by Sandy Barker
I’d love to have more insight into this part of the process, especially what they have in mind for Doe Abby. Or perhaps not. ‘What if (poor, pathetic) Abby falls for the Stag!’ I still feel ill when I think about them scheming behind my back, Prue ack-ack-ack-ing at how clever she’d been.
I’m also mindful that the ‘storylines’ on these shows, particularly The Stag, are contrived, manipulative, and sometimes plain awful. I can only imagine the pleasure that Vile Demon Woman Roberta derives from conjuring unconscionable plot points.
‘Oh, good,’ I reply to Jack’s comment about the Does.
‘I like that you’re a “Dark Horse” too.’
‘I went back and forth between that and “Miscellaneous”.’
‘Nah, she’s―sorry, you’re―definitely one to watch,’ he says, looking right into my eyes.
Three parts of me―my mind, my heart, and my stomach―are all in agreement at last. I, Abigail Jones, am falling hard for this lovely, clever, rumpledly handsome Australian. He’s so gorgeous, I’m even making up new words.
‘Hey, when you finish up …’
‘I know, I’ll pack up the table and chair, and put the laptop back where I found it.’ It was hidden in an empty box on the top shelf next to the kitchen towel.
‘Cool―thanks. Have a good night.’
‘You too.’
He slips out of the door throwing me a smile before he closes it behind him.
‘You’re definitely one to watch,’ he’d said. Is that because he’s invested in me winning Daniel’s heart, or because he’s watching me? Oh, please let it be the latter. I look down at the laptop screen, then tap out the final line of my recap.
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, it’s Daphne!
Chapter Nine
We’re standing on the pier about to embark on a group date aboard a luxury yacht. There are only six of us, ‘three of each’ as we now say about the not-so-friendly rivalry between the ‘Brits’ and the ‘Aussie Chicks’.
I’m with Becca, Kylie, Daphne, Kaz, and Elizabeth. There was a lot of pouting and stomping about Stag Manor when Gordo announced who would be going on the date. Tara, East End super villainess, was certainly not shy. ‘This is fucked,’ she’d growled as she left the lounge room. A door slammed moments later.
Now, there’s something they never show on television―how disappointed the Does are when they’re left out. It’s all faux smiles and golf claps. ‘Oh, that’s amazing, darling! You’ll have so much fun.’ Definitely fodder for my exposé―how much acting there is in this supposed reality television show.
On the pier, Daphne―British blue blood―is scowling at the yacht. Perhaps it’s smaller than what she’s accustomed to―so many yachts, so little time. And she does ‘summer in Monte Carlo, you know’ (you must have a certain level of wealth to use the word ‘summer’ as a verb). Any moment now, I expect she’ll whine something like, ‘But, Gordo, where’s the helicopter pad?’
(Annoyingly) Jack and Harry aren’t editing in any of her sour-faced snobbishness. As mandated by Roberta, Daphne is still the top contender for Bride and she’ll come across to viewers as someone they can champion, an appropriate choice for Daniel.
Ah, Danny Boy, you utter …
‘Ahoy, ladies,’ he calls to us from the deck of the yacht. I outwardly grin as I see a camera swing in my direction. Inwardly, of course, I am cringing. Ahoy, ladies? Did he come up with that all on his own, or did schmaltzy Gordo write that line?
‘Ready for a day of fun out on Sydney Harbour?’ he asks. Six heads nod like puppets from Thunderbirds. Apt really, as Daphne is the Lady Penelope type. In complete contrast, Kaz shouts up to him, ‘Yeah! Now let’s stop hanging around here like shags on rocks.’
Daniel’s smile falters for a second and I wonder if the camera will pick it up. Kaz is a breath of fresh air in the Manor and I’ve found myself gravitating towards her more and more. If Daniel actually did deign to consider her a potential love interest―unlikely, as I’ve seen footage of him describing her as a ‘the blue-collar girl’ despite her advanced degree in engineering―she could teach him a thing or two about not being such a pretentious arse.
‘Well then, come aboard, me mateys!’ Daniel accompanies this absurd line with a beckoning arm gesture, and I can’t help the giggle that erupts from my mouth. Becca throws me a sideways glance and I try to disguise the laugh as a cough. Oldest trick in the book, but I suspect she isn’t buying it when her eyes narrow. We fall into a loose line and cross the gangplank onto the yacht. Daniel is there to ‘help’ us with the last step, taking each of our hands in turn and kissing us on the cheek.
I’m last and when he leans down to plant his kiss, I’m consumed by a cloud of his cologne. It’s heady and spicy and a bit much for 10am. ‘Can I steal you for a moment, Abby?’ he says in my ear.
‘Cut!’ calls Harry. ‘Sorry, everyone, audio didn’t pick that up properly, Daniel. Becca, you and Abby go back down the gangplank―just halfway―then come up again. A little louder this time, please Daniel.’
Becca and I shuffle down the gangplank and wait for Harry’s cue. She turns to me quickly. ‘Hey, do I have lipstick on my teeth?’ she asks quietly, baring her teeth at me.
‘No, all good,’ I reply.
‘Thanks. I keep forgetting not to bite my lip―nervous habit,’ she says.
‘Aaand cue the Does,’ calls Harry. ‘Action!’
Becca and I repeat our yacht boarding and this time when Daniel asks if he can steal me away, it’s like he’s shouting across a crowded square. I manage not to flinch, however, as I do not want to film our scene for a third time.
‘Cut! Got it,’ says Harry. ‘Thanks, everyone. Next set-up is on the rear deck―all Does except Abby. Abby, Daniel, follow me to the upper deck, please.’
Getting ‘alone time’ with Daniel―a mini date within a group date―puts a target on my back―especially as I’m first. No doubt, snarky Kylie will have something nasty to say. It may irk Becca too. Disappointingly, she’s rather keen on Daniel, though I am not sure why. Every conversation I’ve witnessed between them―both in person and onscreen―has him condescending to her, as though she is not one of the cleverest people here. It’s her looks, I’m sure of it. She could forgo the qualifications in data analytics and step right onto a catwalk in Milan, no question. Likely Daniel doesn’t have the correct chip in his brain to reconcile her beauty with her intelligence.
I follow Harry and Daniel up a narrow set of steep stairs to the upper deck and when we arrive, Jack is there talking to someone who I presume is the captain―a safe assumption as she’s wearing head-to-toe white, all crisply ironed, with epaulets on her shoulders, her outfit capped off with a captain’s cap. She smiles as she passes, then descends the stairs, presumably to launch us into the azure blue waters of Sydney Harbour.
‘We’re just setting up over here,’ says Jack, indicating the seating area where the set dresser is putting on finishing touches. She punches a throw pillow into shape before placing it alongside the others, casts a scrutinising eye over the scene, then nods at Jack and Harry before leaving the deck.
Harry steps up, but my gaze is fixed on Jack who stands off to the side and leans against the railing―all rumpledly handsome, damn him. Today’s T-shirt is sans slogan but has a particularly deep V. I’m admiring that V when a horn blares and the boat starts to move.
‘Right,’ says Harry, commanding my attention, ‘so this is your first date, just the two of you …’ My tum gets squidgy.
I was briefed last night about having alone time with Daniel, so I’ve been swotting up on Doe Abby’s biography. Though, when Jack mentioned it, he’d said ‘conversation’, not ‘date’. Most dates on this show end with an obligatory kiss and I absolutely do not want to kiss Daniel―especially not in front of Jack. Maybe I’ll be fortunate enough to suffocate on Daniel’s
cologne before he can kiss me. A quick trip to A&E, or the Australian equivalent, is preferable to locking lips with the Stag.
Harry continues. ‘So, you know, “get to know you” type questions―upbringing, aspirations, favourite things―that kinda stuff. And try to remember to mention the view, ’kay?’
‘As you wish, Mr Director,’ says Daniel, ruining The Princess Bride for me forever.
We settle into the seating area and, under the guise of smoothing out my shorts, I ease away from Daniel who has sat so close, he’s practically on top of me. Harry calls, ‘Action,’ then waves at a steward who enters the shot and pours two glasses of fizz. Again, it’s 10am. I’ve barely digested my Weetbix―Australia’s take on Weetabix―and now I’m expected to sip fizz and make nice with the banker wanker. I’m not sure which of those thoughts is responsible for my intensifying queasiness―or it could be the gentle rise and fall of the yacht on the harbour.
‘So, Abby,’ says Daniel, locking his eyes onto mine and appearing to take an intense interest in me. ‘What’s your story, then?’ Good god. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear this was a scene from a soap opera―one of those American ones where they stare at each other during long moments of silence.
‘My story?’ Good question, Daniel. Panicked, I realise that all of Doe Abby’s backstory has flown out of my head, like in those anxiety dreams about sitting your exams and forgetting everything you’ve learnt.
‘Yes,’ he says, moving closer. There’s no way he’s attracted to me―I’m far too plain for the likes of Daniel. What on earth is he playing at? ‘Tell me all about yourself. What makes you you?’
My synapses finally start firing and a wave of calm washes over me―Doe Abby is here. ‘Oh, not much to tell, really. The usual upbringing―same nanny throughout my childhood―Nanny Ward. Prep school, college, gap year’ ―I ensure I say this as ‘gap yah’ to really sell it― ‘university to study foreign policy, then a proper job. That’s it, really.’
Doe Abby’s potted history reveals that her social standing will be at least on par with Daniel’s and he nods at me encouragingly. ‘But your accent,’ he says (Uh oh!), ‘I’m trying so hard to place it.’ Time to play my trump card―deflection, something I have become increasingly skilled at since I’ve been in the Manor.
‘Oh, you needn’t waste your time. Let’s just say that it’s been cultivated to be borderless―region-less, even.’ I’m not sure how I’m coming up with this nonsense, but I smile enigmatically and take a sip of fizz to punctuate the point.
‘But what do you m―’
‘My job,’ I say quickly to cut him off. ‘I can’t say much more, so you’ll just have to take my word for it.’ I’ve embellished my backstory a little―on paper, Doe Abby is a non-descript ‘public servant’. Suddenly, Lisa’s voice echoes in my mind. ‘I’ll be your de Bergerac,’ she’d said, referring to coaching me on all things ‘growing up privileged’. What I hadn’t counted on was that, in the moment, my mind would steal from her verbatim. Doe Abby is essentially Lisa, and as soon as I have the realisation, I know that I can successfully play this role for the next seven weeks. I’ll just have to channel my bestie.
Daniel is looking at me with what seems like appreciation. ‘You’re an interesting one,’ he says cryptically.
‘How so?’
‘Well, for one thing, you don’t primp and preen like most of the other Does.’ It’s an accurate observation. I’ve seen a lot of primping and preening since we congregated in the Manor, especially as Harry is right about to call ‘Action’―women arranging themselves ‘just so’, posing to look as alluring as possible. Whereas, I have no idea what my ‘best side’ is. Even the lovely Becca is a bit of a preener, but I can’t agree with Daniel without coming across as catty.
‘Oh, I think that’s just extenuating circumstances, don’t you? Everyone wanting to put their best foot forward?’ There, that was diplomatic.
‘Perhaps, but you don’t seem to care about your appearance.’ Ouch. That’s a bit much, Daniel. My thoughts must sour my expression because his back-pedalling is almost comic. ‘Oh no, sorry, not to say that you aren’t attractive. You are―very.’ Now he’s laying it on a bit thick. ‘I just meant that you’re more of a natural beauty.’ Hmm, definitely full of it.
‘Like Kaz,’ I say, taking another sip of fizz.
‘I’m sorry.’ A crease forms between his brows.
‘Kaz is a natural beauty. That glorious red hair, that smile. She’s quite winsome, don’t you agree?’ He squirms slightly and I must say, Doe Abby is finding this change in dynamic highly entertaining.
‘Er, yes, quite,’ he says, though it is obvious he thinks the polar opposite―his loss. Kaz is a darling. Regardless, I smile at Daniel benignly, inwardly chalking up the win.
This is the part of the conversation where I’m supposed to ask about him. ‘So, did you always want to be a banker?’ I ask, widening my eyes to appear especially interested. I take another tiny sip of fizz, peering at him over the rim of my glass.
He shrugs and, just for a moment, I get a glimpse of an actual person. Then he plasters on a smile and that person disappears. ‘Family business, you know how it goes―almost a legacy. From about age seven I was telling everyone I was going to be a banker like my father. Of course, investment banking is far more complex than it was in my father’s day. But I don’t want to bore you with all that.’
‘I don’t think you could possibly understand “all that”,’ more like. Still, there is a melancholic thread just below Daniel’s well-practised charm, and I can’t help the stirrings of empathy. But right as I realise that he leans across to kiss me. I turn my head just in time and his lips land on my cheek.
‘Don’t look so shocked,’ he says, a lilt of laughter in his voice. ‘As I’ve said, you’re attractive and I find you interesting. Why wouldn’t I want to kiss you?’ he asks.
I must have a face like thunder because he laughs―full throated and blatantly at my expense, the sod―and just like that, any empathy I’d felt for him vanishes. ‘You know, I’ve watched every season of The Stag …’ I say, getting dangerously close to the truth.
‘Is that so?’ He leans back and crosses one ankle over his knee, his foot dangling. Classic power move―I must have him on the back foot (so to speak).
‘It is, and the one thing that’s always bothered me’ ―it’s not the one thing, as Anastasia can attest to, but I am Doe Abby right now and she opted to come on this show― ‘is how quick the Stag is to kiss all the Does. If you’re throwing kisses about like a beauty queen at a parade, how are any of us supposed to take you―or this―seriously?’ He frowns, but I can’t tell if it’s because he’s considering what I’m saying or because he’s not used to being told off.
‘A first kiss is supposed to mean something, Daniel. It’s supposed to be fraught with excitement, a delicious tension that builds and is only released when the lips come together. And then, there’s a sort of melding of the two people, a sense of rightness.’ His frown has morphed into something else―intrigue, perhaps.
‘It certainly shouldn’t be rushed, or ill-considered, or thrown away as though it’s nothing,’ I conclude. I realise when I stop talking―or would we call that a rant?―that this is Abby speaking. Me―not a fabrication that a producer conjured, then put down on a page.
Daniel’s drops his foot to the ground and leans forward, locking his eyes onto mine again. ‘You’re a romantic,’ he says.
‘I suppose I am.’ I sip more fizz, just for something to do.
‘Fascinating,’ he adds, his eyes roaming my face like it holds the secrets to the universe.
Just as I am patting myself on the back for wangling my way out of kissing him―for now, anyway ―Kylie appears at the top of the stairs, plants her hands on her hips and calls out, ‘Is it my turn yet?’ It’s unclear whether she’s been sent up here, but if she hasn’t, then well played, Kylie!
Harry silently signals to her to move into sh
ot. She catches on and looms over us, glaring down at me. ‘Well? Can I talk to Daniel now?’ she asks me. ‘Alone?’ she adds, as if that wasn’t already implied.
An out! Thank you, Kylie, you horrid woman. ‘Absolutely! He’s all yours,’ I say. I leap up, realising I may have been a tad too willing to depart and, just to stir the pot, I lean down and kiss Daniel’s cheek, lingering much longer than my lungs can stand. It really is awful cologne.
‘Until next time,’ I say to him pseudo-quietly, but purposefully loud enough for everyone else to hear. He looks up at me wide-eyed, a smile playing on his lips, and I hear a harrumph from Kylie. Oh, bollocks, I’ve forgotten to mention the view like Harry asked. ‘And isn’t that a gorgeous view!’ I cry, my arms outstretched. I glance at Harry and he shakes his head at me―hmm, they may not be able to use that footage.
I cross to the stairs and just before I head down, I cast a glance at Jack, who’s looking right at me and frowning. Not sure what to make of that, I raise a hand ‘hello’. He mirrors the gesture but the frown stays firmly in place―perhaps he didn’t like my line about the view either. He folds his arms and goes back to watching the Kylie–Daniel scene play out, and her throaty laugh bellows from behind me as I make my way downstairs.
‘You’re a romantic,’ Daniel had said.
I suppose I am. Though a fat lot of good it’s done me so far.
Before joining the others on the rear deck, I pause at the railing on the side of the boat and tilt my head to the sun, inhaling deep gulps of the fresh air. It’s redolent with the brine of the water and, faintly, the lemony notes of eucalyptus trees. The yacht is cruising not far offshore and quite slowly it seems―though this is my first time on board a yacht, so I don’t really have a point of comparison.
My eyes drink in the view as we pass some of the most beautiful homes I’ve ever seen―in person or in photos. Some are mostly glass and severe angles, like the one we’re staying in, others are boxy and rendered in cement, an array of colours from stark white to a rainbow of pastels, some are more traditional. There’s a mock Tudor and even a few faux Tuscan villas. Actually, that style seems to be quite popular along this stretch of coastline.
