by Helly Acton
Jamie had made that joke early on in their relationship and Amy had laughed along. She didn’t want his friends to think she was uptight. Had he made it six months later, she wouldn’t have been so relaxed about it.
Danny snorts back. ‘Come on, Amy – he’s just teasing. It’s a sign of affection.’
‘But giving people complexes isn’t funny,’ says Lauren, staring at him. ‘It’s bullying.’
‘Well, maybe women don’t know what’s funny,’ he says under his breath. No one picks up on it.
‘Shall we move on?’ says Dr Hicks, clicking to show a picture of a man with his head in his hands at a restaurant table, an angry-looking woman sitting opposite him with her arms folded. In the background, a man is on one knee, proposing to his happy partner.
Rule #7: Stop the pressure
‘Fuck me, how many rules are there?’ Gemma sighs loudly, leaning her head back to stare at the sky. ‘Do we get a toilet pass?’
‘Just sit tight, Gemma,’ Dr Hicks responds. ‘We don’t have long now.’
‘Well.’ She sits up. ‘What if I told you that I just got my period?’
‘Ha! Nice try. We know you don’t,’ Adam says. Then his eyes go wide, like he shouldn’t have said that.
‘You what, mate?’ Lauren says, straightening up.
‘Oh my God, did Jason tell you my time of the month? What a twat!’
‘It was a tiny box on the form for the medical information we needed,’ Dr Hicks interjects.
‘Why the fuck would you need to know that?’ Jackie starts. ‘That’s my private information, that’s not legal.’
‘We just needed to know so that we could be prepared for anything.’
‘Were you lot scared of a really bad bout of PMS?’
‘Prepared for your physical needs. That’s all. Can we please get back to the challenge and forget this?’
Lauren folds her arms and sits back. ‘Unfortunately for us, nothing about being here is forgettable, mate.’
The housemates sit in silence, stewing on the news that they’re being tracked like farm animals, and Danny cracks on like it’s fair game.
‘Lots of our respondents said the problem with women is that they lay the pressure on. To provide, propose, have kids, do date nights, spend time with them, come home early, check in. The list goes on. Putting pressure on a man, particularly one with a high-pressure job, can be the nail in the coffin. Dr Hicks, anything to add?’
‘In my book Are You in a Realationship?’ Dr Hicks replies, ‘I advise limiting the amount of time spent talking about your relationship to once a month, and looking for telltale signs he’s struggling under the weight of your wants. Is he snappier than usual, or staying away from home?’
Jackie snorts. ‘Sounds like he’s having some on the side.’
‘It’s important to make your partner feel you like to know when he’s under pressure. That way you can work together to release that pressure and the strain it’s putting on your relationship,’ Dr Hicks concludes, and clicks again.
Rule #8: Chill out
A woman with tears in her eyes and mascara smears running down her cheeks appears on the screen.
‘That’s how you three are making me feel right now with this bullshit,’ Jackie mutters.
‘Jackie, if you aren’t going to take this seriously, then I suggest you leave.’ Danny looks hard at her.
She raises her eyebrows, stands up and walks to the front, before dropping her own list on the table.
‘Fuck you.’ She glares at him before turning and walking back inside the house.
‘Perfect timing, ladies.’ Danny grins. ‘Let’s talk about emotional stability. The problem with women, according to our readers, is that you’re prone to flying off the handle. Now, we know you learnt a bit about this with our lad HuJo, so I’m hoping this will just be a reminder. Don’t get your knickers in a twist over nothing. Don’t overreact! Listen to this lad’s story.’
The problem with women is that they’re fucking crazy. Simple. My GF got home from work last night and went mental because I hadn’t taken the chicken out of the freezer and the kids weren’t bathed yet. She didn’t even care that I wasn’t feeling well. Talk about an overreaction!
Amy’s always thought of herself as the calm one. Jamie could blow up at a second’s notice. Like the first time she met his friend Andy, and Jamie went wild when she touched his arm for two seconds, telling her she was giving him a signal. He ranted that it made her look easy and him look like a mug. Looking back, Amy doesn’t think she ever overreacted to anything in their relationship. If anyone was a drama queen, it was Jamie.
Dr Hicks hands out a card with the rules, which is credit-card-sized to ‘keep in their purses’, while Danny clicks to reveal a digital wheel with their names on it.
‘Ladies!’ shouts Adam. ‘Now that we’ve reached the end of the lesson, we have an amazing surprise for you. And for our viewers. Feast your eyes on our Wheel of Dates!’ He taps the laptop in front of him and there’s a beep. ‘We’ve got one lucky viewer on the line. Are you there, Diane? Hello, Diane – can you hear me?’
‘Oh my GOD!!’ Diane screams down the phone, joined by a few other screams from people standing near her. ‘Hi Danny!! Hi housemates!! I can’t believe I’m on TV. Shut up, Mum, I can’t hear!!! Hello?’
Adam smiles. ‘Yes, hello Diane and hello Diane’s mum!’
More screams.
‘Now, we’re about to spin the Wheel of Dates, and it’s up to you to tell us when to click the buzzer and stop it. Are you ready?’
‘Sorry, can you tell us what’s going on?’ Amy says, loudly. ‘What happens to us if they stop on our name?’ She looks around at the others. ‘Is this an eviction?’ she mouths.
‘OK, Diane, one … two … three … go!’ Adam clicks on the buzzer and the wheel starts spinning around.
‘Hello, is this an eviction?’ Amy shouts louder.
After a few seconds, Diane screams at him to stop. The arrow slows down until it’s clicking and comes to a stop on Amy’s name.
She looks at the rest of the housemates, who all turn to her with worried faces. Is it over? Is she leaving? She exhales loudly, her hands on her hips.
‘Thank you, Diane!’ he shouts, before hanging up on her. ‘Amy, Amy, Amy. Do we have a surprise for you!’
She feels sick.
‘Tonight, Amy’ – Adam wanders over to her with his hands in his pockets – ‘you’re cooking a special someone a Sorry Supper. A home-cooked meal to apologise for letting it go, for your lazy attitude to sex, for complaining, controlling, neglecting and pressurising. All the things you might not have realised you were doing, but I can guarantee that you were.’
‘For who? Who am I saying sorry to?’
‘Why, it’s Jamie O’Connor of course.’
WEEK THREE
Twenty
Gemma clinks a tea down on the coffee table. ‘I don’t know, Ames. What about all that money?’
‘Well, they say money doesn’t make you happy,’ adds Jackie. ‘But that’s just bollocks, isn’t it? I was poor growing up, then rich for a few years. I know what I’d rather be.’
‘If I win a million quid, I’m starting my own gym,’ Gemma mutters, then gasps. ‘I’m gonna call it Gymma!’
Amy’s had her head shoved under a pillow in the corner of the sofa for the last twenty minutes. Making Jamie a Sorry Supper to apologise for doing nothing wrong in their relationship is taking it way too far. They’re forcing her out. Ten thousand pounds is enough to get her to Asia, and there’s no chance she’s winning this thing. She’s been sniffing around the middle of The Tracker since they started, so clearly no one is talking much about her. Sonia Cole was right: she is the human equivalent of drying paint. She can’t compete with Flick or Gemma, so she might as well quit now and save herself the painful humiliation of a date with Jamie and anything else these evil puppeteers have in store for them.
She smiles, thinking about how she could b
e on her own sofa in a few hours, watching the rest of them rattle around in here without her. Maybe she could send a few messages to The Wall. Anonymously tell Jackie to take it easy on Flick. Or, not anonymously. Amy needs to be more self-assured and outspoken. She pledges to say something the next time Jackie has a dig at Flick.
On her way to see Dr Hicks, Amy stops as she passes The Tracker. She’s slid up a place. It must be the Sorry Supper everyone’s talking about. It doesn’t change her mind. She can’t cook for Jamie. She can’t apologise to him. There’s only so much she can take.
Gemma walks up behind her and squeezes her shoulder. ‘Are you sure you want to do this, Ames? We love having you here – we’re going to really miss you if you go. Besides, we’re already half-way through the show. The next two weeks will fly by!’
‘Yes, I—’ Amy starts, but is interrupted.
‘Oh my God, I’m at the top!’ Gemma cries, looking at Amy with an open smile. ‘I can’t believe it – thanks, everyone!’ She waves at the cameras. ‘Sorry, babes, you were saying?’
Gemma’s outburst brings home the reality of the situation. This is a competition, not a community. They’ve only known each other for two weeks. It might feel like they’re close, but the cold truth is that every single one of them wants to win a million pounds, no matter what they say. They might be fond of each other, but in a month’s time they’ll have scattered back to their lives from before, and will probably never speak to each other again. She doesn’t blame Gemma for the outburst – she didn’t mean it insensitively. Amy would feel the same way if she was at the top, and Gemma is an open book. That’s what Amy likes about her.
‘Ames, everyone’s behind you,’ Jackie adds, joining them. ‘On The Wall, everyone’s saying how they’ve gone too far with this Sorry Supper. I really think if you leave, you’ll regret it. If you can get through tonight, you can get through anything, and we’ll be right behind you in the house.’
‘You always regret the things you don’t do,’ adds Gemma. ‘Not the things you do do.’
Amy gives them both a hug and turns to open the Therapy Room door. Perhaps her earlier thoughts were too harsh. Maybe this is more than a competition.
‘Hello, Amy,’ Dr Hicks says, walking into the Therapy Room. ‘You’ve had a difficult few days, haven’t you? Is that why you booked this session outside of our normal hours?’
‘Yes, I suppose you could say that,’ she says, trying to remain calm. ‘This Sorry Supper you’ve organised. A bit much, isn’t it?’
‘Well, we were always going to test your strength on The Shelf, Amy. If you’re feeling knocked to the ground, let’s talk about how we can put you back on your feet.’
‘I want to leave the house.’
He stops tapping his iPad and looks up, surprised. ‘Isn’t that a little dramatic?’
‘I don’t think so. If it is, I don’t care. It’s just how I feel.’
‘Amy, you really shouldn’t make important decisions when you have a hot head and you’re feeling emotional. Consider your decision for a while longer – perhaps sleep on it before you choose what to do.’
‘I can’t sleep on it – the supper with Jamie is tonight!’ she cries. ‘And I’m sorry, but having to cook my arsehole of an ex-boyfriend an apology meal is ludicrous. I’m really not overreacting here – I think I’m reacting as any normal human being would. You’re a therapist. Surely you can see that?’
‘I’m sure you’re stronger than you think, and your response to this challenge might surprise you. Seeing Jamie like this might help you let go. Cut the cord. Forgiving someone who has hurt you frees you from all the negative emotions that can hold you back, like anger or blame.’
His words hit a nerve. She stops herself in mid-response, sighs and sits back.
If she doesn’t learn to forgive Jamie, she will always resent him. And why should she let him impact her life like that? Why should she let him have any sway over what she does or how she feels? She’s in charge of her life now. She’s already wasted two years too long worrying about his feelings towards her. Her decision to stay on the show should have nothing to do with him. Amy pictures his smug face when he hears that she’s leaving because of him. She can’t leave and let him have the satisfaction of thinking she still cares. What she really needs to do is embrace this Sorry Supper with total indifference. She needs to put mind over matter and be friendly, even if it’s just for pretend. Because Jamie cannot leave here thinking he is the one in control.
His ego is big enough already.
Twenty-One
Hattie’s panting as she paces up and down the corridor outside the Therapy Room, scratching and rubbing her arms. She looks like she’s seen a ghost.
‘I’ve made a terrible mistake, Amy. I shouldn’t be here. What if they make me go on a date with Dylan? Did Dr Hicks say anything?’
‘Woah, Hats, what’s going on? Stop for a sec.’ Amy takes her arm and guides her to the dining room. ‘Take a seat. Breathe. Where is everyone else?’
Amy looks around. Jackie, Gemma and Lauren are outside tanning topless by the swimming pool. Roomba is rolling suspiciously close to them. Flick strolls carefree into the garden with a piece of toast and a cup of tea, takes one look at the topless trio and makes an instant U-turn back into the kitchen.
Amy looks at Hattie, who’s struggling to catch her breath.
‘I’m coming with you, Amy. I have to get out of here too. I can’t do this anymore, I can’t go through with this.’ She hides her face in her hands and sinks onto Amy’s shoulder. ‘They can’t make me see Dylan.’
‘Hattie,’ Amy says calmly, ‘no one has mentioned you having a date with Dylan – it might never happen. Besides, he’s already been on the show. I’m sure he won’t come on again. Gemma’s probably made him run for the hills. Do you want to see Dr Hicks?’ She eases her up off her shoulder and looks into her puffy brown eyes.
‘No, I just … I just don’t know where to go. I feel trapped. This is all too much. I can’t breathe.’
‘Hattie, you aren’t trapped. You have a choice and you can be wherever you want to be, but I promise you’re OK here with me. Now, I want you to do something for me.’
Amy guides her to a dining chair, sits her down and takes the seat opposite her.
Hattie nods, closes her eyes and carries on puffing.
‘Name five things you can see right now,’ says Amy. ‘It can be anything. Like a chair.’
Hattie opens her eyes slowly, confused.
‘Trust me,’ Amy says.
Hattie looks around and says slowly, ‘Dining room table.’
‘Great. What else?’
‘Fruit bowl, dirty mug, picture, door.’
Amy and Hattie continue to list things around them. It forces Hattie to focus on her senses. Four things she can touch, three things she can hear, two things she can smell and finally a positive affirmation. Sarah would be proud of her. She taught Amy this technique during their finals. Amy was overworked and sleep-deprived, and Sarah had found her crouched in a fetal position under her desk, repeating that she couldn’t carry on. Since then she’d used the technique at least ten times when she felt work – and Jamie – start to overwhelm her.
‘I am strong enough to get through this,’ they say together. And for the first time since being here, Amy really believes it. In herself. She is strong enough to get through this. And if she can get through this, she can get through anything. Pressing the STAY button was the right choice.
Hattie’s breathing is back to normal, and Amy’s own racing heart has slowed.
‘Thanks, Amy.’ Hattie lowers her head. ‘Sometimes I feel like I’m choking.’
‘Do you want to talk, Hattie? Maybe somewhere a bit quieter?’ Amy says.
They hear a splash outside, followed by a scream.
‘Oh, you are dead, Lauren Hawk!’ Jackie shouts, followed by the sound of someone jumping into the pool.
‘Can’t splash me if I’m already wet!’ Laure
n laughs.
Hattie nods her head. ‘The bathroom.’
Amy locks the door of the bathroom and folds two towels on the floor. She takes a seat as Hattie leans against the shower door, closes her eyes and breathes out.
‘Sorry, Amy,’ Hattie breaks the silence after a few minutes. ‘I was being silly back there.’
‘Hattie, you don’t need to apologise – there’s nothing to apologise for. Panic attacks are awful, but you managed to get through it just fine, and now it’s over. You just talk when you want to, if you want to. I’m happy to sit here in silence. I love being in the bathroom – it’s my escape. There aren’t any mics in here, so if we’re quiet we won’t be heard. The ones in the bedroom can’t pick us up if we whisper.’
‘I wish I wasn’t so scared of everything.’ Hattie tilts her head back. ‘I’m so stupid. I’m scared of things that might never happen. No one has ever mentioned me seeing Dylan, but I built it up in my head and made myself freak out. And then I freaked out even more, thinking it would be worse to go on a date with a stranger. I can’t handle that – I’ve never been on a date. Ever. I wouldn’t have a clue what to do or say. And with all the cameras watching me, it would be so embarrassing.’
‘Didn’t you and Dylan date?’ Amy asks.
‘Nope, we met at school and moved in together when we were eighteen. All our friends went off to do more exciting things. Some of them even went to London. But we stayed in Southampton, in the same street where we both grew up. After that we never made any new friends or went out. It was just the two of us, together the whole time. Always at home, because there was no money to do anything. No money to get married or have kids. It was sort of nice for a while. Safe, familiar. I got a job in the kitchen at the hotel down the road. Dylan was a labourer. But things started going pear-shaped when he got the sack last year, and he hasn’t had another job since. He just sits around on the PlayStation. I tried to get him work at the hotel, but he told me he’d go nuts if he spent any more time with me. It was a fair point, I suppose. I felt the same way, but I was sick of worrying about bills. I’ve been paying them all on my little salary for over a year. We could barely afford heating last winter. When I tried to borrow money off my dad, Dylan went mad and said I was making him look like a loser. Luckily I picked up some extra shifts, which is probably what kicked this all off. He’s really sorry now, crying and telling me he couldn’t get a job because he isn’t good at anything and that it doesn’t help his confidence when I criticise him. But what am I supposed to do, Amy? If I don’t say anything, he carries on wasting our lives away. If I do, I’m going to “push him over the edge one of these days”. Anyway, it was better for a bit. Then he told me he’d got an interview at a construction site in London and that it would mean the world to him if I came with. Next thing I know, I’m in the Chat Room with him telling me what a big fat boring bitch I am and how he can’t wait to be on his own without me telling him what to do.’