The Shelf

by Helly Acton

  ‘Jamie, I feel like I’m in a prison – are you locking me up?’ She laughs, in an attempt to disguise her growing unease.

  The door slams shut behind her, echoing through the air.

  ‘Jamie?’

  ‘I’m here.’

  She feels his breath on her cheek as he gently unties her blindfold. And, as he slowly removes it, he gives her a kiss on the forehead and takes both of her hands in his. The light comes flooding in and she sees his eyes staring deeply into hers.

  Nervous, she looks up and sees a stark white ceiling with strip lights. She doesn’t know where she is or why this place means anything. Turning her head, she sees a huge open-plan living area painted a thousand shades of pink, with a pink velvet sofa and a dining room table big enough for twelve. A surprise party, staycation and proposal all rolled into one isn’t Jamie’s style at all.

  A mechanical whir sounds from a corner of the ceiling. She looks up and sees a small camera with a red light pointed in her direction.

  ‘Jamie, where are we?’ she says, still trying to smile. ‘Why are you filming us? What is this place?’

  He takes her face in his hands and leans in to whisper in her ear. ‘Goodbye, Piglet. Good luck.’

  With that, he turns and walks out of a large steel door at the end of a corridor. After it slams shut, Amy hears an ice-cold voice ring through the air.

  ‘Hello, Amy. You’ve been left on The Shelf.’

  WEEK ONE

  Three

  Amy spins around wide-eyed, but there’s no one there. It’s just the ceiling camera, which is still pointing at her. With her eyes locked on the lens, she takes a few steps to the left. It whirs as it follows her, its red light flashing.

  ‘Jamie?’ she says slowly through a locked smile. ‘What’s the shelf? Where are we?’

  She walks over to the door Jamie left through and takes the handle. Trying her best to appear calm, she pushes and pulls, but it’s locked tight. Next to the door are two large buttons, which read STAY and GO. She presses GO, gently at first, then harder and faster with each try until she breaks a nail. Yelping with pain and squinting at the damage, Amy feels a wave of fear flow through her stomach and she starts pounding loudly on the steel with a tightly closed fist.

  ‘Jamie?’ she shouts through the door.

  The sound of her banging rings through the air until it’s cut off by another whir, this time much closer. Amy stops her fist in mid-air and draws her eyes upward to see a second camera above the door. She lowers her head and her short breaths mist up the metal in front of her.

  ‘Jamie, please,’ she says quietly. ‘This isn’t funny.’

  Like second nature, she reaches into her back pocket to locate her phone. It’s empty. She forgot in the panic that he took it from her. Why, though?

  Amy turns her back to the door and shields her face from the voyeurs above, studying her surroundings through her fingers. The corridor in front of her has bright white walls and pink vinyl floors ending in wide steps. On the left is the living room and on the right is the dining room. Next to that is a large white marble kitchen area complete with an island and stools. The surfaces are bare. As she walks away from the steel door, she feels a lump forming in her throat. This is the worst proposal she could ever have imagined.

  Amy peers around the corner into the living room before turning her eyes to the corridor camera. She keeps watching the lens as she quickly darts left and then jumps right, before running into the living room and ducking behind the sofa. Leaning her head against the velvet, she closes her eyes and lets out a huge sigh. This must be a surprise party, she thinks. I just need to pull myself together and be patient.

  Whir. Beep.

  Amy opens one eye and finds her face a few inches away from a camera on wheels. This one’s attached to a long neck spouting out of what looks like a Roomba vacuum.

  Krrrrr … click.

  Has it just taken a picture of her?

  ‘Jamie! Stop it!’ she shouts, as she shoves it away with her foot.

  Amy stands up, dusts herself off and walks around the U-shaped sofa, her nails scratching the pink velvet as she does. She slumps onto the gold and silver cushions and stares at the cinema-size TV screen, which takes up half the wall. In front of her is a glass coffee table, with no remote and no instructions as to what she’s supposed to do next. She stares at the TV, hoping it will turn on any second to show her family and friends shouting ‘Surprise!’ Perhaps there’s been a technical hitch, or someone’s late to the reveal.

  ‘If this is a surprise party, can you hurry up and surprise me, please,’ she says to anyone who might be watching.

  After five minutes, there’s still no reveal. Amy gets up and walks into a room on the other side. It’s a dormitory with eight single beds, a wall made of mirrors and another ceiling camera at one end. When it spots her it starts blinking green.

  ‘Bit antisocial, Jamie,’ she says loudly. ‘Who wants to sleep in a single bed? While being filmed?’

  She wanders between the beds, hunting for any clues. Either Jamie’s flash mob has gone wrong, he’s made a terrible mistake with a hotel booking or he’s bought this place for her, him and their six future children.

  Whir. Beep.

  The noise is beginning to grate.

  She takes a seat on the end of a bed, throws herself back on the mattress and stares at the ceiling. Suddenly, it dawns on her and she sits back up. She knows what this is!

  Leaping up, she runs under the camera, jumping up and down and clapping her fingers together like a seal.

  ‘I’ve worked it out! It’s that fitness boot camp you were talking about last year!’ she shouts. ‘You didn’t have to blindfold me, I would have come if you’d just asked – I’m not that bad.’ She laughs, knowing full well she would have gone straight to the Krispy Kreme counter at Fulham Broadway, just like she did after his gym gift.

  ‘Amy, please go to the Chat Room.’

  Robot voice is back.

  Amy hurries through to the living room, pausing briefly in front of three posters she didn’t notice before.

  IT’S NEVER TOO LATE

  TO BE A SIZE 8!

  ARE YOU SELFIE-READY?

  SMILE BRIGHT, WITH RIGHT WHITE

  BRING BACK YOUR BEAUTY

  WITH BULL SEMEN!

  Why didn’t she think about the boot camp earlier? It all makes sense now. That’s why she didn’t need a jacket.

  There are two doors off the dining room. One is labelled the Chat Room; the other, the Therapy Room. She grabs the Chat Room handle and pushes the heavy door open with all her weight. It’s dark inside, but the light streaming in from the dining room reveals one enormous single armchair that looks like a throne. She fumbles around for a light switch, finds nothing and steps forward, letting go of the door. It slams shut, leaving her alone in the pitch black. Inching further with her arms outstretched, she finds the armchair and quickly sits down, tapping her right leg as she nervously waits for her big boot camp surprise. Now that she knows what this is, she’s finding the whole experience quite exciting. Maybe even fun. Yes, she’s disappointed there will be no proposal with pina coladas on a paradise beach. Yes, she’s embarrassed to admit to Sarah that she was wrong. Again. But whatever this is, Jamie has gone to a lot of effort. She can’t deny that. When Jamie’s determined, nothing stops him.

  Whir. Beep.

  A small green dot starts to flash in front of her and just as she leans forward to look closer, an explosion of light blinds her. She bends into her lap to shield her eyes. After a few seconds, she slowly sits up to face a screen that’s appeared in front of her. Her heart pounding, she rubs her eyes and blinks.

  She breathes out. It’s a photo of her and Jamie, taken at a wedding they went to in Italy last year. It’s her favourite – not just because the downward angle hides her chins, but because they look so happy together. A video begins and soft violin music fills the air. The photo switches to another one of them taken in Devon,
their first trip away together. Then another at the Edinburgh Festival. Then another in Norfolk. The lump in Amy’s throat returns, but she laughs it off when she sees him photobombing her on a gondola in Venice.

  SCREECH!

  Amy jumps out of the seat and slams her hands against her ears as a nails-on-chalkboard noise erupts from the TV. The photo rips in half and big writing fills the screen. With her fingers still in her ears, she reads.

  AMY WRIGHT!

  You’ve been left …

  ON THE SHELF

  ‘Hello?’ she says quietly.

  The TV flickers. And then, there he is. He’s sitting on an identical armchair, wearing the same clothes that he left her in.

  ‘Is it ready?’ Jamie asks someone behind the camera. ‘Can I talk? Can she see me?’

  ‘Jamie?’ She starts waving at the screen, wondering if he can see her.

  He looks into the camera. There are beads of sweat on his forehead and he starts rubbing his nose and coughing as if he’s preparing to make a speech.

  ‘JAMIE?’ she shouts.

  ‘Amy. I can’t see you. I can’t hear you. But that’s going to make this easier for both of us. Well, mainly me, I suppose.’ He laughs awkwardly and looks at the person behind the camera.

  ‘Make what easier? Hello? Jamie?’ Amy stands up and moves closer to the screen.

  Jamie shifts in his chair, looks down at the floor and sweeps his hair back before fixing his eyes on the camera.

  ‘Amy. Piglet. You must be wondering what’s going on.’

  ‘No shit, Jamie,’ she whispers.

  ‘Amy, last month I had an epiphany.’

  Oh my God, he is going to propose! ‘Yes, I’ll marry you, Jamie! Stop sounding so nervous! Please, just get me the hell out of here.’

  ‘I’ve been trying to hide how I feel about you, but I just can’t anymore.’

  ‘I love you too!’ Amy shouts and throws her hands in the air.

  ‘We’re over.’ Jamie stares blankly at the camera, through the lens and at her.

  That wasn’t what she was expecting. In fact, it couldn’t be further from what she was expecting. Amy’s hands are still in the air. Her jaw is somewhere on the ground.

  ‘What?’ Amy whispers, suddenly feeling faint.

  ‘I don’t want to get married.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ Her breath is shaky.

  ‘And I don’t want kids.’

  Amy tries to gulp for air as she falls onto the chair and puts her fingers back in her ears. She jumps up and grabs the door handle, but it’s locked.

  ‘Let me out! I want to get out of here. Jamie, we need to talk!’

  ‘I want to make this as short and painless for you as possible, so this is me ripping the plaster off,’ he carries on coldly.

  ‘How could you do this to me?’ she cries, as she spins around, trying to find an escape route.

  ‘And you probably want to know where you are.’

  Amy collapses back onto the chair, puffing, and looks up at the screen. How could he just destroy her whole future like that, in seconds?

  ‘You’re on the set of a new TV show called The Shelf. And we are both being watched by a studio audience in west London.’

  The screen flickers to show a huge crowd of people standing in a room, who shout and wave at the cameras when they see they’re on screen.

  ‘What. The. Fuck,’ Amy whispers.

  ‘I saw an ad for the show in LAD and I thought we’d be the perfect couple for it. At a crossroads in our relationship – you thought we were going one way, I knew we were going the other.’

  ‘What crossroads? How could you do this to me in front of hundreds of people? You are such a tosser!’ She knew he could be cruel, but she never thought he would go this far. She folds herself into her lap, hiding her face from the cameras. She needs to get out of here.

  ‘Before you say no, Amy, and I’m sure that’s what you’re thinking, please just think about what this could do for us. Well, as individuals, I mean. You could get writing offers and I could get Headplace exposure. Plus, if you play your cards right on the show, you could win a million quid. A million quid, Piglet! That’s life-changing.’

  Amy moves closer to the TV screen to stare deep into his eyes. Is this really happening?

  ‘Amy, I’m actually doing you a huge favour. You’ll probably thank me later. One, we don’t have to have a long drawn-out break-up, which neither of us would want. Two, we get publicity for our projects. And three, instant millionaire! Just remember the good times when you win, Ames. You know I’ve always wanted a Rangie.’

  Then he laughs.

  He actually bloody laughs.

  ‘Fuck you, Jamie!’

  ‘Goodbye, Piglet, good luck and go get ’em.’

  Jamie gives her a wink, a grin and a thumbs up, and then the screen turns black, leaving Amy alone in the dark. She sniffs loudly and wipes under her eyes and nose with her sleeve. Then she remembers she’s being watched and hides her face in her hands.

  She can’t believe she didn’t see this coming. Well, not this. How could anyone anticipate being dumped on TV? Do her parents know where she is? Can she leave now, or has she been abducted? Whatever this is, it can’t be legal.

  A hidden door next to the TV bursts open and light pours into the Chat Room. Amy squints and sees the silhouette of a man in the frame.

  ‘Jamie?’ she whispers, desperately hoping this has all been a terrible practical joke.

  The silhouette walks towards her and holds out a hand.

  Four

  The silhouette switches on a light and Amy comes face to face with her mystery rescuer. He’s tall and blond with a bushy beard, scruffy overgrown hair, thick-rimmed glasses and soft eyes.

  He is not Jamie.

  ‘Hello Amy, I’m Sam. Executive producer on The Shelf.’

  ‘Where’s Jamie?’

  From behind Sam, a skinny young man with a ponytail slides past them. She turns around and sees the back of the TV screen with wires falling out, a camera in the corner of the room and the armchair. Mr Ponytail starts to switch ribbon cables around. She feels invisible.

  ‘Jamie’s gone, Amy. I’m sorry.’ Sam puts one hand on her arm and quickly removes it when she scowls at him.

  ‘Where’s my phone?’ she growls.

  ‘Look, I know you’re feeling confused right now, but I’m here to help clear things up. It’s really not as bad as it seems. You might even feel excited by the time everything’s revealed. This is big. You’re going to be a star. Come with me and we’ll grab a cup of tea. We have to be quick – the next contestant is on her way and Jack here needs to finish prepping.’

  Amy turns behind her to look at Jack. He’s kneeling on the floor, staring at her.

  She hates them both.

  Sam leads Amy out of the Chat Room and into a giant warehouse, where a swarm of people are running to and fro wearing walkie-talkies. Cameras are being wheeled around, and at one end of the vast room she sees a sign for STUDIO AUDIENCE. As she follows Sam closely across the room, she dodges beeping equipment and rattling trolleys.

  ‘Sam, the studio audience are expecting some action in thirty, you need to hurry up,’ says a brusque woman as she speeds past, without a glance in Amy’s direction.

  They make it to the other side and enter a small room. There’s a sofa and a coffee table with paperwork on it, and a man in a pinstripe suit is standing on the far side of the room, facing away from them.

  ‘This is Harry. He does the legal stuff.’

  ‘How do you do?’ he says, turning around stiffly and holding his hand out. When she ignores it, he switches it to a signal for her to sit.

  ‘I’m here to answer any legal questions you might have about the show.’

  Amy glances down at the paperwork and sees her name on both documents. How? When? Of course she doesn’t have any legal questions – she has no idea where she is or what she’s doing. She’d struggle with her name, she’s so confused.
>
  Sam mutters into his walkie-talkie for someone called Polly to bring tea, as Amy sits down.

  ‘Hey, sugar?’ he asks, and for a horrible second, she thinks that’s what he’s calling her.

  ‘No.’

  ‘No sugar, Polly, cheers.’

  Sam drops into the seat next to her and spreads his legs. Harry wipes his chair with a handkerchief before sitting down and smiling at her like this is the most normal thing in the world.

  ‘Amy,’ says Sam, ‘as Jamie mentioned in his break-up video, he’s nominated you to be on a new reality show called The Shelf, which is about to launch on Real TV. Right now, you’re sitting behind a studio in west London.’

  Amy buries her head in her knees when she hears Sam say ‘break-up’. She feels sick. And very alone.

  A knock on the door interrupts them. Sam stands up to open it and takes a paper cup of tea from a young woman, who gawps at Amy. She doesn’t move as Sam closes the door in her face and continues talking to Amy at the speed of light.

  ‘I know you’re feeling a bit down in the dumps right now – sorry, horrible turn of phrase – but please, just hear us out. You’re our very first show contestant. Ever! And The Shelf is going to be bigger than Bake Off by a million. You aren’t just going to be famous in the UK, Amy – you’re going to be famous around the world. We’re in talks to run this in the States, Australia and South Africa. You’re going—’

  ‘Wait, slow down.’ Amy cuts him off and puts her hand up to her face. ‘Are you telling me I haven’t just been dumped in front of hundreds of people, but I’ve just been dumped in front of millions of people?’

  Harry the lawyer leans forward.

  ‘Amy, Amy, Amy.’ He slowly laughs and shakes his head. ‘We haven’t broadcast anything yet. We couldn’t do that without your permission. The break-up was watched by our studio audience, that’s all. There’s three hundred of them. It was a pre-recording run. Now we just need you to stay on the show, and give us the official thumbs up to broadcast what just happened by signing this paperwork.’