Chapter 5
Peter
They sent a car for me, which was something that made me feel… I don’t know. Like it was real? Like I was some kind of actor being pulled in to play a role.
Go have fun.
I knew it was just my head trying to make my body feel better about all of this.
This…insanity. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t think I would ever be.
Moving on was not something I had ever imagined I would do because when you’d had all I had?
You didn’t need anything else. I’d lived this life, and I had loved it.
Even through the hard times, the arguments, the time apart, the…
the bloody upsets. We’d made it through. The kids had grown up. And yet…
I aggressively rubbed my face, trying to snap myself back into place. Cool. Calm. Professional.
What kind of professional was I? My small holdall was packed with basic clothes, underwear and socks. Anything else would be provided for us, as per our new contract.
The boys had roped me into this, and as always I had been the bad parent who had gone along with it all.
A soft touch. A ridiculous man who couldn’t stand up for himself and say no to his children.
That would have been the right thing to do here, to put my foot down and politely decline their generous offer to set me up for all this… nonsense.
I couldn’t do it. Absolutely not. I would have to claim it was all a huge mistake and they had the wrong person, and then I would simply excuse myself and…do exactly what? Run away?
“This is you,” the driver said sternly, motioning for me to get out.
Red-carpet treatment? Not here where the wet pavement greeted me and I had to lift out my own bag from the open boot.
Well, what was I expecting? I was wearing Ed’s tracksuit, with permission, because apparently it was trendy and made me look hip.
It was also plain with no logos or distinguishable markings, as per my contract.
I wasn’t hip. I was an idiot.
A fraud, that’s what I felt like. A fraud and a liar, walking in through the massive glass doors into something that looked like a cross between an industrial warehouse and some kind of ultra-modern apartment block.
A frenzy of activity where I just stood there, frozen in place.
Was I supposed to ask for someone? Was I even in the right place?
And what had they said about security? Wasn’t someone supposed to guard the entrance to whatever place this was?
“Peter.” A young man under a woolly beanie with a headset perched on top and a utility belt around his waist that would have made anyone fall flat on their face was apparently speaking to me. Impressive. Also? Good. I was in the right place.
“Yes.” I reached out to shake his hand, then felt like an idiot, since he was holding two tablets and a radio.
“Follow me, please?” he said, saying things into his headset that clearly weren’t meant for me.
Oh. Okay. Not that friendly then. Probably stressed. Probably…
Get me out of here. Where earlier in the morning there might have been a twinkle of excitement in my bones, now I just felt out of place.
Massively so, any earlier confidence having taken a mighty bruise and…
Why was I here again? To meet someone whom I was expected to form an instant attraction to, and then we would stay here in some kind of televised experiment ending with us getting maybe legally married? Or not.
I groaned under my breath and looked for an emergency exit.
I could probably just slide out a back door and disappear back home, if I tried hard enough.
At the same time…a change? Would a change be good?
I had been interviewed over and over again, expressing my conviction that I was ready for this.
That I was open to anyone and anything and that yes, I was more than happy to be filmed twenty-four seven for the next ten weeks.
I wasn’t. And somehow that part was just about sinking in, which was the obvious reason I was half panicking here. My hands not managing to hold on to the paperwork that was being pressed into my hand.
“Hair and make-up will see you shortly, just ask anyone here, and they will grab you a coffee from catering outside, but whatever happens, do not leave this cubicle. Security are here for a reason, and any deviation from their instructions will, from now on, lead to immediate dismissal from the production. Is that understood?”
I signed whatever I was supposed to sign on his outstretched tablet.
Did I understand? Probably not, because even though he was speaking words, I failed to take any of them in.
Not really. Sat here like a plonker in the designated seat staring at my reflection in the mirror.
Had some woman provide me with hot liquid in a cup, and then there were people talking and other faces in the mirror as I simply zoned out.
What else could I do? Well, the guy on the left needed a much overdue clean and polish to his teeth, the woman bringing my coffee had probably worn braces and then not kept up with her retainer. Little things I noticed in people’s faces. Mouths. Teeth. Damaged by profession, yet here I was.
What the hell was wrong with me? Why was I trying to find familiar things here? For comfort? I shrugged, making the woman scold me. I was supposed to stay still. Some kind of under-eye patches were being attached to my frazzled skin.
“What will happen next?” Here was beanie-headset man again.
“Our director, Kirsten, will come and speak to you and guide you through your initial entrance onto set. There will be certain things we need to film and, for continuity might have to repeat several times. You are expected to play along, and after that, there will be prompts that contractually need to be followed. Each couple will go through the same procedure today, to enable the viewer to connect with you as a person, building a storyline of your relationship.”
“Okay.” I was an idiot. Did I understand anything he was saying? Not really. “Am I expected to follow a script?”
“Kirsten will talk you through it.”
“Okay, but…”
“Your assigned partner is already installed inside your apartment. Any questions?”
Questions? I had a million questions, but nothing came out of my mouth as I once again stared at someone else in the mirror.
Someone who looked vaguely familiar, just more polished.
Clean. Put together like a patchwork quilt that now suddenly looked nothing like me.
My grey hair neatly coiffed into something that looked like the way my sons wore their hair, rolling out of bed in the morning.
My clothes seemingly sprayed onto my skin.
The skin that felt coarse and ready to crack. This wasn’t me. Not at all.
I didn’t feel it. How was I supposed to feel in a situation like this? I felt out of control. Truly.
“Fabulous. Let me walk you up then.”
Was I ready for this? No. I never would be.
And somewhere at the back of my mind perhaps I already knew.
I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life.
Destroy everything I had ever known. Try to replace something that was irreplaceable.
And on top of that, I was going to let it all play out under the public eye.
Had I not learnt a thing from my forty-five years on this planet? Nothing at all?
“This is Kirsten. Good luck.”
Luck.
Damn it. I didn’t need luck; I needed my head examined.
I was pushed through a set of heavy doors into what looked like a plush common room.
Sofas and chairs with colourful cushions neatly scattered in perfect rows framed with a backdrop of dark walls and artificial lights.
Cameras were set up randomly with a tribe of humans scattered about who didn’t even look up to greet me.
I had no idea what to expect here. None. Absolutely nothing. And here was someone else wearing too much electronic equipment on their head.
“Peter. Kirsten Parkers, pleased to meet you. Now. What will happen here is that Gina, our delightful anchor and host, will come and interview you on this sofa. You will be meeting Gina daily from now on to capture all the answers our viewers will need to know. Polite reminder: all statements should be positive towards the production as a whole. Any negativity should not be aired publicly as per your contract. We ask you to be respectful and mindful of your language choices, but equally it’s very important that you answer truthfully and honestly.
The viewers will be desperate to get to know you, the real you, and as such, all your reactions need to be absolutely genuine.
Show us what you feel. Anything we deem inappropriate or wrong for public consumption can easily be edited out. ”
“Okay.” She hadn’t even given me the chance to introduce myself. Shake her hand. Nothing. Probably a good thing since my palms were wet and there was definitely perspiration running down from my armpits. Damn.
“After that, you will be prompted to get up and walk towards this door here. You will be entering apartment four. This will be your home for now, and your assigned partner is already waiting inside. So you will stand by the door, we will film some filler shots, get your face, your nerves on show, all this wonderful emotion and anticipation.”
Her words, not mine. I wanted to run away. Sink through the floor. I didn’t even care.
“Gina! Gina, honey, are you ready for Peter?”
Then what? I wanted to ask? But no time as such, because now I was being plonked down on the sofa next to a woman who was wearing far too much make-up. Caked on under a neatly coiffed mass of hair and a tight dress that left not very much to the imagination.
“Peter. I’m Gina. I know this is all new to you, and you’re probably a bit shell-shocked, which is absolutely normal. I am hoping you and I can get a chance to talk during this experience, because, off the record, I was a massive fan of Mary’s.”
“Oh,” came out of my mouth.