The Dating Game

by Sandy Barker

  * * *

  Speaking of, now that our retrospective and final roll call are complete, let’s dive into the recap!

  I’ve read back over what I started writing a couple of nights ago and with a few tweaks, the recap of those (stupid) games will fit in nicely here. I was going to play down the Abby–Becca rivalry that peaked that afternoon, but Jack said I need to lean into it. Anastasia would and this is her recap after all.

  Becca’s prize for trouncing the other Does is the final one-on-one date with our Staggy, a romantic picnic in Sydney’s stunning Botanic Gardens. Those Morton Bay fig trees truly are magnificent, if one is happy to ignore the plethora of black splodges hanging from the branches. Bats, apparently, though the Australians call them ‘flying foxes’―like that makes them more endearing (it doesn’t).

  This is all me, not Anastasia, as I spent half the time we were in the gardens casting a wary eye skyward. I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if all those inverted mammals decided to take off at once and swarm us? Would they black out the sun? Would they scratch our eyes out and then eat us? ‘Bats are cute,’ my arse―a vital part of the ecosystem, yes, but hardly cute.

  But wait! Before Daniel and Becca can be whisked away for their romantic luncheon, who should syphon Daniel’s attention, but newly appointed villainess, Abby. Now, is that Daniel leading Abby away from the group for an impromptu interlude, or the other way around? Hard to tell, as even though they are miked, the camera crew aren’t fast enough to capture their exchange close up. And, with the paint on Becca’s trophy barely even dry, that is a fairly hefty revelation from Daniel.

  * * *

  ‘I think it should be you, Abby.’

  * * *

  My guess is that Abby and Daniel are standing upwind of Becca, as her tart expression and watchful side-eye give every indication that she can tell something’s up, if not hear every word they’re saying.

  * * *

  Goodness, I wish I’d taken a Dramamine before watching this episode―it’s lurching about like a tin boat on rough seas!

  It still makes me queasy to think about what happened with Daniel. It’s now clear that I was tasked with the impossible―keep him simultaneously interested and at bay. But if Jack can’t convince him that Becca is his best choice―essentially throwing her in the path of an oncoming (romantic) train―I am utterly screwed. It will either be the first ‘no’ in The Stag’s history or I’ll be choosing china patterns before the year’s end. Why is my indifference, nay disdain, so appealing to him?

  And in light of my most recent conversation with Becca, this next part will be excruciating to write.

  Proceedings finally seem to get back on track when a (rarely seen) crewmember manages to shepherd Becca and Daniel towards a darling little marquee replete with a dining table for two, crisp white linens, and a table setting suitable for a wedding registry (foreshadowing perhaps?).

  * * *

  With Becca seemingly worried that Daniel’s affections have turned in another direction, she certainly lays on the charm rather thickly over lunch. It’s like a scene from Bridgerton, all coy looks and flirtatious repartee.

  * * *

  ‘If you could go on holiday anywhere in the world, where would it be?’ This is first date chatter at best and did you see Daniel eye her curiously before responding, ‘The Caribbean is a lovely spot to escape to over the British winter. I assume you’ve not been.’

  * * *

  ‘Actually, I have―I was on a trip to America with my friends right before uni and we got these cheap flights from Miami to Aruba. It was awesome.’

  * * *

  Touché, Becca. And have you learnt nothing from this season’s Does, Daniel? Never assume anything. It will make an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and … well, only you in this case. Still, it’s more likely that when Daniel says ‘Caribbean’, he means lounging about in six-star resorts donned in top-to-toe linen rather than dancing the night away in sweaty beachside bars wearing nothing but a bikini and a smile.

  * * *

  These two really are worlds apart. But perhaps, as opposites often do attract, there’s a slim possibility that their union has a chance. Daniel spends the rest of lunch gazing adoringly (or is that lustily?) at Becca while she attempts to find topics of shared interest.

  * * *

  Sorry, what? I dozed off there for a moment. Can we please go back to the Manor and see what Kaz is up to? Much more fun.

  Not sure if that will make it past the censors (i.e. Prue and Roberta). Actually, having re-read it, it’s an indictment of Harry and Jack. Delete!

  Sorry, what? I dozed off there for a moment. Can we please go back to the Manor and see what Kaz is up to? Much more fun.

  * * *

  By the time it’s a wrap on lunch, I am just as baffled as Daniel appears to be about which Doe he will choose. ‘Becca is just so beautiful, and it’s sweet how she hangs on my every word.’ Excuse me. I just vomited a little into my mouth. Sycophants are best when confined to politics, Daniel, rather than matters of the heart. And Becca, please remember that you are a clever, bright, capable woman who could take the world by storm if only you’d see Daniel for the massive twat he is.

  Bollocks―obviously can’t write any of that either. Gah! I glance at the time―just after noon in London. Dare I take a wee detour to procrastination station? I’m supposed to have this recap on Prue’s desk by the end of her workday. Then again, I can’t possibly send it if it’s utter rubbish, and perhaps a chat with my best friend will help. I unlock the phone and call Lisa.

  ‘That you Abs?’ she answers―huzzah!

  ‘Yes! Why are you panting?’ Oh god, I haven’t caught her during a lunchtime shag, have I?

  ‘I’m out for a run.’

  I’m both relieved and bewildered―Lisa does not run. ‘You’re what?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve been running at lunchtime with my colleague, Ian.’

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘A few weeks. I can now run the full route without feeling sick,’ she says, her voice emanating pride.

  ‘Well done, you,’ I say, deciding I can reconcile this Lisa with my Lisa another time.

  ‘Thank you, lovely. So,’ she prompts, ‘is it important? I can stop.’

  ‘Could you? I don’t mean to be a bother―’

  ‘You go on ahead, Ian. I’ll see you back there,’ Lisa calls amid taking large gulping breaths. ‘Right, I’m all yours.’

  ‘Where abouts are you?’

  ‘Blackfriars―just about to cross the Thames and turn back.’ I imagine Lisa wearing Lululemon and jogging alongside someone called Ian. In my mind, he’s tall, lanky, and ginger.

  ‘So, Ian …?’ I venture. It’s not just the running; Lisa doesn’t socialise with colleagues either―or she never used to.

  She chuckles. ‘You’ve got me. He’s a recent transfer into my department. Dishy as, and when he mentioned running at lunchtimes, I thought, “What the hell?” and dusted off the trainers.’ Ahh, so that explains the out-of-character foray into the world of jogging. ‘Hang on, I’ll send you a sneaky pic I took of him when we were standing in line at Pret.’

  The phone alerts me to an incoming photograph and when it pops onto the screen, it reveals that I couldn’t have been further off in imagining Ian. He’s shortish with dark hair. He’s also extremely handsome, if his profile is anything to go by, which is just Lisa’s type.

  ‘You’re right, he’s a dish,’ I say, realising that this normal, girly conversation is exactly the panacea I need. The knots in my tummy unfurl and for the first time in ages, I feel like I can breathe properly.

  ‘So, enough about me and my lusty pursuits, what’s going on with you then?’ she asks, ending my reprieve from fretting. I exhale heavily, trying to determine where best to begin. ‘Start with the Stag―what’s the go with him?’ Lisa’s ability to divine precisely what I need in a confidant is uncanny. It’s probably why she’s my dearest friend.

  ‘Well, for
starters, he’s besotted.’

  ‘Still with Rebecca?’

  ‘It’s Becca.’ I’ve corrected her on this before; you’d think a spy would remember the name of my best Doe-friend. Perhaps this Ian fellow has her off her game. ‘And no. He’s besotted with me. Well, Doe Abby. Actually, no, that’s not entirely true. I’ve been letting some of real Abby seep into my persona―you know, not buying into his narcissism or superiority―and apparently, that’s precisely what he is looking for.’

  ‘Oh, god.’

  ‘Exactly. Meanwhile, Becca’s moved out of our room and she’s told me our friendship is doomed, which breaks my heart. And it’s getting more difficult to write the recaps, with how close I am to everything. I’ve got one due today and so far, it’s utter rubbish. Essentially, everything’s gone to shit.’

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Including things with Jack?’ she nudges.

  ‘Oh, well, no. I mean, I think we’re all right. We’ve not had a lot of time together lately, what with the show ramping up. And it’s getting exhausting, us being a secret, and I’m not sure how this can possibly work with me living in an entirely different country, but I’m terrified of raising it with hi―’

  ‘Abs,’ she interrupts, saying my name like a sigh.

  ‘Yes?’ This is where she gives me sage advice and makes everything all right.

  ‘You need to chill the fuck out.’ So much for sage advice.

  ‘And what precisely should I do with that?’ I ask sourly. It’s hardly something I can embroider on a pillow or make into a meme. All right, perhaps a meme.

  ‘Look, you’ve known since the very beginning this would be difficult, right?’

  ‘I suppose so, yes.’

  ‘And you had weeks, months even, to get your head around it, to prepare―mentally, I mean.’

  ‘Are you saying I should have seen all this coming? Because that’s not exactly fair. How was I to know that Daniel would like me, especially as I’ve been surrounded by far more attractive Does―and more interesting, more accomplished …’

  ‘God, Abby, stop with the self-deprecation. We’ve been through this. You’re just as worthy of Daniel’s affections―wanted or not―as any of the other Does. So, yes, you absolutely should have foreseen that he might fall for you.’

  ‘But―’

  ‘Nope, there is no “but” because if you keep insisting that Daniel is misguided in his affections for you, then what does that say about Jack? Is he deluded because he likes you?’

  ‘No,’ I say defensively.

  ‘And are you undeserving of Jack?’

  ‘Well … no, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Precisely. So you see the irony, don’t you?’ I do now. But how have I not seen it before? Have I been so busy compartmentalising the various Abbys that I’ve missed the similarities between them? ‘Abs, you still there?’

  ‘Yes, sorry―still here. Just pondering how I’ve managed to be so dim.’

  ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself.’

  ‘No, that’s your job.’ She chuckles.

  ‘Look, it’s understandable you’re out of sorts, but you’re not doing yourself any favours by getting in a tizz. Why don’t you do what I do when a work problem seems insurmountable. Just start with the simplest task, one you know how to do, then tackle the next most challenging task.’

  Her method does make sense, but she’s probably talking about international espionage whereas my dilemma is frivolous in comparison. Still, it’s helpful.

  ‘I suppose I could start by finishing the recap.’

  ‘There you go. Pop on Anastasia and write the recap,’ she says, as if Anastasia is a hat.

  Come to think of it, that’s brilliant. ‘Oh, my god, Lise. You’re right. The recap is rubbish because I’ve been writing it as me. I just need to channel Anastasia. She doesn’t know these people; she doesn’t give two hoots about them! Her job is to be the Queen of Snark and my job is to be her. You’re a genius. Thank you.’

  She laughs down the line. ‘A bit OTT, Abs, but I’ll take it. Look, I should probably get back. You going to be all right?’

  ‘I suppose so. Like you said, one thing at a time. And all this will be over soon.’

  ‘Exactly. When do you film the finale?’

  My stomach lurches at the question and, once again, I’m a captive of my digestive system. ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘So just remember, start with the easiest thing and tick that off.’

  ‘So, recap, then figure out what to say to Daniel if he does choose me―perish the thought. I don’t think there’s anything I can do to make Becca change her mind―besides, once she hears the horrid things I’ve said about her as the Villain, she won’t want to be friends anyway. But I will try to find some time to talk to Jack―properly, I mean―as much as that terrifies me.’

  ‘There’s my girl.’

  ‘Thank you. I do feel marginally better, even though I wish I could magically skip the next few days and be back in London already.’

  ‘I wish I could arrange that for you,’ she says. But why can’t she? Surely, the engineers at MI6 have mastered time travel by now? ‘Abs, I’ve really got to go. I’ll have to sprint back at this rate.’

  ‘Yes, sorry, go.’

  ‘I love you. And I’ll see you soon.’

  ‘Absolutely. And I love you too.’

  I end the call, then lay the phone on the card table and stare at it.

  ‘Daniel, I cannot possibly wear this pin when the love of your life is waiting right over there, even though, for some reason, you’re too blind to see it.’ That could make excellent television.

  ‘Becca, I adore you and hope you can forgive all the horrible things you’ll hear me say about you onscreen, as I was playing a role―a double role. You see, I am undercover and, for me, the only real part of this experience is the friendships I’ve forged with you and the other Does.’ That will get me fired, if not sued. It’s also only partly true as it omits my feelings for Jack.

  And on the subject of Jack …

  ‘Jack, you are a clever, funny, kind, and talented man. You’re also gorgeous as, and your kisses do wondrous things to my insides. I know this has probably been little more than a flirtation for you, but what if we spent some proper time together and see what it can become?’

  Hmm. That may just land me the man of my dreams. Now all I need is the courage to say it.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I have never been so nervous in my life.

  That includes sitting the entrance exams for St Mary’s, every job interview I’ve ever had, and each time I’ve been called into Prue’s office for a ‘discussion’.

  I stare at my reflection, my horrified expression juxtaposing how pretty I look. For the finale, I have been coiffed, styled, painted, and adorned and externally, I am the most ‘camera ready’ I’ve ever been. I only wish my insides weren’t squirming like nursery students.

  Speaking of … I am just about to pop to the loo for the third time since the makeup artist left when Carlie’s head appears around the doorframe. ‘Five minutes, Abby. Then we need you to head down to the garden for your confessional.’ When she gets a proper look at me, her body follows her head, and she stands in the doorway staring. ‘Uh, are you okay?’

  ‘Fine!’ I trill, my voice three octaves higher than usual.

  ‘You don’t look it. You look sick. Are you sick?’

  ‘No, just … er … a tad nervous.’

  ‘Really? Nah, you’ll be right.’ She waves off my nerves like they’re perfectly normal―they aren’t; I may actually be dying―and disappears down the hallway to give Becca her twenty-minute call.

  A couple minutes later, I emerge from the loo feeling slightly better and take one last look in the mirror. I’ve been dressed in a long red silk gown with a ruched bodice and sweetheart neckline that nips in at my waist and floats to the floor. My hair has been pulled up into a loose, sexy up-do that looks like it m
ight tumble out at any moment but, with this number of hairpins, (definitely) won’t. My pedicured feet are adorned by red strappy heeled sandals that I had to practise walking in, and my makeup is perfection, right down to the velvety red lipstick.

  As I said, I look pretty, possibly the best I’ve ever looked. Pretty and utterly terrified. I take a deep breath, look myself in the eye, and say, ‘Do not screw this up, Abby.’ As far as pep talks go, it’s wanting, but it’s the best I can do.

  I carefully make my way downstairs, so as not to trip in my heels, and take in the buzz of activity that spills from the lounge room onto the patio and down the length of the backyard. After two months, I’m used to filming days in the Manor, but the energy today is different, almost super charged, and the crew’s excitement about finishing this season is palpable.

  ‘You look amazing,’ says a voice from behind me. I turn to see a smiling Jack who’s come from the direction of the annex.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. His eyes drink in my appearance and linger on my red lips. It’s too bad I’m camera ready as I would love to sneak away and let him smudge my lipstick.

  ‘How are you feeling about everything?’ he asks.

  ‘All right, I guess.’

  He leans in and lowers his voice. ‘I had a quick chat with Daniel just before. Hopefully, well …’ He lets the thought trail off and we share a quick smile.