The Dating Game

by Sandy Barker

  Or do I? ‘Think, Abby!’ my mind shouts.

  I stand rooted to the spot with fear, watching as activity buzzes around me. Daphne, Daniel, and Becca start rummaging around in their respective bags. ‘Harry, which date is first?’ asks Daphne. ‘Should I get changed now, or …’

  ‘Oh, right. Actually, Becca and Daniel will be going abseiling first.’

  Daphne shrugs, looking terribly bored (she probably is). She makes her way to one of the tables and sits down, inspecting her cuticles, and Becca and Daniel go into the bathrooms to change.

  ‘Abby, do something!’

  ‘Er, Harry, may I have a word?’ I say, signalling for him to join me away from the others. I head over to some wooden shelves that display everything from artisan crackers to quince paste to sets of coasters with different grape varietals on them.

  ‘Hey, Abby, what’s up?’ he asks.

  ‘I’m just wondering if I could possibly do something else. Anything else,’ I add. ‘Even the abseiling,’ I hear myself say, though I immediately regret it.

  ‘Oh … ah … you can’t do the abseiling, I’m sorry. The insurance won’t cover it.’

  ‘Oh, but Becca …?’

  ‘Yeah, she’s Australian, so …’ I’d rather not go into the ins and outs of why an Australian can do the more dangerous activity, so I drop it.

  ‘What about the driving then?’

  ‘Sorry, Abby, I mean, I can ask Daphne if she’ll swap, but your bio … You’re supposed to be good at horse riding.’

  ‘That’s not me,’ I say, my voice raspy and desperate. This isn’t me either; I hate being this Abby, all panicky and rude.

  Jack approaches, turning our conversation into a huddle. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Doe Abby can ride a horse, and real Abby is terrified of the bloody things,’ I whisper.

  ‘Ohhh,’ says Harry, ‘gotchya.’

  ‘Sorry, Abby, I didn’t know,’ says Jack.

  ‘How could you? Hang on,’ I say, narrowing my eyes at Jack, ‘Did you know?’

  ‘I swear, Abby, I had no idea.’

  ‘But didn’t you write Doe Abby’s backstory?’

  ‘No, that wasn’t me. That was Roberta.’

  ‘Will we be leaving soon?’ asks Daniel from across the tasting room. He’s returned, wearing a pair of tan chinos and a slim-cut navy T-shirt, as well as some sturdy hiking shoes. He may be a massive wanker, but he does look rather good when he’s dressed more casually. He catches me looking at him and lifts his chin arrogantly like Joey from FRIENDS. ‘How you doin’?’ I hear in my head and I smile as though I am utterly smitten with this twat.

  ‘Uh, yeah, mate, just give us a sec,’ calls Harry before turning his attention back to me. ‘Hey, how ’bout I go ask Daphne if she’ll swap dates with you?’

  ‘Oh, would you?’ I ask, awash with relief.

  Harry jogs over to Daphne and I watch the scene play out with my bottom lip between my teeth. Lisa said that they probably wouldn’t ask me to go horse riding and if they did, I just needed to tell Jack I was too scared. It turns out to be Harry who is getting me out of this, but no matter, a hero is a hero is a hero.

  ‘Absolutely not! I’d much rather drive around the countryside than climb on a horse.’ She won’t swap dates with me. Harry’s murmuring something to her. ‘Well, too bad, she should have told you so on her application form.’ Right. So, now Daphne knows it’s because I’m scared to ride a horse and she still won’t swap dates. How did I ever think she’d do anything for someone other than herself?

  I’m now awash with the opposite of relief―gut wrenching, squidgy tum and bum fear.

  ‘Sorry, Abby,’ says a voice low in my ear. ‘We’ll just get some quick shots of you on the horse and call it good, okay?’ When I look at Jack, his concern is evident.

  I nod. ‘Thank you,’ I say, my voice strangled.

  He squeezes the top of my arm and leaves me standing beside the quince paste and coasters.

  As steeped in terror as I am, it occurs to me that these are the first civil words Jack and I have exchanged since our argument the other night.

  Now all I have to do is survive the day so I can make things right with him.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Abs!’ Even though I am ensconced in my hidey hole―not exactly my favourite place―there’s nothing like hearing my bestie’s voice. God, how I’ve missed her―even with phone privileges this is only the second time I’ve spoken to her since I arrived well over a month ago.

  ‘Hi, Lise. I miss you so much.’ It also feels like forever since I’ve been able to say exactly how I feel and my eyes prickle with tears as my throat tightens.

  ‘Oh, babes, I miss you too. So sorry it’s been ages; work has been manic.’ I conjure an image of her skulking about wearing a trench coat, peering around corners, and tapping her nose to signal her contact. It makes me giggle, my tears momentarily forgotten. ‘So, tell me everything. How is it? How are you?’

  I exhale heavily. Those are huge questions to answer and I’m not sure where to begin. ‘And spare no details,’ she adds, ‘this is my first proper lunch break in ages and I’m taking the full thirty minutes.’ Right, so spare no details but be fast because the clock is ticking. But isn’t this what I’m good at, composing digests? ‘You don’t mind if I eat while we talk, do you?’ she asks. ‘I’ve managed to nip out to Pret and I snagged the last egg salad sandwich―practically stole it from out of some banker wanker’s hands.’

  She’s got me laughing now and, of course, I’m picturing her and Daniel―King Banker Wanker―wrestling over a squished egg sandwich. ‘You eat, I’ll talk.’

  She replies with her mouth full and I have no idea what she’s said, so I proceed. ‘Right. So, there are only eight of us left, and I’ve made some friends now’ ―muffled mouth-full, ‘Mmm, good,’ from Lisa― ‘and Daniel’s still as smarmy and full of himself as ever, and we had this date―this awful, awful date. Oh Lise, they put me on a horse! And I nearly fell off!’

  She coughs and I suspect it’s because she’s choked on her sandwich. ‘Wait, what? Didn’t you tell Jack that you don’t know how to ride?’

  ‘Yes, I did that. But it was too late to change activities, and it was terrifying, but I didn’t die―’

  ‘Obvs …’

  ‘Well, yes, obvs, but there was this horrible moment with Daniel afterwards …’ I rest my forehead on my palm, the mere memory making my head feel heavy. ‘Lise, he kissed me.’

  ‘Oh, no! Really?’

  ‘Uh-huh. And it caught me way off guard and … oh god, Lise, Jack was there.’

  ‘Ohhh, of course.’

  ‘Yes, exactly.’ We’re both quiet for a moment.

  ‘So, speaking of …?’ she probes.

  ‘Nothing. Nothing is happening, and I’m fairly certain I’ve ruined any chance of rectifying that.’

  ‘Because you kissed Daniel?’

  ‘I didn’t … Daniel kissed me.’

  ‘But surely that was obvious to Jack?’

  ‘I have no idea, because we don’t talk much anymore unless it’s about the show.’

  ‘But last time we spoke, you said you two were chummy.’

  ‘We were, yes, but then I shouted at him.’

  ‘Oh, Abs.’

  ‘And I told him he was being far too friendly with me around the other Does―because he was―and that if he wasn’t careful they might twig to something. Since then, he’s kept his distance.’ She doesn’t reply and I think we’ve been cut off. ‘Lisa?’

  ‘Just thinking. How much longer is the filming supposed to last?’ she asks.

  ‘Oh, and that’s the other thing. Rather than top four, Vile Demon Woman wants me in the top two.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Because of Daniel.’

  ‘Because he kissed you?’

  ‘No, that happened before the date from hell. Oh, god, I wish I could forget this whole thing. I just want to come home!’ She sniggers and, th
ough she may very well be laughing at me, I join in at my own expense.

  ‘But Abs, this, this is what you have to write―all this nonsense. You’re still going to write that piece, right, the exposé?’

  ‘I hope so. Yes. No, I absolutely will. If I’m forced to be here then something good must come out of it. And there’s so much to write about. Vile Demon Woman. Cow-ish, bitch-faced Does in the Manor. Watching my friends get picked off like this is The Hunger Games. The acting―and that’s not my acting I’m talking about, that’s the other Does. It’s all going in there!’ I rant.

  ‘And what about Jack?’ she asks, just as I start to run out of steam.

  ‘I told you, I don’t think he’s interested in me like that.’

  ‘Right, but you’ve thought about how you can protect him in the piece, right? If you’re not careful, it could be a blow to his career―and his brother’s. Henry, was it?’

  ‘Harry,’ I reply numbly. She’s right. I don’t want to hurt Jack―or Harry. I’ll need to find a way to write the piece, either positioning them as pawns to garner reader sympathy or omitting them altogether, which would be disingenuous in a ‘tell-all’.

  ‘Harry, right. Geez, Abs, you are in a pickle.’

  It helps―and it doesn’t―to hear that. There’s no one else I can talk to about all this and I hadn’t realised how much I’ve been bottling it up. But to have it confirmed that I am, indeed, ‘in a pickle’ is less comforting than I’d hoped.

  ‘So sorry to do this, babes, but I’ve got to head back.’

  ‘No, no, of course. Thank you for listening.’

  ‘I wasn’t much help, was I?’ she asks.

  I’m so practised at lying now that this one flies from my mouth before I even form the thought. ‘You absolutely were. Just talking about it has helped immensely.’

  ‘Oh good,’ she replies, and it doesn’t make me feel any better that I have fooled the super spy. ‘You’ll figure it out, Abs. It’ll be all right.’ It’s essentially ‘pep talk for beginners’ speak, but I hope she’s right.

  ‘Thanks, lovely. Speak soon,’ I say, even though I have no idea when that will be.

  ‘Bye-ee.’ She ends the call and I’m struck with a wave of nostalgia for London in the autumn, bundled up in boots and a mac, munching on an egg salad sandwich while sitting riverside and watching the boat traffic on the Thames.

  Instead, I am in stunning Sydney, in a million-pound mansion, getting paid to experience something unique, and I am absolutely miserable.

  I’ve never been more mortified in my life.

  And once, Mum and I watched Basic Instinct together because she loves Michael Douglas films. Not only was it quite the education for a fifteen-year-old, but my mother had ‘ahem-ed’ her way through every sex scene. By the end of the film, her throat must have been red raw. But I would trade places with teenaged Abby in a heartbeat rather than sit here with Harry and Jack watching the latest episode of The Stag. Because most of this episode will feature the winery date.

  I have my notebook perched on my lap, pen at the ready and as I watch the opening, I scribble something about ‘scenery porn’ just to keep my fingers from worrying the corner of the pages into pulp. I suppose a comment about the scenery is apt, really, as embossed on the cover of my notebook is ‘Travel Journal’―a ruse just in case any of the other Does see me writing in it.

  Onscreen, there’s a close-up of Daniel and if I didn’t know him at all, I’d describe him as handsome, especially as he is sunlit and his blonde hair is luminescent. ‘I’m so excited for today, getting to spend more time with Daphne, Becca, and Abby,’ he says, his eyeline slightly left of the camera.

  ‘What makes each of them special?’ asks Carlie from offscreen.

  Daniel grins and I foresee thousands of heartstrings across the world being tugged. ‘Well, Daphne is … she’s so refined, very sophisticated. We run in similar circles and I can certainly imagine a future with her.’ Of course, you can, Daniel; she’s the only Doe who’s as pretentious as you are. God, Roberta will lap this up when she sees it.

  ‘And Becca! She’s such a beauty, just stunning, so lithe.’ Is he describing a woman or a racehorse? ‘She takes my breath away, quite frankly.’ I roll my eyes. No mention of her kindness, her warmth, her intelligence.

  ‘And what about Abby?’ prompts Carlie. I swallow hard, intrigue and dread coursing through my veins in equal measure.

  Daniel’s eyes narrow sightly and he tilts his head in contemplation as a smile curls his lips. ‘Abby is … she’s intriguing. She’s attractive, quick-witted, and a bit of a romantic. But I also sense that she’s playing things close to her chest, which is a bit of a contradiction with how she wears her heart on her sleeve. It’s rather beguiling, actually … her being so mysterious; she’s like a puzzle to unlock …’ he adds wistfully, his smile getting wider.

  Good god! Is Daniel falling for Doe Abby? Jack tosses me an indecipherable look over his shoulder. Harry’s watching the screen, but he’s nodding slightly as though answering my unasked question.

  The first date is Becca and Daniel abseiling. Despite the unflattering harnesses and bulbous helmets, neither would look out of place in an advertisement for an outdoor adventure company. I write that down. As the technicians check their gear and give them a briefing, Daniel appears to be getting more and more nervous.

  ‘You okay?’ asks Becca.

  ‘Oh, yes, absolutely.’ He smiles, but it comes across as more of a grimace.

  Becca reaches over and gives his hand a squeeze, the way she does with me sometimes. ‘You’ll be great,’ she says.

  He nods quickly but his mouth turns down at the corners and he starts chewing on the inside of his lip. It’s odd seeing him out of his comfort zone like this―vulnerable, even―and I remember the glimpse of Daniel the person I saw on the yacht when he talked about going into the family business.

  Becca abseils first and having done it many times before, she’s (of course) brilliant at it, making it look easy. Cameras film her from the top of the cliff face and the bottom, and one of Harry’s crew abseils down with Becca capturing her broad grin and cries of, ‘This is amazing!’

  At the bottom of the cliff, she’s unclipped from the ropes and looks up at Daniel. ‘You ready?’ she calls. Her voice echoes against the rockface.

  ‘Er, no, but here goes,’ says Daniel.

  ‘Is Daniel afraid of heights?’ I ask.

  ‘No, I reckon he just got nervous about going over the edge,’ replies Jack.

  ‘Right.’

  There’s a clunky edit that Harry and the editor will smooth out where the camera operator had to unclip, run around to the ‘back’ of the cliff where they’d ascended, and repeat his descent to capture Daniel on film. I can’t imagine how nerve wracking that would have been for Daniel―psyching himself up to go, but then having to wait. That’s one thing about filming this show―lots of ‘hurry up and wait’ moments.

  Daniel eventually eases over the edge, his fear palpable. ‘I still can’t believe we got him to do this,’ says Harry. ‘When we told him about it, he seemed fine, but he was totally packing it the whole time.’ Australian speak for ‘terrified’, I imagine. ‘Still, gonna make for good TV, especially the next bit.’

  Jack nods slightly, but I stay silent.

  Daniel duck walks awkwardly down the rock wall, Becca spurring him on with encouraging words. When he reaches the ground, he is obviously relieved and as he’s unclipped from the ropes by one of the technicians, he starts an almost endless loop of, ‘Did you see that? I did it. I did it. Did you see?’ Again, more glimpses of Daniel the person.

  Daniel removes his helmet and he and Becca come together in the perfect onscreen clinch―so perfect, it’s like Harry scripted it and had them rehearse. Becca’s arms wind up around Daniel’s neck, his around her waist. Then she lifts a hand to wipe his damp fringe from his face. ‘You were amazing,’ she says.

  He grins at her. ‘You were. It was your voi
ce that got me down that cliff.’ Calm down, love, it’s not like you went off to war. Ooh, a line for Anastasia. I scribble it down.

  ‘I’m proud of you,’ she says, her voice catching. Their lips come together in perfect synchrony, and they kiss―at length. As in, an exceedingly long kiss that seems to go on forever and a day.

  There are a multitude of reasons I’m squirming in my seat, my unease growing with each second. First, Becca is my friend and I don’t typically watch my friends passionately kiss someone. She’s also falling hard for this twat, and if this were Lisa, I’d be warning her off him.

  It’s also impossible not to think of kissing Jack like that―especially as he is right there and he’s wearing his ‘I aim to misbehave’ T-shirt (my favourite), and I love how it clings to his well-defined shoulders. ‘Stop it, Abby! The slim possibility of you ever kissing Jack ended when you screeched at him like a banshee,’ I think, admonishing myself.

  I blow out a frustrated sigh, which Harry misinterprets. ‘Yeah, it’s a bit much, eh? We can just fast-forward a bit.’ He presses a button on the console in front of him, then Becca’s face fills the screen―it’s her confessional.

  ‘I’ve just never felt this way before,’ she says, full lips taut across perfect teeth. She shakes her head as if in disbelief, her glorious mane of dark curls cascading down her back. She looks like she’s in a shampoo commercial.

  I’d known that they’d kissed, of course. Despite us (ostensibly) competing for Daniel’s heart, she couldn’t help but gush to me when they returned from their date and he and Daphne left on theirs. It was two hours of ‘And then he said …’ and ‘Oh, my god, Abby, I can’t believe this …’ and the worst one, ‘I think he feels the same way.’

  I’m certain she mistook my concern for jealousy because she’d followed that up with, ‘Sorry, Abs. He definitely has feelings for you too.’ Though, now having seen his confessional, she might be right. Bollocks.

  All this is flying through my mind and we haven’t even got to my date yet. I look at the nearly blank page in my lap and scribble ‘shampoo commercial’―not particularly mean and hopefully funny enough for Anastasia’s readers.