Chapter 17
The voice of the island booms out through the speakers, scaring the life out of me – so still not used to it then.
‘Islanders! Time for your next challenge. Teamwork makes the dream work – and today, you’ll need it! You must build a raft sturdy enough to support your whole team for two minutes. This is a team effort so, if you succeed, everyone’s a winner. A prize will be delivered to the hatch. Good luck.’
I hope the prize is new contestants – real ones – because then I get to leave.
Ozzy cracks on, like he was born to do this.
‘Right,’ he says, instantly stepping up to take the lead – not that I can think of anyone who could do a better job. ‘We’ll need logs, rope – or vines, something buoyant. Bamboo maybe. I’m happy to dish out jobs.’
Of course he is.
The rest of us are happy to be told what to do.
We shuffle toward the beach. The tide’s out, the sand is hot – it’s not the kind of day for doing a task.
Lockie’s carrying an armful of bamboo in a way that is just…
so sexy, like he’s advertising aftershave for a luxury brand.
I could swear he’s angling his muscles towards the camera, so they don’t miss a second of his flexing.
Camilla takes a seat on the sand, legs crossed, palms up like she’s trying to relax.
‘I’m not getting splinters,’ she says flatly. ‘Or dirty. Or wet.’
‘Camilla, come on,’ Ozzy says, trying to razz her up. ‘It’s a group challenge. This is to win something for all of us. Be a team player.’
‘Okay, I will,’ she replies. ‘I’ll provide the moral support.’
Honey, meanwhile, is tying vines around two bits of driftwood.
‘Do you know what you’re doing?’ Tony asks her.
‘If you criss-cross the tension points, you’ll… erm… No, not really, I just made that up to sound smart,’ she says with a giggle.
I glance at her as she does a comically bad job. Tony takes it from her and has a go instead. There’s something about Honey that I can’t figure out. Something in her tone, in her ditziness…
She smiles at me, big and blank. I give her a wave. At least she’s trying, unlike Camilla.
Lockie wanders over to me, all smiles.
‘Need a hand?’ he asks. He squats so close I can see the golden flecks in his green eyes. ‘I’ve done my bit – it was easy.’
‘I’ve got it,’ I say.
He stays crouched beside me anyway, close enough that I can feel the heat from his skin. His arm brushes against mine, just for a second, I hold my breath.
‘I don’t know, I think you need me to help,’ he says, his tone flirtatious. ‘I think you need my hands.’
‘I’m perfectly capable of—’
I pull the vine too hard, lose my balance and crash into him.
He’s only crouching, so I knock him over with ease, and of course, I land right on top of him.
Trying to steady myself, to use my limbs to my advantage, only makes me spread them wider and wrap myself around even more thoroughly.
Our landing position is Lockie lying on his back, me straddling him.
If Simon is watching this, he’ll be buying himself a new sports car to add to his collection.
For a second, it feels like the world has stopped turning. Lockie is holding me steady, his hands on my waist holding me securely in place on top of him. I’m resting my hands on his chest, to keep myself upright, and I could swear I just heard a camera zooming in.
Then someone coughs.
I snap to my senses and scramble to my feet.
‘Easy, girl,’ he tells me – I must have hopped off a little too fast.
‘Are you okay, Cleo?’ Ozzy asks me, taking me by the hand, pulling me away from Lockie.
‘I’m fine,’ I tell him. ‘Just… clumsy.’
‘Don’t blame yourself, Lockie was distracting you,’ he reassures me.
‘I was offering to help,’ Lockie tells him. ‘It’s not that deep.’
‘Let’s just get this done,’ Ozzy tells us. ‘We’re almost there and I want to win.’
My cheeks go hot. I focus hard on the vine, but my fingers keep fumbling the knot. Honey comes over and helps me – between us, we crack it.
‘Love triangle alert,’ she sings at me under her breath.
‘Oh, no, it’s not a triangle,’ I insist.
‘Ooh, a square?’ she says excitedly. ‘Who else is in the mix?’
‘No one,’ I say with a soft laugh.
I pretend not to notice anything is amiss, focusing on tying the vines, but the air feels thicker suddenly. Ozzy’s jaw looks tighter than usual, and when Lockie laughs it just seems to make Ozzy tense up more.
I wonder if the producers are placing bets on how soon someone snaps. That’s what they usually do. They take bets on all sorts. First kisses, who will quit, who will have the first row. It feels like any one of those things could happen any minute.
It’s a relief, when our raft is done, and even more so when we all get on it and it stays afloat.
‘Islanders, all of you must board the raft.’
No prizes for guessing which one of us isn’t on it.
‘Do I really need to?’ Camilla whines. ‘Look – it looks fine.’
‘Then it’s fine to get on it,’ Ozzy says, his patience a little thinner than usual.
‘We’ll make room,’ Lockie tells her. ‘Cleo, move up to me.’
He opens up his arms so I can back into him, almost. Then he wraps them around me.
‘Fine, fine,’ Camilla says. ‘But if I fall in, I will kill you all.’
Not an overreaction at all. And speaking of overreactions…
‘Lockie,’ Ozzy says once we’re back on dry land. ‘Can I pull you for a chat?’
‘Uh-oh,’ Honey whispers to me. ‘Drama tiiime.’
‘Sure, mate,’ Lockie replies.
Lockie flashes me a wink, then follows Ozzy toward the firepit. I try to focus on my conversation with Honey, which is now about whether or not the island has materials for a pillow fight, but I can’t. I’m trying to read their body language.
‘I thought they’d be fighting over me, you know,’ she says, following my gaze. ‘Disappointing, really.’
‘Oh, they are not fighting over me,’ I insist.
‘Please,’ Camilla says with a huff. ‘They’re more likely to be fighting over airtime.’
Charmed.
Ozzy’s body language is pure tension – tight shoulders, arms folded, and he’s clearly ranting. Lockie looks like he’s trying not to laugh, but his foot taps restlessly on the sand.
I can’t hear what’s said, but I can tell the tone. The clipped words, the defensive smirk, the final head shake. Then Lockie turns and walks back over, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who looked like they were having an argument – so presumably he won.
‘What was that about?’ I ask.
‘I’ve just been warned off “his girl”,’ he says with a smirk, wrapping the word ‘girl’ in air quotes. ‘He cited the bro code and everything.’
‘His girl?’ I reply. ‘What, me?’
‘His words, not mine.’ He laughs. ‘Don’t worry, he only means because you’re coupled off. And I don’t take orders from jealous men who need to loosen their man bun a little, I think it’s tugging on his brain.’
‘Just don’t try to wind him up,’ I say.
‘Cleo, I’m not trying to do anything to him,’ he replies. ‘You, on the other hand… that’s another story.’
And with that, he walks off.
At first I feel my cheeks flush, then pressure building in my forehead, then my palms sweating…
but then I remember, he doesn’t mean that, it’s for the cameras.
He’s flirting with me so that the public puts us together, so we can get the boot together, so we can go back to working on the show rather than starring in it.
God, I’m tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of acting for cameras.
Tired of trying to manage who’s playing what part in a script that doesn’t really exist. I guess this is Lockie’s thing, his speciality, scripted reality.
This whole thing is a set-up. None of it’s real – not for us, at least. And Ozzy, I’m sure he doesn’t care about me, he’s just playing the game.
Viewers love this, it’s how you stay in.
I just need to remind myself of the plan: stay calm, stay dull, get voted off. The only way home is by being boring. Lockie too. Sadly it doesn’t seem to come naturally to us. It’s like the more I try to be boring, the more I end up as the accidental highlight reel.
I need to do better… or worse, I guess – because the next vote will put us into new couples (the public always decides the second pairing on the show), and I need to be lumped with Lockie.
Perhaps I don’t need to try so hard. If Ozzy seems jealous, people might just make the call to put me with Lockie just to piss Ozzy off.
That could work. That would keep things interesting.
Then we can start being boring or making the others seem more interesting, and then, boom, we’re gone.
The sooner we do this, the sooner I can get back to the yacht – and to the real world.
I just hope no one I love has tuned in to see this disaster unfold. Because if they have, I might never live it down.
Thankfully none of them watch it, and with flagging views it’s not like it will make the news. Just so long as I don’t do anything interesting.
Usually, that’s not a problem for me.