by Sandy Barker
* * *
First up in this carnival of horrors fun-filled and friendly competition, is the three-legged race in which Stevie is paired with Kaz, and Abby with Becca―a height mismatch of four inches. Typically, I love a good sight gag, but to Becca this is obvs no laughing matter and she (literally) drags Abby to the finish line in victory. Two points Gryffindor! Apologies, that’s two points each for Becca and Abby. (Note to self: do not mix a rather potent G&T before recapping).
* * *
The egg and spoon race sends this recapper scrambling (get it?) for the perfect egg idioms to sum up the hilarity of watching grown women carrying raw eggs on eating implements.
* * *
Abby most certainly has egg on her face, dropping hers after only five paces. Stevie appears to be walking on eggshells and will never win if she doesn’t pick up the pace. And is that Kaz’s tongue protruding from her mouth in concentration? Mais oui, it is! Not eggy in the slightest but utterly adorbs. All these efforts are in vain, however, as Becca feathers her nest (egg) with another win! Huzzah! That’s two points Abby and four points Becca.
* * *
Next up is a (ridiculous) game that has the Does scooping water from a bucket with a cup and running with it to fill a bucket on the finish line―back and forth, trying not to spill their spoils. I must have missed this activity during sports day―too busy sneaking ciggies out the back of the bike shed, most likely.
* * *
With her steady hands and speed walking, Becca looks set to win this one too―or perhaps it’s Daniel’s encouraging words from the sidelines that will lead her to victory. ‘Come on, keep your eye on your cup!’ he shouts helpfully. Two more points for Becca as she crosses the finish line with a victorious grin!
* * *
And I may not be a statistician, but with two events remaining and just four more points up for grabs, there’s only one Doe who can possibly catch up to Becca, who currently sits on six. Come on Abby! You’ve got this!
* * *
The penultimate event is a wheelbarrow race in which Abby is paired with Kaz, who assures Abby she’ll make an excellent wheelbarrow, only (shock, stun, amaze) she doesn’t and they end up in a tangled heap of limbs, both rubbing their sore arses and stifling giggles. Becca and Stevie earn two points each for the win, rocketing Becca to top of the rankings, now impossible to catch.
* * *
But why would the producers call an end to these escapades when the finale is a sack race, the pinnacle of humiliation? Even though none of the other Does can possibly pip Becca at the post, the foursome don their sacks and line up at the starting line.
* * *
Aside: Hasn’t that expression, ‘she’s so beautiful, she’d look good in a potato sack’ come to life in Sydney’s Botanic Gardens? No doubt, when women across Britain see Becca and Stevie rocking those sacks, hessian will become the next big thing! Topshop, start stocking up now!
* * *
Gordo calls, ‘Ready, steady, and go!’ and as if it weren’t a foregone conclusion, Daniel (again being helpful) shouts encouragement from the sidelines.
* * *
‘Faster, faster!’
* * *
‘You can do it!’
* * *
‘Oh, no, you clumsy things! Up you get.’ Ouch, Danny Boy―not sure how encouraging that is. Kaz takes it in stride, however.
* * *
And the surprising, ‘Come on, Abby!’
* * *
As Becca leaps over the finish line and drops her sack to the ground, Daniel claps politely. Oh dear―hardly the reaction of a man who’s madly in love and, therefore, thrilled with the outcome. What are you playing at, Staggy?
* * *
Like the rest of us, the Does pretend to wait on tenterhooks while Gordo tallies the points and, after making quite a show of counting (all the way) to ten, he declares Becca the winner. Becca bounces on her toes and claps excitedly. ‘Well done, everyone,’ she says magnanimously. Meanwhile, Daniel is staring longingly at Abby.
Hmm. Not sure I can leave in the part about Daniel being disappointed when Becca won. But he was. While Stevie, Kaz, and I congratulated Becca for her win, as though we hadn’t collectively thrown the competition, Daniel was standing off to the side pouting.
The crew buzzed about setting up the next shot―Gordo explaining the date, a private lunch under a marquee in another part of the gardens―and the relief I’d felt at never having to be alone with Daniel again turned to dread the second he sidled up to me.
‘May I have a word, Abby?’ he said. I sent a panicked look to Kaz who shrugged at me.
‘Er, yes, all right.’
Daniel grasped my elbow and led me out of earshot of the others. He stopped and turned towards me, his expression pinched. ‘I had hoped that you’d win, Abby, but it seems your ineptness on a horse extends to other sporting endeavours.’
Perhaps he thought he was being charming, that I would ignore the jibe and be flattered that he’d hoped I would win. And what of that? Why, when he clearly had Becca at his beck and call (so to speak), would he want me?
My budding empathy for him withered and died right there in that moment.
‘Sorry to disappoint you, Daniel,’ I replied tartly, nowhere in the vicinity of ‘sorry’ but my performance must have been bang on as he didn’t seem to detect my sarcasm.
‘It is disappointing. I wanted to talk to you this afternoon―properly.’ My stomach clenched.
‘About?’
‘The animal sanctuary,’ he said earnestly. ‘Why didn’t you mention it before? Why did I have to hear about your lifelong dream from your mother?’ he whined.
‘Because it isn’t my lifelong dream. It’s a fabrication, just like this whole charade. I have no interest in you at all and, furthermore, we’ve had a sum total of one hour’s conversation in the past two months, so when exactly did you expect me to tell you about my lifelong dream, even if it were real?’
In my head, it was the perfect response―ripe with disdain. In reality, or the approximation of it, I said, ‘I’m sorry, Daniel. I thought you might think it was frivolous, a pipe dream.’
‘Not at all. It’s so vital to give back, Abby …’ It was extremely difficult not to laugh while being lectured on the importance of altruism by such a self-serving a man, but I managed it―just. ‘And I’ve been seeking a cause―an important one―to throw my weight behind. It’s an expectation of my father’s, you see, and this could be perfect. Imagine what you and I could achieve with my―’
He stopped himself short and I just knew he was about to say ‘money’ before realising how crass that would sound. ‘My means and my connections, as well as your nous and experience in the public service.’
It was horrifying to realise how much thought he’d given it.
‘And I love’ ―my stomach tied itself into a knot at the L-word― ‘that you never let me get away with anything. You’d keep me in check, you would―hold me accountable.’
I was beyond relieved that he hadn’t declared his love for me, but his point was ridiculous. If only he knew how much I’ve let slide since we started filming, how many horrid and patronising things he’s said that I haven’t called him up on―like referring to my sporting prowess as ‘inept’. I mean it is, but that’s beside the point.
‘What are you saying, Daniel?’ I asked, my insides churning.
‘I’m saying …’ He looked behind him at the others and my gaze followed, just in time to see Harry striding towards us. Daniel turned back to me. ‘I think it should be you, Abby,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Being with you would make me a better man.’
My stomach churns again now as I recall Daniel’s declaration.
The good news: Daniel wants to cease being a massive twat.
The horrendously bad (i.e. terrible, unthinkable, and heinous) news: He thinks I’m the key to making that happen.
‘Become a better man with someone else!’ my mind had shouted.
‘Right, of course. Uh, just one more moment,’ said Daniel.
My eyes pleaded with Harry to rescue me, but he was too busy glaring at Daniel to notice. He huffed in frustration. ‘Okay, one minute,’ he said, before jogging back to the others. Then Becca caught my eye and frowned. It was Sod’s Law that this scene played out in front of her and I had to tear my eyes away from her to focus on Daniel.
‘So, what do you think?’ he asked, his expression hopeful.
‘Er … I just … It’s not really the place, is it? Here in front of everyone.’
He pursed his lips. ‘Good point. Perhaps I can persuade Jack and Harry to allow us a brief tête-à-tête before the Pin Ritual tomorrow night. Against the rules, I know, but’ ―he smiled at me and an awful shiver crawled up my spine― ‘worth asking, don’t you think?’
‘Oh, absolutely.’ ‘NOT. Absolutely not!’ I’d thought.
‘Daniel!’ bellowed Harry.
‘Coming,’ Daniel called back. To me he said, ‘Until then, Abby,’ with an intensity usually reserved for period dramas. Then he skittered off to fulfill his Staggerly duties.
Now in my hidey hole, sitting on an uncomfortable folding chair and staring at the words on the screen, their meaning finally sinks in. Daniel is going to choose me. Bollocks. I need to talk to Harry and Jack.
And, Cadmus, there had better be a Pulitzer at the other end of this!
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘You have to do something,’ I say, prowling around the Control Room.
‘What do you suggest?’ asks Harry.
‘Are you being sarcastic?’ I snarl. Harry and I have never really exchanged harsh words before and I’m hoping we won’t now.
He holds up his palms in surrender. ‘Nope, just wondering what ideas you’ve got.’
‘All right, then. But I don’t have any, which is why I’ve come to you. Daniel absolutely cannot choose me.’
‘She’s right,’ Jack says to his brother.
‘Yeah, for sure, but how? This isn’t like earlier in the season when we could, you know, suggest he might want to oust someone …’
‘Or keep them,’ says Jack, almost to himself.
‘Who did you have to convince him to keep?’ I ask. They exchange a look, one that says, ‘Do we tell her?’ ‘Oh, so me then.’ Jack nods. ‘Ironic, really.’
‘Mmm,’ he replies.
‘What if …’ I say, attempting to kickstart my problem-solving abilities but they remain stubbornly dormant.
‘Hey,’ says Jack, ‘what if we do give you and Daniel a chance to talk, like he’s asked, and you use the opportunity to turn him against you?’
‘How about no?’
‘Why?’
‘Well, for starters, I’ve already celebrated the end of Abby–Daniel alone time and I can’t think of anything worse. And besides, it wouldn’t work. The more I push him away, the more desirable I become to him. Indifferent Abby, intolerant Abby, annoyed Abby―like catnip to that masochistic twat.’
Harry laughs heartily. ‘I love how you put things, Abby. Thank god you’re not writing about us. Wait, you’re not, are you?’
I envision my neglected exposé, which is little more than a handful of scribbles and some unusable recaps. The miniscule amount of content there is about the brothers is favourable, so Harry’s question is a reminder that I’m failing twice at the same task. My word count is paltry and my ‘heavy-hitting tell-all’ has about as much heft as a bowl of custard.
‘Er, no,’ I say.
Jack runs a hand over his forehead, lifting his floppy fringe then letting it fall back into place. ‘I suppose I could get in his ear, talk up Becca again. Or even Stevie.’
‘Not Stevie,’ says Harry. ‘She won’t have a bar of him. He picks her, we’re gonna get a “no, thanks” in the finale.’
My eyes light up. ‘That’s it! Simple. If Daniel chooses me, I just say no. It would be a massive twist. Viewers would go mad for that, don’t you think.’
‘Not really,’ says Jack, ‘most viewers want the “happily ever after”. You’ve seen how we’re editing the lead-up to the finale―it’s all about signposting the fairy-tale ending.’
‘Right, I see. So, if Daniel chooses me, I just have to say yes. That’s fine. No doubt I’ll grow to love him in time. And you can come visit us on our yacht.’
Harry laughs again and Jack frowns. ‘That’s not what I meant, Abby. I’ll have a word with him, like I said―try to steer him back towards Becca.’
‘Glad it’s you, bro,’ says Harry, punctuating his relief with a loud yawn. ‘Righteo, I need to catch Tim before he leaves for the day. See ya, Abby, and don’t sweat it. Jack’ll sort it for you.’ He sounds far more confident than Jack appears.
Harry closes the door behind him and I’m alone with Jack for the first time in nearly a week. I cross the room to where he’s leaning against a desk and raise a hand to his furrowed brow, sweeping aside his fringe. If only it were that easy to sweep aside this predicament.
His lips disappear between his teeth in a sad smile. ‘I bet you wish you’d said no to all this―the show, I mean.’
I shake my head. ‘No. Well, sometimes. But I did say no, remember, only to be told it wasn’t an option.’
‘I don’t like thinking about you with Daniel,’ he says quietly.
‘So you’ve said. And nor do I, so, let’s not. Let’s focus on the job to be done, and then …’ And then what? I go home to London and Jack stays here in his flat in Bronte. No, definitely don’t want to think about that. ‘Job at hand, job at hand, job at hand,’ I recite in my mind as I chew the inside of my cheek.
‘Abs, hey.’ He reaches for my hand and I let him take it. ‘I’ll figure something out before the Pin Ritual, okay?’ I nod, unconvinced, but there’s a more pressing thought demanding my attention. He looks at me curiously. ‘Something else on your mind?’
‘Yes! All the things. All the things are on my mind, Jack! You. Me. Us.’ I feel trapped by circumstance, both hopeful and despondent, leaning towards the latter. This is simply a flirtation, right? Forged in the lobby of Feed Your Mind, then over a three-pound blueberry muffin at that little café. And in an airport lounge. And a business-class cabin on an international flight. And, finally, in an airless storeroom surrounded by paper products.
We’ve gone from an adorable film-worthy meet-cute to skulking about―hardly the stuff of a romance novel. And most of the time we’re together, we’re discussing the show.
‘What are we?’ I want to ask. ‘What are we doing? What can possibly come of this? When can I see you naked? Is there any chance this is more than a fling? And, really, when can I see you naked?’
My eyes trace the contours of his face.
In addition to all this romantic turmoil are the worries about my fragile friendships with the other Does. Jack’s idea about new NDAs was immediately kiboshed by Harry, who told him (and probably rightly so) that Roberta would ‘chuck a massive wobbly’ if she ever found out. I divined from context that this would be bad, which Jack confirmed in the form of an apology. My villainous behaviour will remain unexplained to the others. Eventually, I respond to Jack’s question about having something else on my mind with a simple, ‘No.’
‘You sure?’
‘No.’ Honesty! At last! Though, this is as far as I will go. If I reveal what’s in my head, no doubt it will come out unintelligible and whiny.
He smiles, then closes the small space between us to land a soft kiss on my lips. His hands reach around me to the small of my back, pulling me closer to him as I nestle in between his legs. I drape my arms over his shoulders and all thoughts fall away as the soft kiss becomes hungrier, more fervent.
‘Ah, shit, sorry guys.’ I leap apart from Jack and pin Harry with a scowl.
Jack’s head
drops to his chest and swivels from side to side. ‘Jesus, Harry.’
‘Really sorry. Just … uh … forgot this,’ he says, crossing the room to retrieve a tablet from the editing desk. ‘You guys should get a room, you know,’ he adds cheekily before slipping out of the room.
‘Out!’ Jack bellows after him. ‘He’s right, though,’ Jack says, his voice softening and his hands pulling me close to him again. ‘We do need to get a room.’ A shiver washes over me, the good kind.
‘We do?’ I ask breathlessly.
His head tilts as the corner of his mouth quirks. ‘You know we do, Abby,’ he says, the gravelly tone of his voice doing wonders for my insides. I could get lost in that voice, those eyes, that perfect, perfect mouth, but just as I’m about to lean in for another kiss, the door opens again.
‘Sorry, again! Not looking!’ Gah!
Harry holds his hand up to his face, shielding his eyes from us, but between Jack shouting, ‘Get the hell out,’ and Harry replying, ‘I’m going, I’m going,’ while gathering a sheaf of papers, sexy time is OVER. I need to get back, anyway. With only four Does left, I can’t be absent for much longer or it will be noticed. I wave ‘goodbye’ as I slip out of the Control Room leaving Jack to figure out how to save me from that dreadful man.
In the lounge room, Becca and Stevie sit on opposite sofas, Becca stretched out the length of hers, and both reading. Becca lowers her book, one of the romcoms I brought with me. ‘Good session?’ she asks.