by Sandy Barker
‘Yes,’ I conceded with a shy smile. ‘And then on the flight … that conversation about our families, our aspirations … but then you told me about your plan with Roberta―to give me a chance with Daniel. And that’s when I knew.’ I shrugged.
‘Knew what?’ he asked, frowning.
‘That what I felt was one-sided.’
‘Oh, Abby, no. I just … I couldn’t act on it so I kept telling myself that it was all in my head and then you and Daniel―’
‘There is no me and Daniel,’ I huffed.
‘I know. I know that now, believe me.’ He sighed. ‘I really messed this up, didn’t I?’
‘Well, yes.’
He chuckled. ‘You’re very honest,’ he said.
At that, I chuckled. ‘Says he to the woman who is currently playing two roles.’
‘No, I mean it. I should have worked it out. I mean, I produce this show where I’m watching people’s interactions all the time, gauging their feelings, yet I was completely blind to what was going on with you.’
‘I’m just as much to blame,’ I said.
‘I agree.’
‘What?’ I swatted him playfully.
‘Sorry, go ahead. How are you culpable in all this?’
‘When I got it in my head that you didn’t fancy me―’
‘Oh, I fancy you …’
‘Well, yes, I know that now. But before, I tried to dismiss all my feelings. And every time we talked and it was easy and fun―so fun, Jack―well … I just kept telling myself that I was firmly in the “friend zone” and to stop wishing I weren’t.’
‘I’m really sorry, Abs.’ He pressed his lips together, seemingly milliseconds from some serious self-flagellation.
‘Apology accepted,’ I countered brightly. His eyes softened, his face settling into a sad(ish) smile. ‘I love you calling me that, by the way,’ I added.
‘Abs?’ I nodded and he dipped his head for another kiss. This one was less urgent, less like two people starved of affection going at it in a storeroom, and just the loveliest kiss I’ve ever had in my entire life.
‘So, now what?’ I asked when we pulled apart.
‘Yeah.’ He sighed. ‘It’s going to be tricky. We can’t let on to anyone else. I mean, Harry knows now, but he won’t say anything. It’s just …’
‘You could lose your job.’
‘Yep. And you yours.’
‘Yes.’
We were quiet for a moment.
‘It’s only a few more weeks,’ I said.
He nodded, that sad(ish) smile back in place. ‘If he kisses you again, I may not be able to restrain myself.’
My brows rocketed to my hairline. ‘Oh, is that so?’ Another nod. ‘And what exactly would you do if you were unrestrained?’ I could imagine a multitude of things he could do to me unrestrained.
He shrugged. ‘You know, write him a strongly worded email, something like that.’ We shared another chuckle. ‘Let’s just be really careful, okay, especially with some of the others already thinking we’re overly friendly.’ It was my turn to nod. ‘It’s bad enough that one of my crew is screwing a Doe. God, if Roberta gets wind of Tim and Justine, she’ll have my guts for garters.’
‘Wait, what? They’re sleeping together?’
‘I don’t know that there’s much sleeping going on,’ he said dryly, ‘but we’ve had to reprimand him.’
‘But here?’
‘Well, she’s got her own room, don’t forget.’
‘Oh, right, of course.’
‘Anyway, when it all came out at dinner the other night, a lot of things started making sense―you know when you just feel like something’s not quite right, but maybe you’re imagining it?’ I nodded. I was extremely familiar with that feeling. ‘Yeah, well after that, Harry and I had a word with him.’
‘Eek. I bet that was no fun.’
‘It was the opposite of fun.’ He sighed again and rubbed his chin. ‘So, are you going to be okay with us laying low?’
‘Absolutely,’ I said.
‘Really? ’Cause I’m kinda thinking we shouldn’t even be in here alone.’
I looked about at the shelving units and luggage piled up in the corner. ‘Because of how romantic it is? Because there’s no way we’ll be able to control ourselves in such a perfect setting?’
‘Something like that.’ He smiled. ‘But I … you’re … oh, hell, just out with it, Jack. I like you, Abby, and it doesn’t matter if we’re amongst the toilet paper or on a boat or a long-haul flight, or even if I’m saving you from a lift―’
‘The giant jaws of death,’ I interjected. It earned me a grin.
‘Right. The giant jaws of death. The setting doesn’t matter. You matter. I’ve been going nuts watching you with Daniel. Just …’ Another sigh. ‘We need to be careful.’ I nodded again and squeezed my arms tight around his waist to let him know I understood. ‘It’s only a few weeks, like you said,’ he added.
‘A few weeks and then …’
‘And then I’m taking you out.’
‘Ooh! Do you mean on a one-on-one date?’
‘Yes.’ He smacked his lips against mine.
‘Before you ask, I will wear this pin,’ I said solemnly. I got another kiss, then he left me to my writing.
My writing … of the piece I would shop around as soon as I got home, the piece that would expose the underbelly of this ‘reality’. And then another thought had struck me. When all this ended and Jack and I could be together, I was supposed to get on a flight home …
‘Abs!’ Kaz is poking me.
‘What?’ I’ve been so lost in replaying the Jack and Abby love scene that I’ve missed Gordo telling us about the rest of the day.
‘We have to get ready.’
‘Right, so …?’
‘Wow. You were really off with the fairies. We get dressed for lunch―all dolled up―then pack something caz to change into for the bridge climb.’
‘Oh, right, yes.’ I look about and realise that everyone else is in a flurry of activity and the other Does have already headed upstairs to get ready.
‘It’s gonna be awesome,’ says Kaz as I follow her inside. I sneak a peek at Jack as I walk past and we lock eyes―just for a second―and the look says everything that we can’t.
Up close, the Sydney Opera House is wondrous―even more so than seeing it from the window of a high-rise hotel.
The minivan pulls up just past the gatehouse where we’ll decant to the forecourt, and we wait inside as Tim, Carlie, Harry, and Jack pile out to set up the shot of us arriving. ‘And, getting ready …’ Harry calls to us. ‘Action.’
Jack opens the van door then steps out of the shot and we climb out as elegantly as possible, experienced now in not looking at the camera unless asked. We talk excitedly amongst ourselves and exclaim over the beauty of one of the most recognisable structures in the world, and none of this is staged. Even the Australians gawp in amazement.
‘You know, I must have been down here a couple dozen times,’ says Justine, ‘and it never gets old. It’s just stunning.’ There’s general agreement.
Facing us are the ‘mouths’ of three of the sails―that’s what those enormous white sections are called, although they look more like the petals of a lotus flower to me. And with the dark glass contrasting with the stark white of the tiled sails, the structure seems both geometric and organic, a remarkable combination of the two.
Following Carlie, who’s not on camera, we ascend the dozens of wide steps spanning the breadth of the Opera House and I watch tourists milling about taking photographs. Most of them, like us, seem awe-struck.
But nothing could have prepared me for the inside.
Where the lines of the external structure seem almost organised, inside is a beautiful chaos. This is where cement, wood, steel, and glass meet at odd angles or seamless curves, where red carpet and brass hand railings are the perfect embellishments, where staircases are illuminated by sunlight spilling in from above, and w
here the architecture of the concert halls protrudes into the foyer as inverted opera boxes.
My mouth remains open as my eyes flick to the hundreds of details in this magnificent structure.
‘Cool, huh?’ says Kaz. ‘I’ve only been here once before, but somehow you forget how amazing it is ’til you’re standing in it.’
‘Indeed,’ I whisper reverently.
Carlie not-so-subtly gestures for us to follow her to Bennelong, where we’re having lunch. We congregate at the top of an impressive staircase to wait for the maître d’ while Tim, Harry, and Jack pass us to set up another arrival shot. The restaurant is empty, which seems odd.
‘Carlie, what day is it?’ Days of the week stopped having meaning a long time ago; in the Manor, the passage of time is marked by events instead of days, such as my weekly deadline or filming the Pin Ritual.
‘Of the week?’ Carlie asks. I nod. ‘Tuesday,’ she replies. Right, so Bennelong must not be open on Tuesdays. I crane my neck, taking in the opulent architecture and décor when I hear the tinkling of polite laughter. My eyes land on Daniel who’s standing at the far end of the restaurant near one of the enormous windows with a blonde woman. This must be Stevie.
But before we meet her, we must ‘arrive’. The maître d’ steps into place ready to welcome us and Harry calls, ‘Action.’ We trail down the stairs into the restaurant in an untidy line. ‘Cut! Sorry, can we have a bit more “ooh-ing” and “aah-ing” please? I mean, look where we are, people!’ Harry scolds good-naturedly. He shoos us back up the stairs and when we’re all in position, including the maître d’, he shouts, ‘Action.’
This time, we make sure Harry gets his ‘money shot’―though it’s possible that we’ve gone too far in the other direction―that was some effusive ‘ooh-ing’ and this is reality television, not CBeebies.
We’re obediently following the maître d’ to our table, the camera capturing every moment, when Daniel’s voice booms out across the cavernous space. ‘Oh, look, they’re here!’ he says, as though he hasn’t just watched us arrive―twice. I then watch, perplexed, as he holds out his hand to Stevie who reluctantly takes it, then walks her over to the rest of us. ‘Hello, everyone. I’d like you to meet Stevie.’
Good god, if Becca looks like a Victoria’s Secret model, then Stevie looks like Victoria herself. In fact, her likeness to Karlie Kloss is so uncanny, I peer at her suspiciously. Daniel graciously plays host as though it is perfectly normal to introduce his new girlfriend to his five other girlfriends. As he says each of our names, Karlie―I mean, Stevie―shakes our hands, looking us of each in the eye and smiling warmly.
All I can wonder is how on earth Harry and Jack are going to turn this charming, polite woman into the new Villain.
Chapter Eighteen
‘You right there, Daph?’ asks Kaz, turning to look behind her. ‘Daph’ is far from ‘right’. Her knuckles are so white from fervently grasping the handrail, that if the wind changes, they’ll stay that way.
‘Uh, yes, quite. Thank you,’ she says. Liar. It’s the second time I’ve thought this about her today―the first was regarding her (questionable) feelings for Daniel, but this? This is serious. She’s terrified and we’re not even halfway up the bridge yet.
‘Just watch my feet and take it one step at a time, ’kay,’ says Kaz. ‘You can’t fall―we’re literally attached to this thing―but that will help stop the vertigo.’ Kaz is being especially kind to Daphne and I feel for her too. I recall the day at the winery when she wouldn’t swap places with me―horse riding for off-roading driving―and I’m realising now that it was probably due to her crippling fear of heights. I wish she’d said.
‘And I’m right behind you, Daphne,’ I say. Her blonde head bobs with a sharp nod. Why on earth didn’t she have a word with Jack and Harry? She could have whined about the unflattering blue and grey jumpsuits we’re wearing and begged off for fashion reasons. No doubt they would’ve accepted such a feeble excuse, if only for the big fat ‘B for bride’ metaphorically stamped on her forehead. It’s baffling why she’s gone through with it, another reason I’m finding her more intriguing as we lumber towards the end of the season.
The ‘climb’ is exactly that―climbing hundreds of stairs towards the apex of the enormous steel arches, a network of crossbeams surrounding us, as intricate a pattern as a cobweb. An image of a giant mechanical spider pops into my head, spurting steel from its spinnerets and I shudder. Why would my mind conjure something so hideous? Especially with this view!
I peer over my shoulder at the city, my gaze panning down to Circular Quay. I’m certain I could never tire of this view―the ferry traffic, the Botanic Gardens, the high-rise buildings, dense and gleaming, and the wide expanse of the harbour. And, of course, that glorious Opera House, dazzling in the late afternoon sun, almost glowing with the amber light. Its silhouette, the lines of that unique, curvaceous structure will be indelibly etched on my mind.
As will that lunch.
The food was sublime and an enormous step up from what we cook for ourselves in the Manor, which tends to be sub-par pasta dishes and pot noodles. All local produce, imaginatively combined and served to look ‘just so’. I couldn’t tell you which was my favourite. The beetroot and radish salad was not only delicious, it arrived looking like a garden on a plate. I almost didn’t want to eat it, but when Kaz started moaning in ecstasy beside me after her first bite, I tucked in. The next course was roasted lamb with olives―Olives! Who would have thought?―and for dessert, a scrumptious play on a white peach Bellini.
What was less than sublime was the awkward conversation. Daniel seemed to forget he was on a date with six Does and spent much of lunch focused on Stevie, while she attempted to engage the rest of us in conversation. It was like watching a table tennis match where only one person knows they’re playing.
The worst part was witnessing the dual train wrecks of Becca and Daphne―though, in retrospect, Daphne’s eventual retreat to the loo, pale-faced and clammy, likely had more to do with her dreading the bridge climb than the arrival of Stevie.
Becca, however, was on fine form―if ‘fine form’ means ‘being her worst self’. Her jealousy was so evident, she could have played Elphaba in Wicked without donning a scrap of makeup. ‘So, Stevie, you’re from Adelaide?’ she asked, even though we all knew full well.
‘That’s right.’
‘So, do you support the Crows or Port?’ These are football teams, apparently―though Australian football, not real football.
‘Uh, neither. I’m not really into footie.’
‘Really? I thought it was a requirement in South Australia―you’re assigned a team at birth and spend the rest of your life barracking for them.’
Kaz leant over and whispered, ‘What’s up with her?’
‘Oh,’ replied Stevie, laughter in her voice, ‘I haven’t heard that one. My family is mad about wine, though. My brother and his wife have a winery in the Adelaide Hills.’
‘So, a family of drinkers, then?’ Becca replied tersely. At that, I poked her under the table and she shot me a sharp look. It was not her finest hour.
Now, as we trek ever upwards, I’m questioning whose wisdom it was to ply us with a sizeable meal―and paired wines―then have us climb the Sydney Harbour Bridge! Had I been in charge, I would have swapped the order of events.
I look to the left; this view, intersected by the crossbeams of the bridge, is where the harbour narrows into a series of irregular coves, with greenery and buildings competing for pride of place by the water. And as we get closer to sunset, the sky starts looking like it’s on fire.
‘Don’t ya reckon, Abs?’ calls Kaz from up ahead. As is happening more often lately, I’ve been ‘off with the fairies’.
‘What’s that?’
‘Best view eva!’ she calls out.
‘Oh, yes, absolutely,’ I reply. Daphne murmurs something unintelligible. ‘Not long now, Daphne,’ I say. Justine and Becca are chatting animatedly behind
me, also about the view, and it occurs to me (and not for the first time) what an odd bunch we are. Had we not been thrust into this bizarre situation, literally cast in our various roles, I would never have met these women, two of whom are becoming close friends.
I suppose, if nothing else comes of this experience―specifically, my career as an award-winning journalist, which is currently doomed as I have been focusing on far more pressing matters, such as avoiding kisses from one man while seeking them out from another―I will have accomplished that.
That and, hopefully, something more tangible of the romantic nature with Jack. Though, I am not sure what that could be. Any time I ponder the Jack and Abby love story, particularly what might happen beyond our time in the Manor, I’m stumped. He lives here. I live in the UK. I’m not sure what I was thinking getting entangled with him, other than finally placating my libido. Those are very sexy T-shirts.
I trip up the next step and recover, gripping the railing tightly. Strains of Daniel’s laughter waft from up ahead where he and Stevie are at the front of the group. Not only beautiful, charming, and polite, but apparently hilarious, is our Stevie. Tim, who’s tethered to the opposite handrail, passes us, camera on his shoulder and I smile brightly as though I’m having the best fun! It’s only half a lie. The view is spectacular.
We’re nearing the top of the climb when Daphne, whose fear has been so intense, she hasn’t made a peep this whole time, starts shouting, ‘No, I can’t. I can’t. Please stop. Please can we stop.’
Our party comes to a halt―well, all except Daniel, who Stevie has to call back. Daphne sits awkwardly on a step, her face now ashen and her eyes wild. Kaz and I bob down either side of her. ‘Is she okay?’ asks Justine over my shoulder.
‘Er, not really,’ I reply―surely, it’s obvious.
‘Be right there, Daphne,’ calls Jack. When you’re tethered to a bridge, ‘being right there’ is not as simple as jogging down the stairs. One of the guides must hook Jack onto the other handrail―the one Tim is tethered to―then unhook him from the first handrail so he can make his way down to us. As soon as he can, he joins our crouched little huddle. ‘Hey,’ he says to Daphne, ‘I know you’re scared. We’ll help you get down, okay?’
