Love in the Spotlight

by Laura Burton

  Ten minutes. That’s all we have left.

  It’s hardly enough time to get dressed, let alone come up with a plausible backstory with Ronan. I think this game might be over before it even begins.

  We’re doomed. Surely.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” Ronan says. He gives me a causal smile as if this was not the first time we’ve spent the night together. He’s a natural. I give an awkward giggle in reply and wave my hand at him before hesitantly lowering it to my waist. Why did I wave? I hoped that after a little sleep, my mishaps would end, but I’m just as clumsy and awkward as ever. I’m certain the British public will see right through me.

  I feel bad for Ronan. Whatever he needs that money for, he must find some other way to get it. Because he won’t get any money.

  Neither of us will.

  We hurriedly get ready for the day in silence. I forgo the torture undergarment and wear a maxi dress that flares at the waist. It’s lavender and yellow with swirling patterns along the skirt. I am sorely tempted to keep my pyjama bottoms on. No one would know. But in the off chance I go falling backwards and flash the Nation, I better be prepared. I wriggle out of the comfortable bottoms and pull on a pair of thick tights instead.

  I’m all about compromise.

  My look is almost perfect, just missing something warm. I pull on a black cardigan and survey myself in the wall mirror. Not bad.

  Ronan returns from the bathroom. A strong waft of sandalwood floods my senses and catches in the back of my throat. I stifle a cough and smile at him as he passes. Then I turn to the mirror again.

  My hair is limp and dull, but there’s not enough time to wash it. So, I think on my feet and fashion my hair into a topknot at the back of my head.

  “Melanie?” Ronan asks, holding the door open. My heart sinks. This guy might have the perfect body, but his memory has its imperfections.

  “Melissa,” I correct him, as I apply a light coat of mascara on my lashes. I glance at him to see a flush of red flooding his face and he lets out a low rumbling laugh. At least the cameras haven’t started rolling yet.

  “Right I was just testing you,” he says with a wink.

  Liar.

  I laugh it off and walk over to his outstretch hand.

  “Ready to fool the world?” he asks.

  No, I’m not ready. I want to climb back into my makeshift bed by the fire and sleep all day. Or slink outside and make a run for it. But neither of those options are viable. So, I take a deep breath and place my hand in his.

  “Let’s do this.”

  “Welcome everyone, now we are all seated. I’d like to make an announcement,” Jewel says, standing at the head of the long dining table filled with couples. There is a buzz in the air, and a clatter of cutlery as all eyes focus on Jewel. She stands supreme, her shoulders squared and a huge cashmere shawl cascades down her narrow frame. She clutches it by her heart as if she is about to sing the National anthem. The couples look bright faced and their body language mirror each other. There is a lot of touching. Brushing fingertips, shoulders bumping together, and a few stolen kisses between whispers. It makes my stomach turn.

  The most dreadful thought crosses my mind, and my blood turns cold. What if Ronan and I are the only fake couple in this game and the twist is to identify us as the frauds?

  “I hope you enjoyed a restful night together in your private rooms,” Jewel continues after clearing her throat. “However, the cameras will begin rolling shortly and we will have a lot of work to do. Say goodbye to privacy. Always be ready to be on camera.”

  She stops for a dramatic pause, and the room gasps.

  “As per the terms within your contracts we are obligated to notify you when the cameras are on, and where you can find some quiet space to take a break. It’s intense to be on camera all the time, we know. So, there will be periods of the day, whereby you may enjoy some peace away from the public’s eye. More details on that will follow.” Jewel’s lips pinch together, and her eyes flicker around the table as everyone laughs. A couple sitting across the table from me, gaze into each other’s eyes having a silent conversation. Though I don’t know what they’re saying, the glint in her eyes and his smirk makes me think they’re already planning their private rendezvous.

  “As you can see, there are ten couples taking part in this competition. However, there will be a double eviction after the first challenge. So, don’t get too comfortable.”

  More gasps.

  “Once you have eaten please find your way to the hair and makeup stations set up in the far right of the hall where the stylists will prepare you for the opening ceremony.” Jewel clasps her hands together and beams. “Once again, welcome to the Love Trials, we hope that you have fun and enjoy the experience and make some memories.” She takes her seat and the room fills with excitable chatter once more.

  “Noah and I have been together four years,” the redhead sitting across from me gleans as she clutches the scrawny arm of a bald man who looks like he could pass as her dad. He has a rugged look about him though, with deep lines cut into his cheeks as he smiles.

  “His car crashed into my living room just as I was watching the Love Trials, funnily enough.” A gush of laughter follows.

  I cast my eyes about, looking at the variety of couples sitting at the dining table. And I find myself overwhelmed with the sudden thought one couple will win one-hundred-thousand pounds by the end of this process. I take a moment to check out my competition.

  The first thing I notice is that everyone looks like a model and I can’t help but wonder if that was part of the criteria to join the show. The women are tall with long legs and slender arms. Not a speck of cellulite in sight. The men look like they belong to the same CrossFit club. I get the distinct feeling the other couples know each other, as if they are part of some secret society.

  I watch Ronan shovelling spoonfuls of porridge into his mouth at an unearthly rate. His cheeks bulge and I am reminded of a hamster getting ready for the winter.

  The other men have barely touched their food. But sit up straight, with their bulging biceps tensed and perfect white teeth flashing.

  Ronan’s behaviour should repulse and embarrass me.

  But I’m not repulsed.

  Ronan’s eyes shoot to mine and his face breaks into a broad smile as he swallows. I cannot help but notice the butterflies in my midriff as I smile back.

  How ironic. My fake boyfriend also appears to be the most genuine man in the room.

  Jewels rises to her feet again, and the table quietens.

  “I have an announcement to make.”

  I glance at a redhead with an oversized bosom and tiny waist. Her pencilled brows wriggle independently as her mouth contorts into what must be a look of surprise––though her face is oddly unnatural and restricted.

  Jewel coughs. I turn to her to see she is staring at us like we’re a pack of wild children about to go into a brand-new play area.

  “This year, we are celebrating our twentieth show so, expect there to be many more twists. The producers feel that it would be better if you learn the first twist off-camera and keep the viewers in the dark.”

  There’s a hallowed silence as we all wait with bated breath. Jewel is good at building anticipation. I forget for a moment that I’m not sat at home watching her on my television. Red head is leaning so far forward to listen, the ends of her hair have submerged in her bowl of cereal. Though she seems to be blissfully unaware.

  I can almost feel the tension and excitement reaching its peak as Jewel allows the silence to linger a little more.

  “Well, what it is?” a male huffs. Not able to bear the suspense. Jewel’s thin lips curve upward into a satisfied smirk. I wonder if she had been waiting for that response.

  “Look around you. Ten couples hopelessly in love. Fighting to be King and Queen of the Love Trials.” She flashes her teeth, and they sparkle as she casts her gaze over us one by one. The couples are snuggling each other again.

&nbs
p; “But––” Jewel says sharply. “Before yesterday. Every single person at this table were strangers.”

  As the penny drops, I wonder if an actual penny has fallen to the pit of my stomach. It lurches uncomfortably and I hear an imaginary drum cementing the dramatic moment.

  “No way,” the bodybuilder to my right says in a revered tone. No one is smiling now. The girls drop their hands and look around in horror. Most of the guys seem bewildered by the news. I side glance at Ronan and then turn to him with surprise. He’s still eating. Does anything rattle this man? I’m thinking the castle could be on fire and he’d still take a moment to finish his drink before he considers leaving.

  “Wait, I don’t get it,” a woman drawls. Her lips are so plump and glossy, she has a permanent pout on her face. Jewel chortles to herself with a shake of the head.

  “Everyone is pretending to be in love, that’s all you need to know. So, this year, we will find out who is the best at faking true love.”

  I don’t know whether to break out into a fit of crazy laughter or throw up in red head’s Gucci purse.

  Chapter Six

  I have a feeling that by the end of this process, I will have some serious trust issues. My mind takes me back to all the previous years of the show and I cannot help but become suspicious. Just like that, it taints all those happy memories. Maybe, just maybe, the Love Trials is just as flawed as the conspiracy theories suggest. The GoggleFox blogger had written endless posts blasting The Love Trials, saying it’s oozing with actors and it’s all fake.

  But this could be good for me. Ronan and I are not the only fake couple. We all are.

  No one is here to make friends. And it looks like the show runners have no interest in getting us to mingle, either. No ice breakers, no introductions.

  We don’t get any time to let this new twist sink in. My mind spins wildly as I sit in hair and make-up.

  Once we are all presentable and we secure our camera packs under our clothes, they funnel us into a large room with far more cameras than I’m comfortable with, and blinding spotlights.

  There are ten pieces of red tape on the floor at different positions. Each couple has a number––they have given Ronan and me my lucky number, three. I hope that’s a good sign.

  Now the competition is even, and we are all competing for the title of best (fake) couple, I think Ronan and I have a fighting chance. Especially if we don’t have to mingle with the others. Now the pretences are over, no one is holding hands or kissing. A blonde cracks her knuckles as if she’s about to perform a gymnastics routine. Her partner ruffles his frizzy mane atop his head and casts his eyes around the room as if stalking his prey. There’s something sinister about him, his dark eyes are intense. Guarded.

  Ronan grasps me at the waist and this time I don’t flinch but welcome the comforting squeeze. He leans his head in to murmur to me.

  “You’re not breathing. Relax. We’ve got this.” His deep voice calms my quickened heart rate. And I exhale the breath I had been holding without even realising it.

  “You think so?” I whisper as we take our position facing the stand. Ronan gives a nod, and suddenly, I feel okay.

  “Morning, I am Julian. Now, a couple of rules,” barks an unfamiliar voice. I look up to see a short, balding man wearing a headset and holding a clipboard. “Don’t look at the cameras. Just forget they’re here.”

  “Easier said than done,” Ronan mutters, gesturing to the giant camera standing less than three feet away.

  “I have given you each a microphone pack. Do not take it off. Except in the shower and for heaven’s sake do not jump in the pool with your microphone.”

  A babble of excitement rises as if no one knew a pool is here.

  There’s a pool. There’s always a pool. I wonder if I’m the only contestant who is a fan of this show. Usually one task involves a volleyball competition in the water.

  “Everyone in position? Great. Now, the cameras will start rolling, Jewel will enter and give her opening line. Then we will record your reactions. Act like you’re in love.”

  Julian grimaces as he shoots his accusing gaze around the participants. A nervous laughter fills the air and Ronan gives my waist another squeeze.

  “Three, two—” Julian waves his wrinkled hand and everyone is silent. It’s unsettling. There is usually high energy music at the beginning of the show, as a black curtain opens, and jewel enters the stage.

  Jewel glides into the silent room with all the cameras and eyes fixed on her. Her long red gown dazzles me with millions of diamonds stitched to the bodice. She spreads her arms and beams.

  “Welcome to the twentieth season of the Love Trials. My name is Jewel Smith and I will be your host.”

  I want to itch my neck. But force myself to remain still, smiling serenely and acting like I’m not on camera. Even though, I know there are at least two pointing directly at Ronan and I with giant lenses. Probably for our close up. I try not to think about how large my pores look on TV. Or think about the maddening itch near my jaw. Instead, I offer my best smile and look directly at Jewel.

  “This year as we celebrate twenty years of the show, we have some exciting challenges in store. They will be like nothing you’ve ever seen before,” Jewel says.

  Darn. There goes my upper hand.

  “Some of these challenges will be dangerous. Our participants will have to put love to the ultimate test. And you, the public, are in total control. Starting tonight.” Jewel makes a dramatic pause and leans forward. The room remains silent, but this is usually when more dramatic music would play. Jewel has her timing to a tee. I guess after hosting the Love Trials for two decades, it’s become second nature to her.

  “After the first challenge, the phone lines will open and the two couples with the least votes will go home… tonight.”

  I try my best to act cool and mildly surprised by this information. Acutely aware of the cameras that are now blinking in my direction, and even without the music I know that viewers at home will hear a dramatic drum beat and there will be several close-up shots of our reactions. Even without the music, the severity of Jewel’s words hit hard. I look up at Ronan and he smiles back at me, serene and controlled. Is he really that confident we can pull this off? There’s no sign of perspiration across his brow, his hand remains steady on my waist and his breaths come out even and calm. I wish I could channel his energy and his ability to overcome nerves. I can’t help but jump to worst-case scenario and imagine us walking out of the Castle tonight with our bags in tow, never to meet again. What if the viewers don’t like us? What if we can’t complete the challenge?

  I love being on a stage. But I’m not good enough to earn an Oscar. Nor am I a very good liar. Elsie often said that she can read my face like a book. Which makes me nervous. What is my face doing right now? The red light is still blinking on the camera facing us. And I can’t help but wonder what I look like to the viewers at home. Do I look guilty? Are my eyes open too wide? I don’t know what to do. Do I gaze at Ronan lovingly? Or look ahead blankly at Jewel and pretend that I’m not freaking out inside.

  I settle for something in between; I don’t look at Ronan, but blink at his feet and notice that he’s wearing the ugliest pair of shoes I’ve ever seen. They’re brown with tassels on the front and remind me of something that my weird uncle would wear in the 90s.

  As if he’s reading my mind, Ronan’s feet shuffle lightly, and I can see his toes wriggling underneath the thin material. A bubble of laughter rises from my stomach up to my mouth and I clamp my lips together, forcing the laughter to stay put.

  The next few minutes pass by in a blur. It turns out that being on a reality TV show is not as glamorous as it looks. And it involves a lot of standing around and waiting for the cameramen to get the shots that they need. Jewel repeats her opening lines until Julian, the main camera guy, is happy with the material that they have.

  “Now if you may, step forward and introduce yourselves starting from couple number one.�
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  The cameras stop rolling and Jewel bids for couple number one––a short brunette with an impossibly tall beast of a man––and instructs them to record their part.

  Watching this at home, the whole sequence would happen seamlessly. I did not know that it could take two hours to produce ten minutes of material. We wait as couple number one offers their introductions to the camera.

  “Hi there, we’re Jody and Tyrone, we’ve been together for six years and we are from Newcastle.”

  This is when a videotape would play showing their back story. Usually a cute interview between the two of them telling the public how they met and something funny like little pet peeves they have and the things they love about one another.

  Couple number two look more like brother and sister than lovers, with near identical names to go with the look. Maggie and Marty make their introduction in a thick London accent which sends my brain running to the big city. What would I do right now if I was in London? It’s morning. I would take the tube to my new office next to the Gherkin. I’ll pick up a Metro magazine and Costa on the way, possibly bumping into someone interesting who wants to plan a wedding in the countryside. And struck by serendipity, they discover I am an events planner. We would exchange numbers, and I’d go about my merry day, doing what I love.

  Maggie and Marty have finished their introductions, and it’s our turn to speak. Ronan gives me a nudge, and I come back from my senses with a start.

  “Shall I do all the talking?” Ronan asks, gently. I look up from the floor and nod to him silently. I’m sure if I open my mouth, I’ll end up laughing manically. Nerves. They do weird things to me.

  Three cameras are now facing our direction, and spotlights shine directly on us. It’s hard to keep my eyes open and plaster a smile on my face, when all I want to do is wipe the tears from my burning eyes and turn away.

  “Hello, we’re Ronan and Melissa. We’ve been together for six months and we’re from Bristol.” Ronan sounds upbeat and friendly; I catch sight of his hand waving in my peripheral vision. I should wave too, but my arms hang like deadweight at my sides and I think I’m flashing too many teeth. I probably look like a cartoon character.