Chapter 3
I sit down slowly in the pretty armchair next to the fire. Rows of books are crammed into the white shelving in the nook behind me, and a charming Edwardian sash window provides a flattering glow from the street lamp outside as I hold Lois’s phone in front of me.
‘Hi there, it’s Cam. Cameron, one of the producers from LoveIt TV,’ he says, giving me a friendly, reassuring smile.
As if this wasn’t already daunting enough to get my head around, I squint to get a clearer picture.
I am looking at the most attractive man I have ever seen in my entire life.
He sweeps soft brown hair from his forehead as though to give me a clearer view of his incredible blue-green eyes.
His smile is lighting up his entire face and drawing me in.
He’s American. An actual American TV producer.
What am I doing?
‘We spoke briefly last summer during your VT.’
I stare blankly at him.
‘Your video audition?’
‘Yes, my, erm, my video audition.’ Cameron is a genetically superior and well-sculptured member of the species. And I would have gone completely to pieces had I auditioned. Rather like I am doing right now.
How did Lois not reveal this one tiny but significant detail?
He holds my gaze as though he is used to women turning beetroot red and severely mute in his presence, and carries on. ‘I’m calling to go over the schedules and confirm the press releases that need to be carried out before you fly out to us.’
I stare at the screen nodding, my hand trembling slightly as I lift it up to capture a more becoming angle, less nostril and more forehead. Tyrone and Lois are gesturing wildly for me to end the conversation.
I should say something.
He waits patiently for me to respond.
I should explain that I’m Lois’s near-identical twin sister and I’m about to fraudulently pass myself off as her, all so that I can get off with somebody, anybody, just to make my very recent ex-boyfriend jealous in order to boost my low (almost minus level) self-esteem.
I’d also quite like to win the hundred grand prize pot to help pay my bills until I find my next job.
And a summer away from home so that Lois can spend some well-earned alone time with her lovely fiancé, instead of being dragged through the courts by Cam’s TV company, would be the perfect way to repay her for everything she does for me.
Reasons to do the show are sounding more convincing by the second. ‘Fly out to you? To the island?’ I manage.
He is heart-stoppingly gorgeous. And that accent! He sounds like a film star.
‘Yes, that’s correct.’
‘Which island would that be?’ Images of me surrounded by a tropical paradise, drinking from coconuts and bathing in waterfalls, far, far from any piles of marking, swim pleasingly into my mind, causing pangs of excitement.
‘Mexico.’
Call me old-fashioned, but as far as land masses go, that is not an island.
‘Does Mexico have actual islands though?’
‘Yes, but we’re not allowed to go on them.’
‘So, it’s more like “Love near the Island”?’
He doesn’t look a bit flustered by my interrogation. He gives me an amused smile. ‘We thought about it but “Love similar-to-but-not-quite-on the Island” just hasn’t got the same ring.’
He’s funny.
‘Well, luckily I do love hummus. And tequila. And Mexicans.’
‘You’ve been there before?’
‘No. But we have a Chiquitos nearby.’
Cameron pauses. He clearly has no idea what to do with that information. ‘Can I check what name you’ve decided on? I believe you mentioned Lulu, Lala and Lolo to our researcher.’
Lois has always regretted not having a more exotic name. She has the good grace to look sheepish.
I watch Cam efficiently flipping through papers on a clipboard. He must have quite a few contestants to get through. ‘To be honest, I can’t find your real name on here.’
‘Erm, Olivia Jackson. But I’d like to be called Libby on the show.’
‘Are you a big fan of the show, Libby?’ he asks, smiling encouragingly at me.
I’m completely thrown by his easy, confident manner and extreme good looks and, in a panic, I say the first honest thing that springs to mind. ‘No, absolutely not.’
His eyes widen in surprise.
‘I mean, yes. Absolutely, yes. It’s the best show that’s ever been made.’ My voice breaks halfway through because I am so rubbish at lying. In my peripheral vision, Lois is mouthing ‘Do not do this’ to me.
Too late.
I laugh nervously. ‘So, Cam, whereabouts in America are you from?’
‘Canada.’
Touché.
‘But I live in California,’ he says. ‘That’s on the west coast of America.’
It sounds so sophisticated.
‘Ah, yes. California.’ My recent Year Three geography project springs suddenly to mind. ‘The Golden State. It’s the third largest and most biologically diverse of all the states,’ I say, nervously trotting out some impressive stats. ‘It’s the pistachio capital of the world.’
Lois is shaking her head.
‘Someone has done their homework,’ Cam says in a playful tone, even though his eyes are wondering if he’s made a huge mistake. ‘Although, I think you’ll find California is the avocado capital of the world.’
Cripes. He’s correcting me. Me, the teacher. But he’s so ridiculously good-looking I’m going to have to let it go.
‘And the show?’ he says. ‘Any last-minute reservations about taking part?’
Here it is. My get-out-of-jail card.
Am I in or out?
It’s decision time. I’m known in primary education circles as being impressively decisive, yet here I am, beating about the bush, all because he is as handsome as fudge.
‘Are you absolutely sure about the avocado situation? Because I did do an extensive Google search.’
He smiles and repeats the question. His voice is so soft and warm. I could listen to his accent all day. He’s got an intelligent manner about him that makes me want to talk to him all night.
‘Who wouldn’t have last-minute reservations?’ I say.
‘It’s not the easiest of shows to go on,’ he says. ‘It’s a lot of pressure. It’s not for the faint-hearted, that’s for sure.’
‘I can imagine.’
A strange giddy feeling in my stomach is compelling me to use long and overly complicated words.
‘Nearly every episode is one random smorgasbord of haphazard snogging and she-said-he-said tit for tat,’ I say as though I’m writing a review for The Guardian. I don’t know what is coming over me but it’s borderline horrific.
‘Interesting. Interesting,’ he says, beginning to frown. ‘Some might view it like that, I suppose.’
‘You could even say it’s a social satire of reductive, trepidatious twenty-something behaviour. Almost toxic and playgroundy, if you will.’
God help me. Make it stop.
I watch his face fall and instantly regret trying to show off. Tyrone and Lois are staring at me open-mouthed.
Why? Why am I like this?
‘Playgroundy?’ Cam asks, giving me a quizzical look. ‘Oh, like in the schoolyard?’
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,’ I blurt, backtracking like mad. ‘I’m sure a lot of work goes into producing the show. I just meant that it tends to reveal how childish we can all be at times.’
‘No worries. We edit the show that way. We take out all the boring chit-chat about war, poverty and saving the planet, and keep the focus squarely on what really matters to today’s discerning, globally literate audience.’ He flashes me a huge grin. ‘Which is, of course, who fancies who.’
His eyes are sparkling. There’s a hint of a smirk going on which causes me to giggle. I’m in way over my head but relieved he is willing to overlook every crackpot word I’ve just said. I emit a nasally laugh that causes Lois to put her head back in her hands.
To me, this is the very definition of flirtatious patronising banter. My favourite kind.
‘That’s very reassuring,’ I say, playing along; after all, no one does patronising banter quite like teachers. ‘But I think you’ll find it’s who fancies whom.’
There’s a small silence where we stare at one another. Perhaps he is wondering if my flirting is too much. Then to my relief he starts chuckling. It transforms his whole face. ‘Funny. So, Libby, do you want to be on the show?’
My heart is in my mouth. What am I doing? ‘Yes. Yes, I do. One hundred per cent. Sign me up.’
‘Are you sure? Not too reductive or trepidatious for you?’ he says, grinning.
I shake my head slowly. I am so up for this. It feels like the best decision I’ve ever made in my entire life.
He checks his notes, unaware of the turmoil I’m in. ‘You’ll be the only British woman to appear on the show. We’re taking a bit of a gamble that you’ll fit in.’
Of course I won’t fit in. Because Americans don’t understand sarcasm or know how to make a proper cup of tea and because we are baffled by your incessant over-the-top friendliness, but mostly because we are deeply ashamed of our terrible yellow teeth.
‘We’re hoping you’ll connect with our British audience and increase our overseas viewers.’
‘We British are famed for our strength of character, our superior intellect, and our moral fibre. As long as you don’t make out that I’m a desperate, slutty villain, I should be fine,’ I joke as though I’m going to be the star of the show, right across the planet.
Cam tugs at his collar. I’ve clearly caught him off guard. He seems unsure of how to handle a British woman telling him how to do his job. It feels rather empowering. I can see Lois and Tyrone rolling their eyes at one another. I shift away so that I can’t see them.
Cam recovers himself quickly. ‘Well, of course, we don’t script this show. Not like we script other reality shows. We prefer a more natural take.’
He is very charming and believable. But I suppose all Canadians are.
‘I have to say, Libby, you’re a lot different to how you were last year.’
I slide my eyes over to my sister.
‘I’m sure I am.’