I turn to the final person in our small group. A woman. She is by far the most striking. She’s about a head taller than me and her floral dress hangs loosely on her skinny frame. The dress is simple but distinctly expensive. Her hair is jet-black and scraped back into a low bun. Huge, round Dior sunglasses sit delicately on her head. Nobody looks that perfect after hours of travelling; it’s like she’s been airbrushed. What on earth is she doing here? She doesn’t look anything like a woman who needs to win £100,000.
‘Carly,’ she says, staring at me through thick lashes. ‘Carly Chu.’ She doesn’t offer her hand and she doesn’t give a wave. Instead, she raises an eyebrow as if what she really wants to say to me is, Seriously, you’re my competition? My stomach clenches and I give her a brief smile before quickly turning my attention back to the others.
‘Well, it’s, er, nice to meet you all,’ I say, wracking my brains for what to say next. I open my mouth to ask how their journeys were but am mercifully saved by the boat driver.
‘Boat ready to leave. Hurry, hurry,’ he calls to us from the boat. He’s waving his arm in the air in a desperate attempt to get our attention. ‘Storm coming soon, boat no safe.’
‘Right. Well, we’d better go,’ says Jack with a laugh that doesn’t quite match his eyes.
I’m with Jack on this one; the thought of getting into an unsafe boat doesn’t fill me with excitement either. The feeling isn’t helped by the fact the boat doesn’t look like it could make any journey, let alone a crossing in a full-blown storm.
As a collective we grab the nearest bag to us and dash along the jetty. Jack steps onto the boat, followed by Mo. I go next, accepting Jack’s hand as I do so. The boat’s already rocking quite considerably against the force of the waves so better to accept his offer of help than allow face-planting to be one of the group’s first memories of me.
Carly and Valentina pause for a moment. Their eyes shift from the swaying boat to the waves crashing against it.
‘Come on,’ I say gently. ‘I’m sure the driver knows what he’s doing.’
Valentina stretches her fingertips out and throws herself into Mo’s arms in a way that I don’t think was strictly linked to her uncertainty of stepping onto the boat. The moment Valentina’s feet land on the deck the boat’s engine revs and Carly’s eyes widen.
‘Come on, Carly. You don’t want to be left behind, do you?’ chimes up Jack, stepping forward and not-so-subtly elbowing Mo out the way. Mo narrows his eyes, clearly disliking the younger man’s bravado.
‘Urgh.’ Carly chucks her backpack at me and wraps her delicate fingers around Jack’s arm as she boards.
‘Hurrah,’ shouts Jack, punching the air. ‘If we go down, we go down together.’
There’s a pause for a second then Mo and Valentina both burst out laughing; even Carly manages a smile. I’m not sure if it’s the delirium brought on by my tiredness or the fear that we might all soon be food for the fishes, but the laughter is infectious. I wipe away a tear and, as a group, we head into the boat’s belly for the final stretch to the LoveWrecked island.
* * *
The shared comradery found through the terrifying request that we board a wave-battered boat is short-lived as the boat careens on the waves, up and down, left and right. Soon, my head is spinning, my palms pool with sweat and the humidity traps me in its prison. I close my eyes but this only exacerbates the feeling that I’m on a fairground carousel whirling out of control. The spinning threatens to consume me.
I open my eyes again; closed isn’t helping the seasickness. Sweat glistens on Carly’s forehead, her eyes have glazed over and the skin that was flawless barely minutes ago has taken on a green hue.
‘I need some fresh air,’ I say, jerking to my feet. I can’t sit here and watch the others slowly transform into the colour of aliens. I stagger towards the small set of stairs and clamber outside onto the narrow rim that encircles the boat.
Air, cold and wet, slaps my cheeks and I exhale loudly. Freedom.
Pools of water collect on the decking and slosh from side to side as the boat pitches; the violence of the movement threatens to tip me over. I plonk myself down with a squelch, but I don’t care – a wet bottom is nothing in comparison to the horror that faced me inside.
‘Fuck, this is better.’ Jack’s head pops up and he takes a seat next to me. He’s followed by the others. I guess none of them could stand it any longer either. The five of us sit in a line, our legs dangling over the edge.
‘Where the hell is the island?’ shouts Mo over the deafening crash of the waves. ‘We need to get there before the storm gets us,’ he continues, voicing what we’re all surely thinking. I grip the salt-crusted steel bar behind me, the only barrier between us and the malevolent sea. Carly squeezes her eyes shut and a tear rolls down her cheek.
The land behind us is almost invisible now, faded into insignificance. The water surrounding us has changed; the crystal-clear, light blue water that lapped the shore and invited one in has turned evil. It’s dark and cruel-looking, nature’s equivalent of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.
‘Look,’ I shout, daringly releasing an arm to point at a black speck in the distance. ‘That must be it.’ At least, I hope it is as it’s the only piece of land on the horizon.
None of the documentation I was sent in advance of coming on the show gave me any indication of where the filming would take place and I only knew I was headed to Greece when I arrived at the airport. Although to be honest, knowing I’m in Greece isn’t much help to me right now, given the remoteness of the island.
The dark speck looms larger as the boat chugs forward. On a good day, I imagine that the island would be beautiful. Gentle waves lapping against a thick strip of yellow sand; the clustering trees stretching their bottle-green leaves upwards to pierce the fluffy, white clouds. But the clouds aren’t white nor are they fluffy now. They’re a deep grey and they move slowly across the sky, swollen with the rain that I’m sure will come. Their darkness layers a filter over the landscape. If the island could speak, I swear it would tell us to turn the boat around and leave. But it can’t speak, and we don’t turn around.
When we’re within ten metres of it, the sound of the engine dies and the boat’s progress forward slows.
‘Off,’ shouts a voice and our captain pops his head up to the top deck to instruct us. I smirk; despite how harrowing this has all been, there is something quite satisfying about how little of a shit this man gives to pleasantries.
‘We’ll get wet,’ says Carly, her eyes widening. ‘Drive closer.’
‘Cannot.’ The captain’s reply is short and sweet. I don’t stick around to hear the rest of Carly’s protestations. I get up and make my way towards the back of the boat. Water or no water, I want off this boat.
I totter on the boat’s rim and jump, soaking my trousers as I plunge into the water. It isn’t deep, only comes up to my knees. I hold my arms out for Jack to pass me my bag, waddle through the water to the shore and drop my bag and body to the sand. Running my fingers through the delicate grains, I allow myself to enjoy the moment of stillness. The others stagger towards me. Jack makes a joke of kissing the earth like a sailor returned from a long and dangerous voyage.
The humid air presses against my skin and beads of liquid cling to the hairs on my arm. I tip my head back as the first fat droplet of rain hits me. A clap of thunder rips through the air and the sky lights up with a flash of lightning. But in this display of nature’s power, it’s the wildlife that steals the show: the birds screech, the insects hum and buzz, and something much larger howls into the vast expanse of sky above us; together they perform a concert so wild it shoots through me like electricity. The storm darkens our surroundings and there’s an intensity to it, due entirely to the lack of civilisation around. Now it feels real. I am one of the LoveWrecked Islanders.
The sound of the boat’s engine re-starting grabs my attention and I watch as it moves away from the shore, tossed around violently on the increas
ingly large waves. The raindrop I felt is followed by one, two, three more and then the heavens open. The storm that has been threatening for the last hour has arrived.
I hope no one wants to go home tonight because there’s no way anyone is getting off the island in this.
Chapter Six
Saturday 26th July, 13:15
‘You’re here. Thank goodness. I was so…’ We all turn to see a woman running from a gap in the greenery; she holds her hand limply over her head as if that will stop the downpour. She hovers in front of us, hopping from foot to foot. The woman raises her finger and waggles it over us, muttering to herself. ‘Five. Only five? Not a great start.’
‘Hi,’ I say, getting to my feet and brushing the wet sand off my hands before extending one out to her. ‘I’m Kim.’ The woman blinks at me and then smacks a hand to her head as if we have all the time in the world and aren’t standing on a beach in the pouring rain.
‘Goodness, where are my manners? Rosalind Jenkins, LoveWrecked’s producer. Well, one of the producers. Currently the only producer.’ She smacks her hand against her forehead again. ‘Stop babbling, Rosalind.’
I glance at Mo, who now stands at my side, and try my best to keep my expression straight. Mo raises his eyebrow ever so slightly. His first impression seems to be aligned with mine. The producer, the person who is meant to be in charge of things around here, seems a little frazzled. How long has she been stuck on this island for? Whatever the answer, it doesn’t bode well for the rest of us.
Rosalind is short, plump and mousy and, if I had to guess, I’d say is in her mid-thirties but the baggy floaty shirt and skirt combination she’s chosen to wear ages her.
‘Five,’ says Rosalind, counting us again. ‘Right, well, you’d better follow me, so you can get yourselves dry and ready for dinner.’ At that she turns and proceeds straight back into the forest from which she came.
‘Rosalind doesn’t look like she’s best suited to life on a remote island, does she?’ Mo mutters to me under his breath.
‘No,’ says Carly, coming up on Mo’s other side and giving him a seductive smile. ‘And looks even less like the producer of a dating show. Who the hell picked her outfit? She would never get a date wearing it.’
Jack steps behind Carly and gives her a nudge with his elbow. ‘Good one, Carls,’ he says with a snigger.
‘Don’t call me that,’ she snaps back at him before I can tell them both to stop slagging off our producer before the show has even started. Rosalind might seem a bit odd now but I’m sure she has everything under control, so I shake my head at them and follow Rosalind deeper into the island.
The path that Rosalind leads us along is uneven and my feet slide on the wet leaves that litter it. Branches hang low and thick on either side and more than once I have to unhook my trousers and T-shirt from being caught in the thorns. I can’t help wondering when this path was last used but I remind myself that LoveWrecked isn’t all glamour; many of the past episodes have had challenges that require the Islanders to venture out into the wilderness to test their survival skills, so the location does make sense.
‘Argh, get off me.’ I turn around at the sound of Jack’s shout and find him shaking his hands in the air.
‘What? What is it?’ I ask.
‘Something slimy,’ he replies with a shudder. I raise an eyebrow and make a mental note that Jack might not be the best person to partner with. If this is his reaction to something slimy, goodness knows what a night out here would do to him.
We press on and soon, the thick, green forest surrounding us dies away to reveal the place that will house us for the summer.
The villa isn’t immediately visible, however, because the first thing that greets us is a huge stone wall, about five metres tall, the type of wall one would see around an embassy or an exclusive house. Or, perhaps, a high-end prison.
It’s a weird set-up because surely the expansive body of water surrounding us is enough to stop people getting in. Certainly, enough to shield us from the prying eyes of the media or the public.
Unless, says a cruel voice inside my head, the walls aren’t to stop people getting in. The walls are to stop us from getting out.
And that’s even before I take in the solid metal gates as wide as two side-by-side vans. Rosalind, who has waited for us all to make it out of the forest, steps forward and punches in the door code on a keypad next to the gates. They swing open in unison and the villa stands before us. Like the island itself, I’m sure on a good day it would look impressive: two storeys of white-washed walls, with all sides of the bottom floor made entirely of glass. Through the glass I can see the villa’s living room illuminated, the other side looking out onto the extensive garden, in the centre of which is a blue-tiled swimming pool. The rain bounces off the pool and the heavy clouds darken the villa’s walls and it looks just as uninviting as the island on which it sits.
‘Wow,’ says Jack, lifting his hands in the air as if praising the heavens. ‘This place is epic.’
I look at him, excitement written all over his face. Excitement that I can’t match. I’m not entirely sure that epic is the word I would use. Immense? Certainly. Impressive? Maybe. But epic? No, epic isn’t the word I would go for. Epic makes the villa complex seem warm and inviting and that it most certainly isn’t.
Clunk, the gates seal shut behind us. I shiver; there’s something about the high level of security that puts me on edge. My fears clearly aren’t shared by the others; none of them give even the hint that they feel uncomfortable. I feel Jack’s body practically vibrating next to me. He’s like a horse in the starting gates – he is ready to go.
‘Welcome to LoveWrecked,’ says Rosalind with a tired smile. ‘Please follow me.’
Rosalind leads us into the villa and down a long marble-floored corridor. We all walk slowly, our wet feet making it hard going. Streaks of muddy water trail behind us and the hair on my arms stands on end as my wet skin is cooled by the air conditioning. The interior is modern and sleek with minimal decor. Lights are built into the ceiling and dotted evenly along the corridor like cat’s eyes staring down at us. Peering into the living room, I see an off-white L-shaped sofa, in front of which sits a coffee table made of a broad sheet of glass resting on a short, knotty tree trunk. In my mind’s eye, I see someone knocking into that table by accident and the glass shattering everywhere. Everything is perfect in a way that doesn’t feel real.
Rosalind stops and directs us into a room on the right-hand side of the corridor.
‘This is the communal bedroom,’ says Rosalind, gesturing around the room.
If I weren’t inside a Greek villa, whose style is so typically white everywhere, I would be tempted to describe the bedroom like the inside of a fancy, private hospital or how Hollywood movies depict what a person sees when they die. The walls, the bedsheets, the floor, even the beams on the ceiling are white. Only a cluster of neon pillows laid out on the beds gives an indication that you haven’t fallen into a cloud.
‘You can all have first pick of the beds,’ she continues. ‘When the others arrive, you will end up sharing with the person you’ve chosen as your survival partner but until the others arrive you might as well enjoy the bed to yourselves. I realise that you’re all still soaking wet from the rain, so I’ll give you ten minutes to quickly dry off before I continue the tour.’ Rosalind turns to leave but stops in the doorway. ‘One more thing, could you all please hand me your mobile phones? From here on in, it’s a no-phone zone.’
My mobile phone is nestled in a side pocket of my backpack; I slide it out. The home screen lights up to display the many messages and calls that have come my way since the SpyLand article leaked our identities. It’s natural that people are surprised; many of them haven’t heard from me for years so to find out I’m going to star on a reality television show probably came as a shock. It’s also not surprising that my mum and old friend Zoe are using it as an excuse to get back in touch but I’m not ready to reply just yet. Onc
e all this is over and I’ve done what I came here to do then maybe I will. Rosalind holds out her hand and I place my phone in it. With that she leaves us to change.
When Rosalind returns she points out the bathroom, which has a shower large enough to fit at least six people in one go. Which, come to think about it, is probably what the producers are hoping will happen at some point.
Rosalind leads us out of the bedroom to the villa’s outdoor space. The rain has now stopped, and Rosalind points out the outdoor kitchen and dining area, the grassy area and swimming pool I saw before, and a BBQ area surrounded by two-tiered decking arranged in a semi-circle. I glance at others as Rosalind points things out: Mo nods at everything she says as if wanting to show her he is listening and soaking it all in; Carly has the expression of someone who seems impressed but doesn’t want to come off as too eager and so keeps suppressing raised eyebrows; Valentina looks slightly bored and seems more interested in picking at her fingernails than listening to Rosalind; but it is Jack’s reaction that steals the show – every word that comes out of Rosalind’s mouth elicits some variation of ‘wow’.
‘Take a seat. Hello, everyone, let me formally introduce myself: my name is Rosalind Jenkins, I’m one of the producers for the show. My assistant producer, Sophia Dance, is currently setting up in the production room. You’ll meet her later on tonight. Apologies for our slightly erratic start. As you probably noticed on your crossing over here, the weather has decided to not be our friend. I’ve just heard that, due to the storm, the rest of the crew and additional Islanders are stuck on the mainland but from tomorrow you’ll be able to meet the others and I might be able to get some sleep.’ Rosalind chuckles as if in an attempt to sound relaxed about this confusion but she fails to convince me. She looks ragged.
The Islanders Page 3