Chapter 13
There’s no way I got more than an hour or two of sleep last night – what was I expecting? A good night’s rest is about as likely as free Wi-Fi for all guests. We’re not here to be comfortable, we’re here to be tortured.
I just kept closing my eyes, hoping some degree of unconsciousness would show up out of pity or boredom, but my brain was too active.
Plus, for a deserted island, there are so many noises.
Greenery moving, critters scurrying around, the sound of the ocean – and, of course, the cameras.
Even if you manage to stop looking at them you don’t forget that they are here, because as they turn to follow us, that mechanical noise easily gives them away.
Oh, and if it isn’t the noise, it’s the physical discomfort.
The sand feeling too hard, too soft, grains of it working their way into my bikini top and feeling scratchy against my skin.
Knowing what I do about the show, I know there’s a chance to get beds, at some point soon, but I’m hoping that won’t matter.
By the end of the day, I should be gone.
Back on the yacht. Eating catered food and then sleeping in my nice real bed.
Ugh, a real bed. It’s only been one night and I’m fantasising about a real bed like it’s an ex-boyfriend, the one that got away.
Not that I fantasise about missing my ex, if I fantasise about anything, it’s ruining his life, but you take my point.
Even just a pillow would help. A pile of dried-up palm leaves is not a pillow, or anything even close to a pillow, and it’s not even like I can use my spare clothes to pile up like a pillow because the only clothes we have are teeny-tiny bikinis and barely there swimsuits.
I could take everyone’s clothing and I still wouldn’t be able to feel it under my head.
I have no idea what time it is, the show banks on it, but it has been light for a while so I’m going to call it: it’s morning.
The air is already hot and sticky, and the sun is shining bright and relentless.
There’s no gentle breeze, nothing to take the edge off, just pure humidity.
I can feel beads of sweat forming at the back of my neck before I’ve even sat up, like I’m slowly beginning to melt.
The urge to get in the sea is overwhelming – but then again, I remember how warm the water is here, so I doubt it would do much.
The only sure-fire way I know to cool off is the waterfall over the lagoon – it’s man-made, not that you’d know, and the clean water that flows is what contestants (and me now) use to shower.
I’ve seen it in the editing studio, and on TV, but I’ve never actually been to it in all the years I’ve been working on the show.
It’s going to be weird, seeing it in real life, like visiting the Eiffel Tower or the Golden Gate Bridge for the first time.
I roll over and see Lockie.
Of course he’s managed to sleep – and he’s still flat out, on his back, starfishing on the sand.
I watch his chest rise and fall as he breathes, in and out – it’s almost relaxing, trying to match his breathing.
Ironic, really, when usually he causes me nothing but stress.
It’s weird, we’ve barely spoken about anything apart from work since the masquerade ball.
Just small talk here and there – like we’ve just met.
In a way it’s helping, we’re not acting like people who know each other, there’s an awkwardness between us.
He even snores attractively, if you can believe it. A kind of soft, rumbly sound that would be soothing in a different context, like if you were sleeping next to him in bed, not melting into the sand beneath you, trapped on a reality TV show with cameras filming your every move.
I am hyper-aware of the cameras again, Lord knows how many are on me right now.
Watching me watch him. Shit. That’ll look fantastic in the edit, won’t it?
Maybe they’ll add a slow zoom and some romantic music, making it look like I’m perving over him when really I’m wondering how much sand I could throw at him before it would disturb his pleasant slumber.
Yep, definitely time to get up, to be normal and boring and secure my ticket out of here.
Walking down to the beach, I can see that Ozzy is already moving around by the firepit. He’s shirtless – of course he is, all of the men will be shirtless for the duration of the show but, in balance, his trunks cover more skin than my bikini.
He looks like he’s cooking something, smoke curling around his large frame as he hovers by the fire. He turns to look at me as I approach him and he lights up.
‘Cleo, good morning,’ he says. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Ehh,’ I reply, smiling back.
‘I can help you get more comfortable tonight,’ he suggests – he sounds more caring than flirtatious. I suppose survival stuff is his thing though.
‘That would be great, thank you,’ I reply. ‘What are you making?’
‘Breakfast,’ he replies as I step closer to look. ‘Grilled pineapple. Fancy some?’
‘I’d love some,’ I reply.
They leave us some fruit to get us started but otherwise food has to be found, caught or won – and even then, it’s not like a Maccies or made by a Michelin-starred chef, it’s islandy-type food.
The smell hits me and my stomach growls before I can stop it.
‘Best fuel there is,’ he says as he flips a piece with flair. ‘Best fuel we’ve got right now, at least. It would be better with some fish, for protein.’
I pull a face.
‘I’m not sure about fish for breakfast,’ I reply.
‘You will be, in a few days, when your body is demanding to be fed,’ he informs me with a knowing grin.
I won’t be because I won’t be here.
I sit cross-legged beside him, the sand already hot beneath my thighs. I thank him as he hands me my breakfast on a thick, chunky leaf. It’s sticky and sweet and burns my tongue, it’s so good. I hadn’t realised how starving I was.
I chew it slowly, savouring the way it tastes, feeling so lucky that it isn’t a chunk of fish.
Ozzy takes a seat next to me and devours his food like a wild animal.
‘Steady on,’ I joke. ‘I’m not going to take it from you.’
‘You say that, but I once had to wrestle a goat to get my dinner back,’ he replies with a laugh.
‘You did not wrestle a goat,’ I reply, amused.
‘You’re right, it wrestled me,’ he jokes. ‘Maybe. It depends who you ask. I do have a scar on my leg to show for it.’
‘I’m not sure if that’s badass or not,’ I reply.
‘One of my scars has to be cool,’ he insists jokily. ‘There was the time I slept in a hammock during a thunderstorm. It caught the wind like a sail – if I hadn’t landed face down on the floor, it probably would have taken me out to sea.’
‘You’re way into survival stuff, right?’ I check – although I know. ‘Pretty sure I’ve seen a TikTok of you eating bugs.’
‘Ahh, they weren’t that bad,’ he replies. ‘Crunchy. Sort of like crisps if you don’t think too hard about it when you eat them.’
I would think so hard about it – probably for the rest of my life.
‘And my scars, I don’t know, I sort of like them,’ he continues. ‘They tell a story – show my resilience. Like, I got this scar here from a machete accident.’
The line stretches diagonally across his torso, pale against his tanned skin. It’s clearly not recent, and his abs are puffed up just fine beneath them, but it looks like it was a bad one.
I wince just looking at him.
‘Go on, feel it,’ he says. ‘You can still feel the ridge.’
‘Oh, I…’
‘Go on,’ he says again. ‘It doesn’t feel like you’ll expect it to…’
I can feel the cameras on us – I swear I just heard one move, to get a better angle of the action. The producers are probably foaming at the mouth back on the yacht. If Simon is in there he’ll be screaming at me to do it, to touch Ozzy’s abs.
My hand is on the way before my brain can have a real say in it.
My fingers brush his warm skin, skimming his scar, running back and forth over it while he watches me.
I suddenly realise how close we’re sitting. How intimate this must look. The air feels thicker now. My heart is pounding – I hope the mic can’t pick up on it.
This is exactly the kind of moment we live for on the show, the start of what looks like something, a moment…
And that’s when a voice behind us says: ‘Good morning.’
I yank my hand away like I’ve just accidentally touched the fire. I hear the cameras moving, trying to find their new angle, waiting to see what happens next.
I turn around and see Lockie standing there, one arm behind his head as he stretches. His hair is a sleepy mess but in a way where he’s totally pulling it off. His expression is neutral, but I catch a flicker of something… I’m not sure what. It turns into a smirk soon enough.
Somewhere, a gull screams overhead – sort of mirroring the screaming in my head, but rather than it being an act of solidarity, I think it probably just wants my pineapple.
I open my mouth to say something – anything – but I’m saved by the bell.
Literally. A bell sounds before someone speaks to us over the intercom.
‘Islanders! Please gather at the firepit.’
It grabs everyone’s attention. Honey runs over, squealing, joining the rest of us. Camilla isn’t far behind her. It’s Tony who appears last in a pair of skintight budgie smugglers. I feel my eyes widen – there’s no way he doesn’t have a coconut or something stuffed down there.
‘It’s time for your first challenge,’ the voice of the island tells us. ‘A team challenge, so get into pairs.’
Ozzy’s eyes light up.
‘Yes, finally!’ He looks at me. ‘Wanna team up?’
‘Me?’ I blurt.
‘Yeah!’
I hesitate. The plan – if you can even call it that – is for me to stick with Lockie. We’ll blend into the game together, couple off, and then bow out gracefully when the real cast arrive.
But Ozzy is smiling at me, and the cameras are rolling – they’re fixed on us right now. If I refuse him, I don’t know, won’t it seem fake?
So I nod.
‘Yeah, sounds great,’ I reply.