Secretly, I think Charley hated the fact that Ziggy fancied me, not her, so I was more than happy to flaunt our relationship in her face. But, despite what people might have thought, ours was never a ‘showmance’. Well, certainly not on my part. I can’t speak for Ziggy but I did fall head over heels for him and I remember feeling genuinely elated the moment he told me, ‘I love you.’
I didn’t say it back to him because it was far too soon for me and, as you know, I tend to be a bit guarded on that whole matter. But to hear him say it was so nice and we were forever making plans for when we got out of the house – from meeting each other’s families and friends, to going on holiday together.
We did get physical fairly quickly and it was a frustrating time because we weren’t free to act as we would have on the outside world. At first, we tried to keep things under control and, if we slept in the same bed, we’d wear clothes and be inside separate duvet covers. But after a while, we just thought, ‘We’re adults – we shouldn’t care so much about what people think.’
And that’s when things did get more heated. Sometimes, I would slap Ziggy’s hand away because he was trying to go further but, at other times, I found I was getting caught up in it and it was difficult to stop. Another time, we were in the shower for about an hour and it was getting quite steamy (in more ways than one), so Big Brother decided to turn the cold water on! That was a definite passion killer.
So you’re probably now wondering exactly how physical we got. And I wouldn’t blame you because, when I left BB, I saw just how much press coverage we’d generated – it was absolutely crazy. Unbeknown to us at the time, we’d been nicknamed ‘Chiggy’ and our antics were splashed all over the front pages of the tabloids and celeb mags. And, of course, we’d been labelled the new Posh and Becks. At the heart of all the gossip was the one thing everyone was dying to know: did we actually have sex in there? It’s always been a big TV talking point, right from the early days of Big Brother 3, when Jade Goody and PJ supposedly got it on under the duvet.
Nobody really seemed to have a clue what had gone on though and, after things had got a little passionate between us one night in bed, Channel 4 decided to release a statement denying that anything too risqué had gone on. They said, ‘It hasn’t happened. We have looked at the footage in question and it certainly does not look like they were having sex.’ Despite this, the bookies still paid out thousands of pounds to punters who had bet on us ‘doing it’, because so many reports said that we had gone the whole way!
But with it all being a bit inconclusive, it was all anyone wanted to know about when I left the house. Not whether I’d had a fun time or how I was feeling but whether or not I’d slept with Ziggy. Like it was anyone else’s business! I remember going on Big Brother’s Little Brother right after I came out and even Dermot O’Leary asked me outright, ‘Did you have sex?’
I looked him dead in the eye and said, ‘No. Sorry to disappoint you. No. My mum would have kicked me out of my house.’
And that’s the version of events I’ve always stuck to. I never wanted to look like some cheap, nasty slapper who would go on national TV and do that kind of thing with someone I’d only just met.
But now, all these years later, I guess it’s finally time to hold my hands up and tell the truth. I might be at risk of being disowned by my entire family here but, seeing as I’m writing this book in the spirit of total honesty, I can’t deny it any longer. So here goes: I was lying. We did have sex in the house. Not only that but we did it every single day for about three weeks!
Without going into too much graphic detail, let’s just say we got very good at sneaking off to the bathroom, or disguising it in the bedroom while everyone was asleep. The other housemates didn’t have a clue – or at least, if they did, they were very British and didn’t say a word about it. Whether the BB crew knew or not, I don’t know. But they must have because people are watching those camera feeds 24/7. And I did get called in to the Diary Room a few times to be reminded to take my contraceptive pill! Why would they say that if they weren’t aware of what we were up to?
It’s not something I’m particularly proud of and, if I had my time again, I think I’d be far more restrained – although that’s easy to say in hindsight. You might think badly of me but I honestly didn’t realise that people would know what we were doing – the bedroom was always pitch-black at night and you forget that there are night-vision cameras and microphones all around you. That sounds silly I know but it’s true.
I do feel bad that I lied about it but I’ve always been afraid of being judged and, let’s face it, while Ziggy would probably have got a big slap on the back for it, I’d be the one branded a slag. Totally unfair, of course, but that seems to be the way things work in our hypocritical society. But while I used to be terrified about what people might think of me, I don’t really care any more. I was 19 and having a once-in-a-lifetime experience that most people will never have. And it’s not like it was some sordid one-night stand – we were a couple by then; that’s what couples do. Besides, what we did on Big Brother was pretty tame compared to the outrageous stuff that goes on in Geordie Shore nowadays!
But whatever, it’s all water under the bridge. And if you watched the show, you’ll recall that it wasn’t long before things turned sour and we began having blazing rows. It wasn’t just idle bickering either – we seemed to bring out the very worst in each other. We argued about everything – I hated him smoking and accused him of having bad breath; another time we had a massive fight over me playing the violin for a task and it kicked off when I started squeezing the other housemates’ spots! It was all so petty but the rows got so out of hand. He called me an ‘attention-seeking hypochondriac’, which really upset me and I began to feel swamped by all the negative feelings.
At least nobody could say we were boring because we broke up and got back together so many times over those weeks that even we lost track! At one point when he broke up with me, he actually used the most cringe-worthy words of all time: ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’
I sat there aghast and said, ‘Oh my God. You just used the words “it’s not you, it’s me” on national TV. How embarrassing is that?’ And it really was mortifying. What an idiot.
Eventually, the rows became too much to bear. I really do think I was having a mental breakdown in there and I demanded to leave. The producers must have been concerned over my state of mind because they let me out and sent me straight to see a psychologist. Once I’d calmed down, they tried to convince me to stay. And to cheer me up, they said, ‘What do you think Victoria Beckham would do in this situation?’
I snapped, ‘How do I know? She’s in bloody America!’
Although I did eventually agree to go back into the house, it was only temporary, as the fights with Ziggy flared again almost instantly. It all came to a head during one massive final row, when I knew I had to get out of there for the sake of my sanity. This time, it was sparked when I accused Ziggy of using my pink towel. Of all the things in the world to squabble about. He started laughing, which was like waving a red flag at a bull.
‘You think it’s fucking funny, Zach?’ I yelled. ‘You’re acting like a fourteen-year-old child.’
Then he got very angry and shouted at me, ‘Who the hell do you think you are? You are so rude.’
I screamed back at him, using the worst language I could find, and then two things finished me off. Firstly, he accused me of being ‘the new Charley’ and then he accidentally called me ‘Sarah’ – the name of his ex-girlfriend!
That was it and I let out the loudest, most blood-curdling scream imaginable, right there in the living room. Seriously, I was that rattled. I knew then that my time in Big Brother was over for good and I went to the Diary Room, demanding to leave right away.
‘I can’t live in the same house as Zach,’ I sobbed. This time, nobody tried to talk me out of going. So on day sixty-two, after surviving almost nine weeks, I left through the Diary Room door and didn�
��t even say goodbye to anyone.
Although I got so close to the end, I never regretted walking out because there comes a point when you know you’ve hit your limit. I didn’t like the deranged person I was turning into – and I still can’t watch back any of the old footage because I find it too upsetting.
To viewers, it might look like some extended holiday in a theme park on TV but the truth is Big Brother is mentally challenging and it exposes all of your insecurities and paranoia to the core. You can’t truly know how much it screws with your head until you’ve experienced it first-hand.
And after what I experienced, I really wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Big Brother Fallout
The hours after I left the house were a blur. I was taken to a hotel near the studios in Elstree and had to see a psychologist again, who probably just needed to check I wasn’t about to top myself. All I wanted was to get home, back to my own tiny bedroom, and I kept crying and begging to see Mum and Dad.
‘They’re on their way,’ I was told. ‘They’ll be here soon.’
It was a hot summer’s day and I waited in the grounds of the hotel for what seemed like an eternity for them to arrive. Then suddenly, I looked up and saw them walking hurriedly across the grass towards me. I’ve never felt so relieved in all my life. It was such a corny moment – I ran into their arms and Mum and I were both sobbing, and even Dad looked teary-eyed.
‘We’re so proud of you,’ he said.
‘Really?’ I gulped. ‘But I completely lost it in there. I thought you’d hate me.’
‘It doesn’t matter, Chanelle. You’re out now and that’s the main thing,’ said Mum.
I instantly felt a million times better with them being there and, from that moment on, my life became insane. That same day, I had to choose an agent and picked PR firm Neon Management, headed up by a guy called Dave Read. He was famous for turning Jordan into a hugely successful and very rich star, so I figured I couldn’t go wrong! It was all so alien to me though; I hadn’t planned or expected anything to happen after the show and thought I’d just be going home to Wakefield, back to college and to my humble little life.
But 10 minutes after I signed up with Dave, he took a phone call and then said, ‘Right, that’s your first deal done and dusted.’
‘What do you mean? What have I got to do?’ I said, baffled.
‘Oh, nothing much. You just need to do an interview and have your photo taken by the Daily Star newspaper and a couple of magazines like OK!, new! and Star.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘That sounds good. How much do you think I might get paid?’
Hand on heart, I thought Dave was going to say something like £10,000. And that would have been absolutely fantastic. All I hoped for was a tiny bit of money to see me through the rest of college and to put towards university, so I wouldn’t have to live in grotty student accommodation. But what he said next almost gave me a cardiac arrest.
‘The deal is for £250,000, Chanelle.’
My mouth fell open. I couldn’t speak but Mum was sitting next to me and said, ‘What? You’re not being serious?’
‘I’m deadly serious,’ said Dave. ‘Welcome to your new life.’
I found my tongue and stammered, ‘But why are they interested in me? I just behaved like a total dickhead on national TV.’
‘No, Chanelle, you’ve got something that nobody else has. And after Ziggy comes out of the house, there will be another deal on the table for your first joint interview and shoot. You could both go far with this.’
It was utterly bonkers – especially as, at that point, Ziggy and I weren’t even on speaking terms. I’d left the house screaming bloody murder at him and, as far as I knew, he loathed me.
Later that day, in a bit of a daze, Mum and I went to Harvey Nichols in Knightsbridge for some serious retail therapy. I spent about £1,200 on Mac make-up, bought loads of Rock & Republic jeans and got Mum some nice clothes, as well as new jeans for my brother and an outfit for Dad. He tends to wear the same thing every day – one of his blue checked shirts with dark-blue jeans and brown shoes, so I got him a whole new set. It was crazy – we splashed about £5,000 in an hour. We’d only ever been able to window shop in Harvey Nics, so this was a dream come true.
I also needed to work out where I was going to live now I was out of the house because, if there was going to be all this work in London, there was no way I could commute from home every day. I’d been for drinks at the Sanderson Hotel a couple of times before and in that era it was the coolest place to hang out in London. You never knew who you might see sipping a cocktail at its famed Long Bar – everyone from Colin Farrell to Mariah Carey and Paris Hilton were hotel regulars. I had no idea about where to live in London and didn’t want to commit to a long rental period somewhere, so I moved into a suite there. I actually ended up staying about four months, which should have cost me about £50,000, but they gave me such a good deal that I only paid about £20,000 in total. It was incredible. My suite had two king-size beds and a separate living and dining area, as well as a huge bathroom kitted out with double sinks and a walk-in shower. I loved it there and the staff made such a fuss of me. They’d give me spare rooms for Mum and my friends and order me in pizza if I didn’t want anything off the menu. One day I was walking out of the lobby and saw Usher casually sitting there in a pair of flip-flops. Bounding over like an excited puppy, I shrieked, ‘Oh, hi, Usher! How are you?’ and he was like, ‘Er, hello,’ clearly a bit perplexed by this weird girl jabbering away in a Yorkshire accent.
A couple of days after the initial excitement of leaving the BB house, Dave sensed a great PR stunt and flew me to LA to go hot on the trail of Victoria Beckham. She was now based there with David and their kids and, though it was basically a glorified photo opportunity, the tabloids loved it. I was taken to all the key Hollywood sites and to an LA Galaxy football match, where David had just started playing. Ironically, he got his first home goal for the club that day and the Daily Star ran with the headline: BECKHAM SCORES WITH CHANELLE! Not something I ever imagined I’d read.
Sadly, I didn’t manage to hook up with Posh – I guess she might have been a bit busy! The trip was good fun but it was marred by the fact that I kept having anxiety attacks. Some days I didn’t even want to leave my hotel room. I guess it was because a lot was being thrown at me and, after seven weeks cooped up in Big Brother, all this newfound attention was hard to handle.
I returned home a few days later to a whirlwind of media appearances and photo-calls and suddenly all these lads’ mags were desperate to put me on their front covers. I think the first deal I signed with Nuts was for £75,000. It was mind blowing.
As the Big Brother final approached, I was asked to go back in for a secret task with Ziggy. Although I would never have agreed to return as a proper housemate, I was curious to test the water with him. So with a new hairdo (blonde crop à la VB, of course) and dressed to the nines in a strapless gold dress, I re-entered the house on day 89. Wearing a blindfold, Ziggy had to identify this ‘mystery guest’ by touch alone and he guessed straight away it was me. But when he took the mask off, he looked like he’d been winded and neither of us knew what to say or do. It was so uncomfortable. After a couple of seconds, we hugged and he told me I looked sensational. So perhaps he did still like me.
‘So, is it worth us talking on the outside?’ he asked.
‘If you want to,’ I said. ‘I’ve missed you.’ And despite everything, I really had.
As we hugged again, I was told it was time to leave. ‘See you on Friday,’ he said, blowing me a kiss up the stairs.
At the final, lovely Brian Belo was crowned the winner, and rightly so. He’s such a genuine and sweet guy and was more than deserving of his victory. Still, everyone’s eyes seemed to be on Ziggy and me and it felt like the whole nation was waiting to see if we’d leap into each other’s arms again. As it turned out, he didn’t come near me all evening. It was as though I didn
’t exist. His sister Zoe, who really hated me, was at the party afterwards and she was giving me evil looks all night. So I decided to leave after a bit and go back to my suite at the Sanderson.
He did, at least, call me the next morning to say he’d appointed an agent called Darren Lyons, more commonly known as Mr Paparazzi. Then he said, ‘I’m really sorry we didn’t get a chance to speak at the party and if I seemed a bit moody. But we’ve got a shoot with OK! magazine tomorrow, so I’ll see you there.’
We basically got paid £125,000 each to dress us up as Victoria and David Beckham and the magazine put us on gold thrones, with me wearing a wedding dress and Ziggy in a white suit. The headline they used was: CHANELLE AND ZIGGY’S POSH WEDDING! We were even asked how long it would be until we knocked up a ‘baby Chiggy’. We started at 7am and went right through to about 10pm but it was such an odd day. In front of the cameras, Ziggy was kissing and cuddling me but, as soon as they stopped, he went into another room and didn’t want to talk to me. I was so upset; I didn’t understand what was going on or why he was being like this. I went back to the Sanderson knackered and confused and the next day I had my own individual shoot, so we didn’t speak.
But the day after that, he called me and his attitude had changed completely. He was being so nice and said, ‘I’m so sorry. My sister told me you’d been doing bad press about me and screwed me over. I hadn’t had a chance to read anything so I was being wary. But now I know you haven’t said anything bad and I really am sorry. I do want to see you.’
Chanelle Hayes - Baring My Heart Page 12