by Sandy Barker
The first time I saw myself onscreen―last night I was secreted away to the Control Room to watch a rough cut of episode one, as well as some outtakes―I was aghast, recoiling so violently and emitting such an awful guttural sound, that Jack had laughed. When I realised he wasn’t laughing at me, just my reaction, I joined in, as did Harry. I hope it gets easier to watch myself, but let’s just say it’s unlikely I’ll ever be cast as a television presenter.
It’s also getting tricker to be around Jack and we’re barely a week in. He’s just so annoyingly attractive with those quirky logo T-shirts and sexy, worn-in jeans he wears. Even the way he rubs his jaw when he’s thinking, his face settled into that adorable little frown of concentration, is attractive.
When we’re with the other Does and the crew, it’s a little easier to maintain my distance, my professionalism―I’m just another contestant―but last night when it was the three of us, he was so friendly, so lovely, so Jack, I almost forgot why we’re both here. But as much as I want us to be friends (and yes all right, more than that), I have a job to do and so does he. This may not be his dream job, but he and Harry need this season to go well, and I need to keep my (emotional) distance lest I give the game away.
I’m also trying to forget that humiliating conversation we had on the flight about Daniel. How did I ever think that Jack might be interested in me romantically? With all this whirling through my mind on a loop, it’s a minor miracle I’ve been able to get any words onto the page at all.
I sigh, resigned. I have to finish this recap. Surely, this will be the hardest one, simply because it’s the first and this is where I set the scene and categorise all the Does―including me. Perhaps the rest of this season’s recaps will flow from my mind practically fully formed as I type, like they usually do.
And perhaps the Spanish Armada will sail into Sydney Harbour.
Filler
And as always, let’s begin with the Filler. With a pared-back cast of Does this season, only a couple fit into the Filler category―these are the women who are merely here…
Oops, I need to write like I’m outside the Manor.
… merely there to make up the numbers. You needn’t learn their names―Daniel certainly won’t, as was evidenced by his behaviour at the Soirée. ‘What’s that one called again?’ he asked, probably not as surreptitiously as he hoped. The Doe in question was Tabitha, one of the British women, but you don’t need to remember that. Poor Tabitha will likely be on a plane back to the UK before her jet lag wears off. The other Filler Doe is Laura from Tamworth (also known as the woman who doesn’t stop talking). No one likes country music that much, Laura. Calm the he-haw down!
That’s not a particularly kind thing to say about Laura but less than a week in, I’ve already had my fill of ‘all thangs country music’. And besides, Anastasia said it, not me.
Villains
These are the women who have obviously been cast for their (innate) ability to stir up trouble and pepper the pot, to put others down behind their back (shall I leave out a bowl of cream for you, ladies?), and to fawn all over our Danny Boy without any desire whatsoever to win his heart. They’ll be here just long enough to cause some reasonable damage to the other Does’ self-esteem, and to throw a few red herrings into that peppered pot.
* * *
Just two this season, as far as I can tell―but they are both punching above their weight class. Tara hails from London―the East End, her accent tells me―and when she inevitably gets the boot and returns to the UK, she will undoubtedly have a lengthy career as a gangster’s moll. And Kylie―I’d wager she aced her (Australian equivalent of) A-levels in ‘How to Act Like a Mean Girl’. With her dogged sarkiness, she could give me a run for my money.
Well, that much is true. More and more, I’ve become a self-appointed Doe Wrangler, steering Becca, Elizabeth, and a couple of the others clear of the firing line whenever possible. As someone privy to the machinations of this bizarre little ecosystem, and as the oldest woman in the Manor (Doe Abby may be twenty-eight but I am thirty-three), I feel it is my duty.
Aside: Thank you to my long-gone nan. Nan, I don’t remember much about you―just glimpses and feelings, really―but I thank you for passing along your English Rose complexion, allowing me to convincingly play a twenty-something.
Miscellaneous
Ah, yes, the Does who are tricky to categorise, so get their own category―that’s me cheating a little, I’m afraid. Do forgive me!
I’ll come back to this section. I haven’t decided if Doe Abby is Miscellaneous or a Dark Horse.
(potential) Brides
It’s safe to say that there are actually three Does in contention for the role of Bride this season. Becca, the beauty from down under, is the total package―beautiful, smart, and kind. She does have a penchant for Vegemite that borders on the unnatural, but perhaps if she wins Daniel’s heart, we can convert her to Marmite.
Justine, another of the Australians, is definitely in with a chance! Did you see Daniel’s eyes light up when she climbed out of the limousine? And didn’t she do that with all the practised ease of … well, someone who has been in many a limo. Destined for stardom is actress and model Justine and, just maybe, she’ll swap walking the red carpet for walking down the aisle!
This is unlikely, as Justine has been rather vocal about wanting a regular role on Neighbours after she departs the Manor. Or Home and Away. She’s not picky, apparently.
Last in (serious) contention for our Danny Boy’s heart, is the lovely British Doe, Daphne. If one were to prick her finger, no doubt she’d bleed blue, such is the long pedigree of royal blood coursing through her veins. She’s poised, elegant, and regal, and with her career in philanthropy, can’t you just imagine Daniel and Daphne as the power couple about London Town? I’d bet that Daphne can, if that tight grip on Daniel’s arm at the Soirée was anything to go by.
I’m almost choking on these words as I type―total lies! That said, it’s been almost fascinating watching Daphne. She’s an utter snob and such a cow, but in an instant, she can turn on the charm. And that’s not just with Daniel, but also with Jack and Harry. If there is a man within ‘cooee’―an Australian idiom I’ve learnt from Kaz―Daphne is exactly as described in this recap. But as soon as the men disappear, so do her manners. She’s horrid. No wonder Roberta likes Daphne so much―it’s pure narcissism, plain and simple.
Dark Horses
Ellie, one of the British women, must be considered a Dark Horse. For a start, she’s a natural beauty, all doe eyes (perfect for The Stag) and alabaster skin. She also has a kooky sense of humour, the first Doe ever to show up with a ventriloquist’s dummy of herself―imagine that going through the airport scanner! Daniel may have been surprised when they emerged from the limousine (shocked, really), but that dummy has some cracking jokes. Keep an eye on this one!
Ellie is lovely, but even I’ve been somewhat disturbed by how often she’s accompanied by Little Ellie. And I currently have two alter egos.
Another Dark Horse is Abby, also British. What is it she does for a living again? She dodges those questions with the acumen of someone who works in a windowless building on the banks of the Thames. Speaking of James Bond … perhaps we have a Jane Bond in our midst. She also has a wicked sense of humour and Danny Boy is going to have to keep his wits about him with Abby. But what might just win our Danny Boy’s heart―despite Abby being, shall we say, the most ordinary looking woman in the Manor―is her tendency to look after the other Does. Though ‘big sister’ status may not be sexy enough for our Staggy.
* * *
Also a Dark Horse is Australian, Karen―or rather Kaz. (Isn’t it, er, charming how the Australians shorten their names and add a zed?) Kaz is a structural engineer from Perth. She is brash, sassy, and has a bawdy sense of humour. Perhaps she and her hard hat are the perfect foil for banker boy, Danny―opposites attract and all that. Kaz likely wouldn’t let Daniel take life―or himself―too seriously. She certainly caug
ht his eye a few times at the Soirée when she tossed back her fiery red tresses and laughed long and hard.
Now I’ve decided that Doe Abby is a Dark Horse, back to the odd bods―or rather, ‘oddest bods’, as all the Does are a little odd, simply for being here―me included.
Miscellaneous
Ah, yes, the Does who are tricky to categorise, so get their own category―that’s me cheating a little, I’m afraid. Do forgive me!
* * *
Let’s begin with Merrin, who harkens from Tasmania, a land of natural beauty, wonderful wine (though, isn’t that half of Australia?), and cats, apparently. Merrin has five cats, something she happily expounds upon whenever another person is in earshot; I’ve already (unwittingly) learnt their names. Ordinarily, I’d categorise Merrin as Filler, but she’s such a quirky one. And though Daniel violently sneezes any time she’s near―that dastardly dander―surely popping an antihistamine is a small price to pay for true love. But I do wonder if Merrin would move to London for Daniel, forsaking Sassy, Fluff, Tiger, Scabs (I wouldn’t dare ask), and One-eye (must be self-explanatory).
* * *
The toughest Doe for me to categorise this season, and hence the reason she’s sitting firmly in Miscellaneous, is Elizabeth. Bookish, earnest, softly spoken Elizabeth, who is very pretty in that frail, pale, and unobvious way, hails from a small town in Devon where she is a Reception teacher. Although she’s the most introverted woman in Stag Manor, Elizabeth seems like the sort of woman who would tell a stranger that their skirt was caught in the back of their knickers. I like her, but I wonder if Daniel will.
Like Becca, I adore Elizabeth―she is such a darling and I cannot understand what has impelled her to be a contestant on this television show. After discovering her sobbing in her bedroom after only an hour in the Manor, she’s one of the Does who I am keeping an eye on―particularly as someone like Daniel―or any of the horrid women, for that matter―could eat her alive if allowed to. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Doubtful we have any cannibals in our midst. Dementors, perhaps.
Oh, god, I suppose I should say something about the host. He’s, er … well, he’s terrible. And he’s sleazy, his eyes always trailing after the Does―even me. Still, I came here to do a job and I needn’t be kind. I’ll be restrained, however. The people of Britain do not need to know that Roberta (and perhaps Jack) hired an utter sleaze to host their show. Besides, I haven’t seen any evidence of his inappropriate behaviour in the footage, so how would Anastasia (who is believed to be in London right now) even know about it?
There is so much I have to keep straight in my head!
And last, and possibly least (the jury is still out), is this season’s host. I’m not sure how Johnny Toffs managed to miss out on filming in Sydney (sack your agent, Johnny!), but this season we are graced (?) by the man who hosts The Buck (the Australian version of the show), Gordo (short for Gordon, apparently) Watts.
* * *
Gordo comes to us from a long line of hosting jobs in the Australian reality television realm and has about as much personality as a dry washing-up cloth. Someone needs to tell Gordo that he’s hosting a show about finding love, set in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, rather than a funeral. Lighten up, Gordo.
* * *
So, there you are. It’s too early to say this season – so many strong contenders for Daniel’s heart – but if I had to say right this moment who he will choose …
There’s a soft knock on the door and I look up as Jack peers into the room. ‘Hey,’ he whispers.
Hey,’ I whisper back, reverting from Anastasia to Abby in an instant. I wish I could just be Anastasia with Jack. She doesn’t have this intense and distracting crush on him.
Jack slips inside the tiny room and closes the door quietly behind him, then leans against the wall. Today’s T-shirt says, ‘Stop Reading My Shirt’. Bollocks―now I’ve read it again. That makes at least a dozen times since I laid eyes on him this morning. But I am not entirely to blame―the words just sit so nicely across his chest. Still, I feel caught out and raise my eyes to meet his, hoping he doesn’t catch my embarrassment. ‘So, how’s it going? You nearly done?’
‘Er, yes, actually, just the last line to write.’
He nods. ‘Becca was asking after you.’
‘Oh, right. What did you say?’
‘That I thought I saw you down at the beach.’
‘I should probably go down there after this―get some sand on my feet, really sell that lie.’ I hear the edge in my voice and soften my reply with a smile.
‘Sorry, I wasn’t sure what else to tell her,’ he says.
‘No, no, it’s …’
‘Tricky,’ he says, completing my thought.
‘It is.’
‘How’s this room? Is it okay?’
‘Oh, yes, absolutely. It’s perfect.’ I’m seated at a card table, sitting on a folding chair, and I’m surrounded by shelves stacked with enormous packages of toilet roll and kitchen towel, and industrial-sized cleaning products. Everyone’s empty luggage is piled up in one corner, and as it is a storeroom, there is no air circulation, so it’s also rather stuffy.
He grins at me and my stomach flips. ‘It’s shit and I’m sorry.’
‘No, really, it’s perfectly serviceable―I only need to be in here when I’m writing.’
‘We just wanted to make sure you’d be hidden away, somewhere none of the other Does would dream of entering.’
‘Is that why the sign on the door says “Danger! High Voltage”?’
‘Sneaky, huh?’
‘Indeed, though “Cleaning Products” would have worked too,’ I retort, my wit working hard to keep my heart from taking over the conversation. Although he looks drained after the first week of filming, he is still achingly attractive in that effortless, tousled way. I want to get up from my chair, wrap my arms around his waist, and tip my chin up for a kiss.
I don’t though.
‘Some of the women are a little …’ he says, trailing off.
‘Messy? Precious? Incapable of looking after themselves?’ I ask.
He throws up both hands. ‘Hey, you said it, not me.’
‘Let’s call this a safe space when it comes to the show. Open slather. No holds barred. Complete honesty. How does that sound?’
He eyes me, a slight smile on his face. ‘Maybe.’ Oh, I see. He doesn’t trust me. Not wholly, in any case―and he thinks I might fall madly in love with Daniel. Hardly. I’m more likely to run off with Gordo.
He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, then closes his eyes momentarily and winces a little. ‘Are you all right?’ I ask.
This smile doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘Yeah, just tired. I’m going to head out soon.’
‘Do you want to read the recap before you go?’ I ask. He’ll read it eventually, of course, once I submit it for feedback. But what matters to me right now is that Jack knows he can trust me, that I won’t do anything to jeopardise the success of the show. And even though he looks like he needs a decent night’s sleep, I also don’t want him to go just yet.
‘Sure, yeah. That’d be good.’
He comes to stand behind me and leans over, placing one palm flat on the table next to mine. He’s not touching me, but I can feel the warmth of him radiating against my back and I realise how easy it would be to lean back …
‘I just need to …’ he reaches around me to the touchpad of the laptop and scrolls to the top of the page. God, I didn’t even have the presence of mind to do that simple thing. It’s like he can scramble my mind just with his proximity.
Jack’s fingers glide across the touchpad from time to time as he scrolls the recap and reads over my shoulder. His face is inches from mine and despite the late hour and a full day of filming us lounging on the private beach and talking about Daniel, he still has that ‘fresh cotton sheets’ smell. I should ask him what laundry soap he uses.
‘This is really good,’ he says. The vacuum he leaves when h
e steps back and resumes his position against the wall, is palpable. ‘Compose yourself, Abigail!’ chides my inner voice.
‘Thank you,’ I say, simply. When it comes to my writing, no need to be unnecessarily modest.
‘Your description of Daniel works―really sets him up as an aspirational love interest.’ I hope Jack doesn’t think that this version of Daniel reflects how I really feel about him. But how would he know otherwise unless I tell him?
‘What’s the point of telling him, Abby? You already know he’s not interested in you,’ I tell myself. I suppose it’s best to steer clear of discussing Daniel―for now, at least. ‘The part about Gordo … not too much?’ I ask.
He laughs and the sound fills the small space. ‘Oops, sorry,’ he says in an almost whisper, ‘forgot where I was. No, the part about Gordo is bang on. The guy’s a dick.’
Now it’s my turn to laugh, though mindful of our covert status, it’s more of a snigger. ‘I was wondering how you felt about him. You certainly haven’t given anything away.’
‘See? You’re not the only one who has to pretend. And you’ve done a good job of categorising the Does. That will really set up the storylines Roberta and I have been working on.’
