Chapter 22
Two minutes later, I’m back in the outdoor kitchen pretending that nothing happened.
I might have known Porscha would be up to something.
She has told me that I will be doing a hashtag secret steal along with Amber.
We are not to tell the others. We will be stealing two men tonight and leaving the others ‘vulnerable’.
She has more or less told me that, as a result, I will be sleeping back in the big bedroom with my new partner, or else.
And reading between the lines, she wants to turn everyone against me.
I see Amber marching towards me with a distraught look on her face. ‘Can I grab you for a quick chat?’ she says.
We walk across the fake grass, past the pool, the giant beanbags and over to a nook with a sign hanging above it saying ‘Cosy Cuddles’.
‘We should tell them!’ Amber blurts out. ‘I mean, no. We shouldn’t. Should we? I have no idea. What should we do? Tell them or not tell them?’
‘When Porscha says “vulnerable” what does she mean exactly?’
‘Like they could get dumped from the island or not dumped or dumped then brought back in as a Mi Casa Su Casa, or maybe as a bombshell, or maybe brought back in on a later season. Or dumped and never, ever heard of again, like social media lepers.’
That’s no help. I remember Lois warning me against being a ‘Mi Casa Su Casa’ girl.
Apparently, these are the contestants who weren’t picked to go on the show as an original or a bombshell and, therefore, will be ruthlessly desperate to get some airtime and will do anything to replace us.
‘Maybe we shouldn’t mention it to any of them, so that they don’t worry.
It’s not as if we actually fancy any of the guys anyway, so it hardly matters. ’
Amber is looking at me wide-eyed. ‘Yes, it does matter. I fancy all of them. It’s Love on the Island, babes. You need to stay coupled up or you’re out.’
Cripes Almighty. With all the hoo-hah I’d almost forgotten what I am doing here. I’m curious as to what Amber’s motivation is.
‘Why does staying in the villa matter if we don’t meet the love of our lives?’ I ask her, knowing that this conversation will get cut if it’s not bickering about boys. ‘Is everyone just after the prize money, do you think? Did anyone come in here to find true love?’
‘Probably but one hundred grand is worth putting up with the tiredness and the insane hours, and the way you can’t just get out of bed when you want, isn’t it?’
‘Porscha has ordered me to come back to the big bedroom tonight,’ I confide sadly.
‘It’s not so bad. The beds are huge enough to never touch.
And we could always sleep together if you want.
I am so over having to lie awake for hours until the klaxon and the lights come on.
Henri and I lay staring at each other for two hours in complete silence this morning. ’ Amber looks tired. ‘It’s so weird.’
‘What about the way we spend six hours a day getting ready for a one-hour evening shoot?’ I add in a hushed tone. ‘And the team of spies and hidden cameras everywhere we go?’
I know they’ll cut that bit but I’m past caring.
So far, we’ve had breakfast at what felt like 2 p.m., judging by the sun high in the sky.
We had a bombshell at what might have been 3 a.m. because the moon and stars were shining brightly.
The alcohol isn’t even real. Now they’re doing hashtag steals tonight at God knows what hour.
When all I really want is to spend one whole day with Cam, getting to know him properly.
I’m also on the brink of getting caught.
Which means getting Cam into serious trouble.
He has enough on his plate without me getting him the sack.
I know exactly what it’s like to lose your job and have no way of paying bills or supporting yourself.
The panic affects your whole physical and mental well-being. It’s awful.
A sudden realisation dawns. ‘I think I’m good to go. I’ve had enough of it here,’ I whisper, trying to cover my microphone.
Amber gasps. ‘You like, seriously, wanna leave? After only a few days?’
It feels longer. A lot longer.
‘Yeah,’ I say, looking around. ‘It’s probably best if I do. There’s no one in here that has caught my eye anyway.’
Amber looks confused. ‘Does that mean someone outside of here has caught your eye?’
Oh cheeses! Did I just say something obvious?
I gulp loudly. ‘No! Absolutely not. No way. As if. Puh!’
Amber starts smirking. ‘Okay. Keep your secrets then. But tell me who you are going to steal tonight. I guess it doesn’t matter now anyway.’
My heart is beating fast. I need to be way more discreet than this, especially with Porscha upping her surveillance on me.
‘Honestly, I have no idea. They’ve all just blended into one big, oily muscle-mountain.
What about Giovanni for you? Or Carlton?
Or the other three? Poor Marcel, Henri and Brad have been glued together on the daybed hiding from Mimi. ’
Amber rolls her eyes. ‘She is a bit of a handful, but I’d like to get to know Giovanni more, if you don’t mind? I mean, I know he says he is in love with you but… is he really? Or was that the mocktail talking?’
‘Be my guest. It was definitely all those E-numbers. I suppose I could steal Carlton then. He’s the only other one who has shown me any interest. We’ll just have to watch out for Mimi going nuclear.’
I just pray she takes on board my advice to be resilient.
‘Okay. Agreed. I guess we should start getting ready.’
* * *
One look around the Hello Gorgeous dressing room tells me something is terribly wrong.
There are clothes slung over every surface, make-up brushes, pots, bottles, tubes, big orange foundation sticks abandoned on the central getting-ready station, hairpieces hanging over the mirrors and the air is heavily scented with sickly-sweet sprays and perfumes.
‘OMG. What has happened here?’ Amber gasps.
‘We’ve been ransacked.’ Then she immediately inhales a sharp breath as Mimi stands in the doorway looking like a pantomime version of herself.
Tears are streaming down her face, mascara smudging her eyes, two gashes of bright red blusher smearing her cheeks and sticky gloss highlighting already puffed-up lips.
‘Help,’ she squeaks, before launching herself, trembling, into Amber’s arms. ‘Help me.’
I immediately leap into action, fearing the worst – a catastrophic mental breakdown. ‘Come and sit down,’ I say gently. ‘Tell us what’s wrong. What happened to you?’ I guide her to one of the stools and crouch down before her.
‘It’s Carlton.’ She sniffs. ‘He doesn’t seem excited about our date tonight. I think he…’ She bursts into a fresh stream of sobbing. ‘I don’t think he fancies me-hee-heee,’ she wails, putting her head in her hands.
I take a moment to understand what she’s saying. Where is her resilience? There has to be more to it than that. ‘And you’re this upset because?’
Mimi looks up at me, a look of annoyance briefly flitting across her streaked face. ‘Because when I spoke to him, he said he could… he could…’
Amber begins to massage her shoulders. ‘Let it out, babes. Let it all out.’
‘He said he could take or leave it. He said he wasn’t bothered what we do for a date. I think he has his eye on someone EEH-EEH – EH – EH… else.’
Oh.
‘Who could it be?’ she asks us. ‘Who?’
‘Don’t you like any of the others?’ I say, trying to understand the extreme heartbreak on display and the lack of mathematical prowess. There are only four other women in the villa. Two of whom are stood right in front of her. It’s not that hard to work out.
‘I do,’ she says, wiping her eyes dry. ‘Giovanni. It’s always been him.’
Amber gives me a brief guilty look. ‘It’s still early days, Mimi. I mean, it’s totally normal for us all to pass the guys around as we get to know them. I barely know who is with who, we’ve swapped so many times. Who cares who we couple up with at the beginning, right?’
Who is with whom, I think, but I’ll keep quiet.
Mimi sniffs up her tears and digests what Amber is saying. ‘Yeah. Cool. But just promise me that neither of you will go for Giovanni or Carlton.’
She is staring at us with pleading eyes.
PING.
We look at Amber as her phone flashes. ‘Oh, shit.’ She looks at me and opens the message.
‘I got a text!’ she bellows. We follow her through the villa, out to the garden where everyone has come running to hear what awaits us.
‘Islanders, it is date night in the villa, hashtag look your best, hashtag dinner for two, hashtag secret steal.’
My heart sinks as they all jump up and down excitedly, trying to work out what is going to happen.
* * *
Four hours later, and we are dressed to kill.
The girls have gone all out for glamour and spindly heels.
Our hair and make-up is perfect. We have all bonded over the secret to effective contouring and making your eyes pop.
The atmosphere is electric with excitement.
Only, Amber and I have to play it cool, and we are not altogether comfortable with the deception.
We make our way to the outdoor kitchen to meet the boys.
We can hear them singing and shouting at each other and, when we get there, they unexpectedly serenade us.
They shuffle into formation and Henri, who I’ve barely had time to notice before, starts singing.
He has a deliciously velvet voice and we are mesmerised.
He’s amazing. The other boys join in with a mixed degree of harmonic ability and then they do a simple dance routine for us.
The girls squeal as though the Backstreet Boys have reformed and are thirty years younger. They seem smitten with the boys who, I suspect, have been elevated a notch up the heart-throb scale. When the song comes to an end, Henri gets down on one knee and takes Kassy’s hand.
‘Vill you curpool up wiz me, Kassee-yuh?’