by Sandy Barker
‘She’s a beauty, isn’t she?’
Jack.
If I’m honest with myself, I’d hoped he’d come find me and a smile alights on my face as I turn towards him. ‘The yacht?’ I ask.
‘Sydney,’ he replies. ‘The yacht’s beautiful too, but I meant the city.’
I look back at the passing view. ‘It is. But it’s not all like this, is it?’
He chuckles softly. ‘No, in some parts, it’s like anywhere else, but still … You know, every time I fly in―especially from overseas―there’s this real sense of homecoming, like it’s awaiting my return so it can welcome me home.’
I look at him again and he seems wistful. ‘Is London like that for you?’ he asks, meeting my gaze.
‘The city itself, you mean?’ He nods. ‘A little. I’ve been nostalgic for it at times since I’ve been here, but not in the way you describe. I mean, there’s my mum’s house―that’s home to me―but London is just … it’s just a city where I happen to live. But I haven’t really been away that many times―just holidays, really, during the summer. It must be different when you travel a lot for work, then get to come home.’
‘Yeah, maybe that’s the difference. Hotel rooms lose their lustre when you’re staying in them for long stints. You just want to be home.’
‘Where is home for you?’
‘Where do I live?’
I nod.
‘Not far―Bronte. It’s about five Ks that way,’ he says, his arm extending over the rise of the hill in front of us.
‘And you like it there?’
‘Yeah, for sure. Me and Harry share a flat. It’s in an older building―early last century―but it’s been renovated so the kitchen and the bathroom are decent. High ceilings. Lotsa light. It’s nice. And if you stand on your tiptoes, you can see the water from our balcony. “Water glimpses” they call it.’ We share a smile.
‘It sounds lovely.’
‘Yeah, it’s all right,’ he says, his mouth spreading to a grin. ‘Harry’s super messy, though. He leaves his shit everywhere and sometimes I have to pull rank as big brother. You know, “clean up your room, baby bro,” that kinda thing.’
Now I’m grinning. ‘Do you fight over who does the washing-up?’ I ask.
‘Constantly. Nah, just kidding. I cook, he cleans up. He cooks, I clean up. Trade off, you know.’
‘Sounds fair. Are you any good? At cooking?’
‘Dunno. You’d have to ask Harry.’
‘Did I hear my name?’ When I turn around, Harry is coming downstairs from the upper deck. ‘I hope he’s not talking shit about me.’ He pretends to eye his brother suspiciously.
‘Quite the opposite,’ I say. ‘Jack says that of the two of you, you’re the best cook.’
‘Too right,’ Harry says.
‘And the most modest,’ I quip, and Jack laughs loudly at his brother’s expense.
‘Hey! How can I be expected to be modest when I’m smarter and better looking than him?’ Jack’s laugh gets louder and I can tell this is a well-practised brotherly routine. ‘Right, we need to get back at it. Abby, you should probably go join the others at the back of the boat. Jack, let’s go talk to the captain about where to drop anchor.’
We disperse and, though I’m disappointed that my time with Jack has come to an end, I’ve had a little glimpse into his life here in Sydney. I had liked Jack almost instantly when we met in London―he’s kind, he’s intelligent and thoughtful―but seeing him here in his hometown, in his element, there’s this easy-going side of him that’s emerging. And, unfortunately, it makes him even more appealing.
But I need to keep my wits about me. Almost every move I make is on camera, I have two additional personas to keep straight, and I’m here to work. Nothing about this situation is conducive to falling in love. Ironic, right?
‘There you are,’ says Becca as I round the corner and emerge onto the rear deck. I catch a slight edge in her voice, hinting at those nerves she mentioned earlier. She probably thought I was up there with Daniel the whole time, trying to win his heart. ‘I saved you a spot,’ she adds, softening her tone and indicating the sun lounger next to her.
‘Thank you,’ I say, placing my beach bag next to it. We were told to bring a swimsuit, toiletries, and makeup so they can film us swimming off the boat after lunch, then we can freshen up for the afternoon. Jack said the plan is to film us on the deck at sunset, just before six. It’s a long day―most of them are―and the expectation to be ‘camera ready’ for such extended periods is already testing my patience.
‘You’re looking very nautical today, Abby,’ says Daphne from the lounger next to Becca’s. I look over at her, then down at my outfit of navy linen shorts, a Breton top, and navy espadrilles. I can’t tell if she’s being genuine or having a laugh.
‘Er, thank you,’ I say before settling onto my lounger.
Just as I stretch out my legs and wriggle into a comfortable position, she adds, ‘You’ve taken today’s outing so literally. How very sweet.’ Her voice drips with condescension and I cannot believe I thought―even for a moment―that she was being complimentary.
I retrieve my sunglasses from my beach bag and put them on. When I turn in Daphne’s direction, I lower them and peer at her over the top. ‘How very kind of you to say so, Daphne. Though, I’d give anything to master that OTT High Street look like you have.’ I slide the glasses back into place and watch her just long enough to see her mouth drop open before I turn away. I lean back against my sun lounger and seconds later, a hand clasps mine, squeezing it quickly before letting go―solidarity from Becca.
‘Daphne, we’re setting up for your alone time with Daniel,’ calls a member of the film crew from the upper deck. Daphne pops up like a Jack-in-the-box and stalks off, her heels clacking on the deck.
‘Oh, you gave her a serve, you did,’ says Kaz who’s lounging across from us, chuckling. I shrug. ‘Nah, really. Even I could tell and I have no idea why “High Street” is so insulting.’
Elizabeth, also across from us, sits up and moves to the end of her lounger, then scans the deck for cameras. None about at the moment―a reprieve. We’re all wearing microphones but even though they’re switched on throughout filming―the frequent battery changes being a tiresome ritual I’m still not accustomed to―we’ve been assured they’ll only use the audio if there’s accompanying footage.
‘“High Street” is only really an insult to someone like Daphne,’ Elizabeth says to Kaz in hushed tones. ‘It’s saying that she shops in chain stores.’
‘Ahhh, right. Yeah, that makes sense,’ says Kaz. ‘Totally up herself, that one. We get it, love, you’re like, super rich and fancy. The way she tells it, you’d reckon she has eligible men lining up round the block.’
‘Because of her title you mean?’ asks Elizabeth.
‘Yeah. Her family must be loaded, right?’ asks Kaz. ‘Makes you wonder why she even came on this show.’
‘It does make you think,’ says Elizabeth. ‘She doesn’t seem to be here for love.’
‘Definitely not,’ says Becca. ‘You can tell the ones who are.’ She looks at the three of us. ‘Like us.’
Elizabeth nods solemnly. ‘Although, I’m not sure Daniel would want to be with someone like me.’
‘Why do you say that, Lizzie?’ asks Kaz.
I have two thoughts at once―Elizabeth is definitely not a ‘Lizzie’ and, as I’ve previously contemplated, I agree with her about Daniel. Elizabeth is kind-hearted―a truly lovely person―but I can’t imagine Daniel valuing that trait above status, or beauty, or wit.
‘It’s just … well, you have so much personality, Kaz. You’re vivacious and full of life …’
‘Aww, thanks,’ Kaz replies, beaming.
‘And, Becca, you’re beautiful and brilliant …’ I glance at Becca who presses her lips together rather than graciously accepting the compliment. ‘And you’re so bold, Abby. You always say what the rest of us are thinking.’
I hadn�
��t realised I’ve been doing that―or rather, that Doe Abby has. It’s no doubt a by-product of not caring one iota if Daniel wants me or not. I’m here to do a job, and that’s it. ‘And, you’re looking out for us,’ adds Elizabeth. ‘Well, those of us who are less … uh …’
‘Less bitchy? That the word you’re looking for, Lizzie?’ asks Kaz.
That brings a small smile to Elizabeth’s face and she shrugs. ‘I suppose so. I wouldn’t want to put that label on anyone, though.’
‘And that right there is exactly why you have as much a chance with Daniel as anyone,’ I say, matter-of-factly. ‘You are genuine and kind and lovely. He’d be lucky to have you,’ I say. ‘Very,’ I mutter to myself.
She seems to accept that and, nodding shyly, returns to her reclined position and goes back to her book. From the title and the cover, it’s a gruesome crime thriller and it’s a hint that there is more to this sweet, softly spoken woman than meets the eye.
Kaz throws an arm over her eyes. ‘I’m gonna have a snooze, girls. Wake me if I start to go pink,’ she says.
‘That was nice of you,’ says Becca quietly. I look over at her.
‘Just telling the truth. Elizabeth is lovely.’
‘Yeah, but these girls are our competition. We’re in competition too.’
‘You really like him, don’t you?’ I ask.
‘Yes, I do. He’s so charming, you know. There’s this confidence about him that’s …’ I resist the urge to complete her thought with ‘incredibly arrogant’. ‘Aussie guys, they’re different. Most of the guys I’ve dated, they’re super laidback, not a care in the world, the “loveable larrikin” type―which is nice for a laugh, but it wears thin when you realise that they expect you to do all the work in the relationship.’
‘Right. That sounds―’
‘It’s exhausting, is what it is,’ she says, cutting me off.
‘I can only imagine,’ I reply, having little frame of reference. But if I ever end up in a proper relationship―sorry, when I do―I want it to be a partnership. I want to be with someone I can lean on and support, someone who thinks about me and my needs as much as they let me look after them and theirs. I’d hate being the one ‘doing all the work’.
‘You know, my girlfriends think I’m stupid for coming on the show. They’re all on dating apps. “Come on, Becca, it’s that not hard; just swipe right.” But besides my best friend, Julie―her partner is one of the very few good ones out there―most of my friends end up dating dickheads and losers. And, yeah, there are some guys at uni that seem nice, but they’re, like, super shy, and if I try to talk to them or hang out, they run a mile in the other direction, like they’re afraid of me or something.’
‘They probably are,’ I interject, ‘intimidated, I mean.’
‘Or maybe they just want to keep to themselves and I’m bothering them,’ she concludes glumly.
‘I’m sure that’s not it, Becca.’ How is she so insecure? I’d love to delve into this further but there’s a camera pointed at us now and I’m not sure she’s realised. She takes a deep breath and sighs it out, then starts a little as she notices the camera. When her eyes meet mine, they ask, ‘How much have I revealed?’
‘So,’ I say, feeding her the next line, ‘you’re looking for someone who is confident, someone who can hold their own with you, a true partner.’
‘That’s right,’ she says, composing herself, ‘and Daniel, he’s so confident in who he is. I find that really attractive.’
I nod, pretending to agree and in my periphery, the camera operator give us a thumbs up―he’s got what he needs. He then swings the camera onto Elizabeth and Kaz, who’s snoring softly. God, I hope Harry and Jack don’t feel the need to put that in the show.
‘Thank you―again,’ says Becca reaching for my hand again and giving it a squeeze.
‘Really, it’s nothing.’
‘It’s not nothing to me. I know we’re in competition, but I’d like to think of us as friends. Is that weird?’
‘No, not at all. Friends,’ I say, and we share a smile.
‘It’s weird, don’t you think?’
‘What is?’ I roll on my side and face Becca who’s propped up in her bed, an abandoned book in her lap.
‘This. All of it. Sometimes it hits me that I’m in this house, on this show, like I’m really in it now, and I get this weird sense of claustrophobia. Do you get that?’
YES. All the bloody time! And this is Stag Manor and not a steamy jungle teeming with creepy crawlies and deadly animals like in I’m Super Famous, I Want Out. Aside: Why would anyone sign up for that show?
‘It is odd,’ I say, schooling my tone so this sounds like a normal conversation. Becca doesn’t need to know that I’m constantly on the brink of blowing this ruse to kingdom come. Although, every day it gets a little easier not to obliterate my career with a carelessly chosen word. Perhaps, by the time I leave the Manor, I may actually be ready for this assignment.
‘I keep thinking about my girlfriends,’ she says her face fixed in a frown.
‘What about them?’ I prod.
‘Do you think I was stupid to sign up for this? I mean, I know you did too and we all have our reasons for being here but …’ She trails off and I’m again struck by how little esteem Becca seems to have for herself―and I should know. It’s like gazing into a mirror. But I’m not me right now.
‘You came here with the hope of finding someone who’s a good match, someone who sees you as you are, right?’ I don’t mention the absurdity of pinning her hopes on Daniel, as he seems fixated on her appearance, nor that she doesn’t seem to understand her own value.
‘Glass houses, Abby. Lisa would say the same about you,’ I remind myself. Shoving aside my own (dire) need for introspection, I say, ‘Then that’s as good a reason as any. Look, these days there are a million ways to meet someone.’ Such as being rescued from a murderous lift. ‘And think of the success stories that have come out of this show―several couples are still together in the UK―and here in Australia.’ ‘And even more couples haven’t lasted,’ I think but don’t say.
‘Mmm, true,’ she says. ‘So, why did you decide to come on the show, Abby? You’ve never said.’
I remember the conversations I had with Lisa leading up to this assignment, her convincing me to focus on the positives―an entirely new wardrobe, a free trip to Sydney, keeping my job at Feed Your Mind, and most importantly, writing my exposé―my breakout piece―and kickstarting my (hugely successful) career as an investigative journalist.
And of course, there’s Jack and the chance to get to know the gorgeous, quick-witted, affable Australian―as a friend, yes, but perhaps as something more …
I may be here on assignment, but I still have an answer to Becca’s question. ‘Hope,’ I say simply.
Chapter Ten
‘Abby, will you wear this pin?’ says Daniel. He’s far too close and wearing more cologne than usual, but I smile up at him and say, ‘Of course,’ as though it’s perfectly natural to be standing on a beach in a cocktail dress and heels. Speaking of, I shift my weight onto my toes to keep from sinking into the sand as Daniel takes a small metallic pin shaped like antlers and slides it onto the neckline of my dress. I give myself a mental brownie point for not flinching as the pin pricks my chest, then smile at Daniel and take my place in the row of Does who have all been ‘pinned’.
Gordo steps forward and with the solemnity of a funeral director, says his line. ‘Merrin, I’m very sorry to say that you haven’t received a pin and, therefore, it’s time for you to leave Stag Manor.’
Merrin looks more relieved than a dumped Doe should, and I imagine she’s looking forward to getting back to Tasmania and her five ‘fur babies’ as she calls her cats. She gives the remaining Does hugs goodbye―something barely tolerated by Daphne, Tara, and Kylie―and waves cheerily as she tromps up the beach, her gown bunched in one hand to make the going easier.
‘And that’s a wrap, everyone,’ ca
lls Harry.
‘Oh, thank bleedin’ ’ell for that!’ says Wonder Villain Tara as she whips off her heels, digs her microphone and battery pack out of her dress, shoving them into Carlie’s hands, and without so much as a ‘goodnight’, departs the waterside scene.
‘Goodnight, ladies,’ says Daniel. He smiles and waves―I’m now convinced he thinks he’s Prince William―then crosses the sand and strides up the path to the Manor. His town car will be waiting out front to take him to the Stag’s apartment, not far from here in Rose Bay.
I slip off my shoes and pick them up to tip out the sand, then scrunch my toes into the tiny granules. Heaven. Post-filming duties have now become routine and we adeptly ‘de-Doe’ while the crew packs up cables, lights, cameras, and sound equipment. Once free from wires and battery packs, we assemble in a loose knot of four.
‘We doing the usual?’ asks Kaz, who also has her shoes in hand.
‘I am,’ I say. For us, ‘the usual’ is our post-Pin Ritual gathering on the patio overlooking the water. As the other Does scurry back inside, likely to get out of their uncomfortable attire and get ready for bed, Kaz, Elizabeth, Becca, and I take our time meandering up to ‘our spot’.
‘I’ll grab us some bubbly,’ says Kaz, disappearing inside.
‘Looks like someone’s trying to get your attention, Abby,’ Becca whispers to me.
‘Sorry?’ I follow her line of sight to Jack, who’s standing half in the shadows and looking our way. We’re not supposed to be meeting up tonight, so I wait for some sort of signal that something urgent has come up. A moment passes. No signal―just rumpled handsomeness and a friendly wave.
‘Goodnight,’ he calls in our direction.
‘Goodnight,’ we say in unison as he disappears around the side of the Manor towards the annex.