shakes his head. ‘Nope. Louise asked us to wait until we’re mic’d up. But someone peeked already.’
Whit covers her face. ‘It was looking at me!’
‘Is that before or after the challenge?’ I murmur, thinking aloud.
Before, they get lovey-dovey footage. But if a couple fucks up the challenge, they might have two royally pissed-off people trying to fight their corner over wedding linens. Smart producing.
‘I hope it’s an active one,’ Whit says, stretching her legs. ‘Like, a race or something.’
‘As long as we’re not rating the attractiveness of the other gender.’ I raise my voice for this part. ‘Sorry to say, men always get it wrong by not putting their fiancée first.’
‘Noted!’ laughs Warren.
‘I would never,’ says Malachi, who looks genuinely flabbergasted at the idea of rating his model-looks doctor fiancée less than number one.
The boys serve up crêpes for us, leaving some in the oven for Patrick and Carys. I want to ask where they are, but I need some Carys-free time this morning, especially after the strange intimacy of last night.
The sweet, tart crêpes wake me up, somewhat making up for my poor sleeping spot choice.
‘Do you think we’ll win money in the challenge?’ Whit asks.
‘Enough to counter the fines Bridget and Jackson are racking?’ I scoff.
‘Bridget and Jackson’s what now?’ Bridget says, striding into the kitchen in the world’s smallest high-waisted bikini. Not to be indelicate, but I’m not sure how she’s keeping her insides inside that thing.
‘Fine hatting,’ Malachi fills in, which is both ridiculous and seems to work, given Bridget wears a trucker cap, her ponytail sticking out the back.
‘Yeah, I’m regretting not bringing a big hat,’ Whit explains. ‘Look, Lina’s got a big hat too.’
Across the pool, Lina is completely shaded by her massive hat that has Out of Office embroidered on the underside. An interesting choice, because I’m pretty sure Lina has never worked in an office. She’s too much of a free spirit for fluorescent strip lighting.
I wonder why she and Zack are over in the corner. Do they not want to come hang out and make crêpes? My resounding impression of this Zack dude is that he’s not outright evil like Jackson might be, but he seems kinda yuck. Maybe I have overly high standards for men.
‘Maybe they’ll let us out so we can go get you a big hat? I’ll buy you the big hat of your dreams,’ Malachi croons, and Whit goes to him for a kiss. Gosh, they’re sweet like sugared crêpes.
I’m not sure Bridget bought what we were saying, but she makes up a green juice from powder that smells like the gunk you get on the Mersey sometimes.
Malachi and Whit move off eventually, too loved up to pay much attention to the rest of us.
There’s still no sign of Patrick and Carys, even when we’ve washed up our plates and pans.
‘Ready for a beautiful day in paradise?’ Warren says in that slow, deep voice. A flash of a smile.
We walk over to a big squishy seat in the sun that reminds me of soft play centres. It’s warm under the sunshine already.
Last night is playing on my mind. I’ve not cheated on him, because we’re not really together, but we talked on the way here about being exclusive, just to be safe. And that means I probably need to be honest with him, as much as I can, about who I am.
I wander round to grab some suncream from a table nearby, scoping the area for cameras. We’re still un-mic’d but I can’t relax about it yet.
‘Can I ask you something?’ I ask as we settle down. I flip open the lid of the suncream and pour a splodge into my palm.
‘Shoot.’ Warren settles his bucket hat over his eyes, like makeshift sunglasses.
‘Did you think you’d fall in love here, like at all?’
He flips up the brim of his hat to peer up at me with one eye. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Just curious.’
Warren sits up, removing the bucket hat from over his eyes. ‘I was open to it,’ he says, as he picks up the suncream and starts slathering it onto his long, muscular arms. ‘To falling in love.’
My throat feels dry. Maybe Carys is right – am I denying Warren a chance at falling in love with someone for real?
‘But none of the women sparked anything in me, until you,’ he says, and I catch his meaning. ‘What we have… it’s the best situation I could possibly imagine. And I think that, in time, love is going to come.’
I lick my lips and taste suncream, all synthetic coconut. ‘I think so too.’
Love, not romantic love. Partnership. Friendship. Family. Those are the kinds of loves that we are working towards.
‘We align on so much,’ he continues. ‘I think we make a good team.’
I want to be honest with him about the fact that I’m gay as the yellow brick road, but now isn’t the time. When we’re alone in our new apartments, provided they aren’t bugged either, then I’ll tell him. It makes sense to hold off a little longer.
‘Me too.’ He’s missed a few streaks of suncream on his back, so I stand up and rub it in down the centre of his spine.
‘See, you’ve got my back.’
I groan. ‘That was offensively bad.’
He presses his hand over his chest. ‘There’s nothing wrong with being corny.’
‘This is going to be a test of my sanity.’
‘What about you? Did you think you would?’ He swats me with his hand and I boop a blob of suncream onto the tip of his nose, which he rubs in aggressively.
I’m thankful for the distraction. ‘Why do men always do skincare like that?’
‘Like what?’
I mime the same action, rending my skin around like I’m getting an aggressive facial massage.
‘Alright, alright, point made. You can teach me to be more delicate,’ he says, laughing all the while. The change is so sudden that I almost jump when he reaches over for my hand. ‘To be serious again for a second, Dolly, I don’t have any regrets, if that’s what you’re asking me. Do you?’
I look at my future fake husband. Yes, he’s lowkey famous in his career, far more than I am I guess. Niche famous. And he’s also good. Kind. Funny. Caring. Someone I see myself reflected in. A man I can trust.
‘None,’ I say wholeheartedly.
‘Then we’re good. Don’t sweat. You’re too beautiful, and so is the weather, for either of us to be getting stressed.’ He lies back, hat over his eyes again.
‘You’re a smooth talker, Warren.’
‘Maybe, maybe.’
When this is all over, I really must find a nice girl to set him up with. He might just be a perfect man.
Production call us over for mic’ing up, but it all goes so fast and no one is willing to entertain my curious questions about what we’re up to, so soon Warren and I are back on our big squishy seat with the enormous plastic binder.
The lighting is good here, and I catch a roving cameraman come in, so I wave him over.
‘We were going to go through our wedding binder if that’s alright?’ I say, my voice a little higher than usual. I don’t know this team, they seem to be local, but he gives us the thumbs up to get going.
We smile and kiss and flick through the pages. It’s all the vendors the show is using, and I recognise quite a few brands as being UK based.
The first few pages, which he skips past, are the ring options which he explains they already flicked through.
‘Lucky I love my engagement ring,’ I beam, flexing my hand in front of me. He did well; a tasteful diamond with small pearls around it, quite vintage, a little camp.
I flick through to the venue options. Some are in London, which makes sense for production ease given we’ll all be living there in apartments as of next week, and a few dotted around the country – I suspect some of them might be geographically close to our various homes as I spy one in Liverpool.
It would be easier for Mum. Though saying that, I haven’t really thought about the logistics of getting her there.
It’s not that I don’t want her there, I do.
But a potentially whole-day wedding could be a month of spoons for her.
And that feels like too big an ask when this isn’t real.
I need to talk to her about it, off camera.
God, I hope she’s okay.
I push down the worries that threaten to spill up, and flick back through the pages. They’ve thought of everything: caterers, musicians, florists, entertainment, celebrants of various stripes and religions. Everything we might need for our televised nuptials.
The cameraman wanders off after a while, presumably because there’s only so much of two people flicking through pages that a person can watch.
I know that we won’t necessarily get our first choice of any of these venues, so I need to work out a kind of hierarchy.
The dream one, though, the one that makes my heart flutter, is the huge space in the Barbican glasshouse. The high ceilings, the light, the beautiful plants filling the space. If I was getting real married, that’s where I’d want it to be.
I kept hold of my warehouse notebook, so we draw up tables for ranking options.
Warren wants Nigerian food served by people who know how to cook it, so I defer to him as we build an ideal menu together.
Our venue needs to be wheelchair accessible, which knocks out a good four or five, leaving us with the beautiful tropical glasshouse in London, a big country house, and a kind of plain registry office set inside a nice building near Liverpool.
It almost feels real. Except it’s not real at all.
The sun is high above us, and I’m about to go inside to cool down in the air con, when a voice comes over the speakers announcing that group filming will commence shortly.
‘Challenge time,’ I murmur.
‘Well then, wifey,’ Warren says, standing up and holding out his hand to help me up too. ‘Let’s go win our dream wedding.’
Script: Challenges intro
[Karina and Lucas stand together in the villa’s back garden.]
KARINA Our first challenge is the River of Life, where couples will answer trivia about their partners and their relationship.
LUCAS Get two matching answers? You both move forward together. Any disagreements mean you’re stuck right where you are.
KARINA And the first couple to meet in the middle have a chance of winning something incredible for their weddings. But that’ll go to the couple who know each other best.
LUCAS We’re fair here. Second place gets second pick, and so on down the list. So it’s all to play for! How do you think we’d do?
KARINA [laughs] Darling, after twenty years, I’d hope we’d win.