Chapter 7 #2
“I don’t know?” I didn’t, and I suddenly regretted not setting up the whole get-me-out-of-here with Oliver. Because right now? This Chloe-Catherine was almost on my lap, trying to show me her tattoo, as another man took the seat next to me.
“Ben Burchill,” he said sternly. “I’m with Chloe here.”
“Chloe-Catherine, doll. It’s double-barrelled.”
“Whatever. I’m bisexual.”
And what was I supposed to respond to that? How nice?
“Ben is very cool,” Chloe-Catherine continued, staring at her nails and inspecting them one by one, right there in my face. “So open-minded, you know? I’ve never kissed a girl. Suppose it’s something I should try in here. I mean, it’s only day one, so it’s all an open market?”
“I thought we were all coupled up with our perfect partners?” I was trying to make conversation, even though these two seemed to be barely out of their teens. I had kids at home. I hadn’t expected to have to play dad here too. I said that out loud as well, the twit that I was.
She laughed, this Chloe-whatever, shaking her head. Ben did too. Was I really this naive, or had I completely missed something?
“And back to positions? You all have little pieces of tape marked on the floor where we want you to turn and sit. Same positions. We will do the entrances one more time. Xanthe, your dress needs to show leg this time, not be pulled down to your knees. Anne? Hair over shoulder. There. And. Action.”
Here we went again, my steps feeling stilted as I stumbled across the floor and took my seat, Oliver right beside me. His hands fell gently onto his lap, as I tried to sit casually as instructed, even though I had over and over failed to understand what that was supposed to mean.
“Relax,” Oliver whispered. “Don’t get shouted at again.”
“Easier said than done,” I whispered back, but he just smiled. And here was our hostess, sweeping in through the side door with a blinding smile on her face and a ball gown that sparkled in every colour under the sun. Blinding.
“Hello, everyone,” she practically purred at the camera. “I’m Gina DeSanto, and you’re cordially invited to Save the Date.”
Cue the swift sweeping of another camera, too close to my face. Sweat on my skin as Oliver beamed and I tried not to lean back, trying to get away from the heat from the lighting rig above.
I wondered why he was so calm when suddenly I wasn’t. Why everything around me seemed just too much. And we were supposed to clap.
I clapped.
“Save the Date is the show you’ve all been waiting for, where twenty single human beings get coupled up with their ideal match.
Our matchmakers and relationship experts have worked tirelessly over the past months to get under the skin of our contestants and have presented their results.
” This was when Gina smiled knowingly, once again letting the cameras work their magic over the seated people.
Twenty of us then. All looking as weirdly mismatched as I felt.
A range of youngsters, a few mid-thirties misfits, and then us oldies. Well. Me. I suppose Anne was somewhere in her forties as well, and I wasn’t sure about Diane, but Gerald looked older than me and…
“The contestants have all been matched up, and they have taken up occupancy in their apartments. Hence, our stage is set. This year’s most romantic dating show is about to take place, right here, right on your screens.
But this, this is where the dull, washed-out concepts stop and the real excitement starts. ”
Another pregnant pause as I squirmed. I needed the loo. A nice cup of tea. I just wanted to go back into that apartment and lie down on that bed. I didn’t even mind if Oliver joined me as long as I could just have cool fresh air and some quiet. No more yapping. None of the bright lights.
What had I been thinking?
“This is where you, the viewer, take over control. The Save the Date app is now live, and each week, you, our audience at home, will decide the fate of our housemates. Who has been dreadfully mismatched? Who has real potential to be the perfect partner to your favourite contestant? And in the end…which couple will be our final winners? Not only that, every week we will pick the most active participants on the app to receive a real invite to Save the Date. Do you fancy attending the wedding of the year? Download the App now, and get ready to matchmake!”
Gina threw her hands in the air as we all clapped again. I wasn’t sure what for, but someone shouted cut, and I shot up, hoping this was it. Where I could make my escape.
“Hi, Peter, I’m Diane.” A tall woman, blocking my exit. “I’m really pleased to meet you; I hope you and I can have a chance to talk later. I believe you’re a parent too?”
Oh. So…what was this again?
“That would be nice.” At least I was trying to be polite. “I just need a cup of tea and a break,” came out of my stupid mouth.
“That sounds lovely, thank you. I only take oat milk; I believe there should be some in the fridges here, let me look.”
“Oh crap.” Here was Oliver, and I strangely clung to his arm. “It’s carnage,” he hissed. “Check out Wren?”
“Wren who?”
A subtle nod, and I understood. The woman with the eyelashes, sat on the sofa surrounded by three very keen…male admirers.
“She’s a lesbian. I’m not sure they’ve cottoned on to that fact, but I can’t figure out who she’s with because all the other girls seem clueless.”
“She’s with me,” Diane interrupted. “Nice girl, but not quite the handsome mature father I asked for. We all seem to be in a bit of a pickle.”
“Say that again.” I sighed. “Not that I mind. Oliver here is mine.”
“I’m keeping you.” Oliver smiled, nodding politely to Diane. “Sorry, doll, hands off. He’s a nice guy, and everyone else here is slightly…”
“Terrifying?” Diane laughed. “Trust me. Wren here screamed the house down when she entered our flat. There she was, asking for a masculine-looking lesbian and absolutely not a frumpy mum of three from Brands Hill. I’m the wrong everything.
Wrong skin colour, wrong size, wrong… I was wearing a frilly dress.
My daughter bought it for me, and Wren just screamed. ”
Yes, that’s when I blushed. I might have been screaming too. Internally. Whilst shouting. And I cringed as Oliver delightfully retold the story of my disgrace, the cameraman behind me no doubt capturing every hilarious moment word for word.
He could be charming, this Oliver. And he still had his arm hooked in mine.
“Diane’s nice,” he whispered into my cheek when Diane momentarily turned away. “But I’m keeping you for now. Please save me from Bisexual Ben’s advances. He won’t take no for an answer.”
“He seemed pleasant enough.”
“He’s…a little… How do I say this nicely?”
“Dull?” I was trying not to become another meme, and failing badly as Oliver arched an eyebrow.
“He’s not quite the sharpest tool in the box, Peter. And Chloe-Catherine is a menace.”
“So judgemental.” I sounded like my sons. I could almost see them cringing at the back of my head.
“Can we disappear for a bit? I need a breather.” I had to ask because I could see that Anne was making a beeline for me from across the room.
“Run.” He smiled. “I’ll bring the tea.”
He did as well, somehow managing to lose Diane in the process, and delivered two steaming-hot perfect cups of tea to our apartment…room…place…where I awkwardly had sat myself on the edge of the bed, hiding my face behind a pillow. And for the first time in what felt like hours, I could breathe.