44. 44
Our fantasy date was just as advertised: a total fantasy.
From a production standpoint it made total sense; the final dates needed not only to be outrageous but look like the ultimate dream. A nice dinner would simply not do.
And so, each match’s final date was a varying degree of over the top.
Ella and Liam went on a helicopter tour around the island.
Olivia and Tom went skydiving.
Chiara and Alfie spent the day on a mega yacht.
Molly and James did a bit of cave spelunking.
When it came time for our date, Callum and I spent the day jumping off a catamaran, snorkeling along the coast, and basking in the sun on a private beach. It was perfect, the best date ever.
It also felt like the closest thing to real life since the show started.
While the catamaran was teeming with a full production crew as well as Ben and Harry and a few other producers, Callum and I got to spend most of the time in the water, just us, unmic’d and free to swim about however we wanted.
The cameramen filming us from the side of the boat were easy to ignore, easy to block out and pretend like they didn’t exist at all.
Even later, on the beach, we were able to sit in the sand without a camera inches from our faces.
“They really just need lots of b-roll to cut together and sell the image of romance and adventure,” Harry told us at the start of the day. That meant we were basically free to swim and lounge on the shore without much interruption, which worked just fine for me.
After spending most of the day in the water and on the beach, we loaded back onto the catamaran, where a romantic sunset picnic had been laid out at the front of the boat.
Two cameramen were already set up to film us from each side, and as we approached, Ben handed us our mic packs. Back to business, then.
We chatted for a while about anything and everything, sweeping in and out of childhood memories and more recent experiences. It was nice, Callum was being sweet, and I never wanted it to end.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Ben appeared from behind one of the cameras. He leaned forward and handed Callum a gold envelope. We both looked at it, unsure of what to do. Harry gestured wildly behind the camera, miming opening an envelope and pointing at the one in Callum’s hand.
“I guess we should open this envelope I just found,” Callum said, hamming it up for the camera.
I laughed as he dramatically unsealed the envelope and pulled out the letter that was inside.
My smile fell as soon as his did.
“What?” I asked.
“Callum and Poppy,” he read out loud from the paper he pulled out. “Tonight, there will be a dumping, and one match will be leaving the villa. Who leaves will be up to you. Each match must vote for the pair they believe to be least compatible.”
He set the letter down.
“Well, that’s a bit of a damper on the day, isn’t it?” I said, trying to return to the lightheartedness we had basked in only moments before.
It was no use. The weight of the letter, of what we had to do and the possibility of being sent home, hung in the air. It was an unwelcome reminder that no matter how “free” we had been today, reality television waited for no one, and the show had to go on.
Behind camera, Ben and Harry gestured for us to talk about the letter, pointing at it and then making talking motions with their hands.
They looked ridiculous, and if the letter hadn’t said what it did, I would have laughed at their current producing style.
As it was, I wasn’t feeling quite so cheerful anymore.
Callum and I played our parts, discussing the merits of each pair, their strengths and weaknesses. It felt wrong—and a bit icky—to be talking like this about the people I had come to love like family. Finally, after about ten minutes, Harry called “Cut” and let us know it was a wrap on our date.
“You’ll just need to decide who you’re voting for by the time we get back to the villa,” he told us.
We were quiet as the crew buzzed around us, wrapping up cables and wires and breaking down the location even as the boat was still out at sea. By the time we docked, disembarked, and loaded into a waiting sprinter van, Callum and I had said only a handful of words.
Sitting in the idling van, we were alone for a moment as Ben was dispatching orders to a few PAs at the dock. I was glad for the solitude so we could discuss our vote, just us two. It didn’t feel right to debate such a big decision in front of others.
“What are we going to do?” Callum asked me.
“Well, we're not voting for Chiara. Or Ella.”
“Duh,” he said, trying to lift my mood. “Hey, it’ll be okay,” he said, squeezing my knee. I was thrilled when he left his hand resting there.
“It’s so close to the end. This is going to suck no matter what.”
We were quiet for a moment. It was a bit of a madhouse outside of the van, with crew members running around, loading up trucks with equipment, the buzzy feeling of finishing a day’s shoot in the air.
But inside, next to Callum, it was calm and peaceful.
I could still feel the warmth of the sun on me, and it, coupled with Callum’s soft touch on my knee, calmed the storm that threatened to overtake my mind at having to make this decision.
“So,” Callum eventually said after a few minutes, “who’s it gonna be?”