The Shelf

by Helly Acton

  ‘No. Can I leave now?’ Amy stands up, and Sam grabs her arm, pleading with her to sit down again.

  ‘Amy, before you decide, just give me another few minutes to explain the concept of the show. It’s an amazing opportunity for you.’

  ‘You don’t know anything about me!’ Amy hisses.

  His walkie-talkie crackles and a voice tells him that they’re starting in twenty minutes.

  ‘Amy, I know more about you than you think. Our researchers have done their legwork. You’re an excellent writer, and I know you want to start a blog. I don’t know what you want to write about, but I do know blogs need followers to get money. We’re offering you ten thousand pounds just to participate, even if you’re only here for a week. Sure, this seems like a nightmare now, but it could make all your dreams come true. It could be incredible.’

  After a long pause, she lowers herself back down and he lets go.

  ‘OK. Firstly, it’s like I’m A Celeb meets Big Brother, but better. And with an all-female cast. Six women who, like you, thought they were in happy relationships. But weren’t. Our next contestant is about to be dumped, just like you were an hour ago!’ Sam grins.

  ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’ she asks them, looking over at Harry, who lowers his head.

  Sam inches closer. ‘What you’ll learn on The Shelf will do you the world of good. How to be happier. How to be the best version of yourself. How to make smarter choices when it comes to men. And on top of that, there’s a one-million-pound cash prize waiting for the winner at the end of the month. I think you’ve got a really strong chance at being crowned The Keeper.’

  ‘The Keeper?’

  ‘You know: “She’s a keeper”. To be crowned The Keeper, you have to prove that you’re union material by completing all your tasks successfully and winning the heart of the public.’

  She frowns. ‘Marriage material?’

  ‘Marriage material. Capable of doing things or behaving in a way that would create a happy union. Are you calm and easy to live with? Are you interested in making a house a home? Are you charming company? Are you good with children?’

  Amy stops him with her hand. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, silly me, I didn’t realise the Chat Room is an actual time machine! Are we in 1955? Should I measure my hips to see if I’m ripe for childbearing?

  ‘Sorry, bad first examples. I promise we’ll apply those to the men, too. If this show is a success, we’re hoping to bring out The Shelf for men later this year!’ Sam says cheerfully, looking at Harry and then back at her.

  ‘And what will their tasks be – building sheds and scratching their balls?’ she asks.

  ‘No, I imagine they’ll be like the female challenges. The tasks are meant to prove that you can compromise, make sacrifices, be selfless. To be a better half, whether you’re female or not. Do your best, beat the other girls, and you’ll win over the public.’

  ‘Women.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘We’re women, not girls. For God’s sake, have you been living under a rock?’

  ‘Yes, women, sorry. All well over eighteen.’

  ‘And what if I don’t win?’ she asks.

  ‘Look, Amy.’ Sam sighs. ‘You’ve been dumped either way. Stay on the show, you’ve got ten thousand pounds guaranteed. Stay on the show and win, you’ve got a million pounds and you’re on the cover of OK!. But leave now and you’re on your own with nothing. Seriously, what have you got to lose?’

  She raises her eyebrows. ‘My dignity?’

  ‘No one cares about dignity anymore!’ Sam laughs. ‘My God, have you seen Naked Attraction?’

  Harry leans forward again, looking concerned. ‘Amy, we have ten minutes before the next contestant arrives. And there is one clause in this contract that I’m obliged to draw your attention to. During the show, you will receive a number of therapy sessions, which will require you to talk openly about your past, your relationships, your life goals. Therapy sessions, as I’m sure you know, are usually highly confidential. By signing this contract, you agree to waive your rights to this. Session highlights will be broadcast. By signing this contract, you understand and accept this condition.’

  Amy stares at him for a few seconds before turning to Sam.

  ‘Sam, how long has Jamie been planning this?’ she asks, her voice a little softer. She feels exhausted.

  ‘We ran an ad in the back of LAD a couple of months ago. Jamie submitted a form online, gave us your whole backstory, along with some photos, and he was shortlisted for an interview. He came in and told us all about you, your relationship, your family and your personality type. He even showed us some footage of you so we could see what you were like on camera. We thought you’d be perfect on the show.’

  ‘What footage?’ she says, immediately worried.

  ‘A video of you doing the running man in a living room.’

  Oh, God.

  It was after Beck and Adam’s wedding in Guildford last summer. She and Sarah had worked their way through a magnum of champagne and taken their freshers’ week dance routine back to their Airbnb. Her cheeks turn red; Jamie had promised he wouldn’t show anyone.

  She hangs her head. ‘Please don’t put that on TV.’

  ‘You’re endearing, Amy. You’re real. That’s why we chose you. We think the public will feel the same.’

  ‘I want to call my mum.’ She sniffs. ‘Can I have my phone now?’

  Sam and Harry look at each other.

  ‘We’ve got your phone,’ says Harry. ‘And we can give it to you now, but you need to sign a non-disclosure agreement that you won’t post about the show on social media. You have five minutes to call whoever you want to explain what’s happening to you. And if you decide to stay, you’ll obviously have to leave your phone behind.’

  ‘I just want to know what she thinks. Wait, what? I won’t have a phone?’

  ‘’Course not. We can’t let you take phones in there, love. We’re sealing you lot off from the outside world. No social media for a month. Heaven, if you ask me. Think of it as a digital detox. And tell your mum it’s a boot camp for your mental well-being. It’s scary now, but when you leave in a month you’ll look back on this experience and realise how good it’s been for you. It will put you in a much better position to find real love, Amy. To find the man you’re meant to be with.’

  ‘Well, maybe he doesn’t exist.’ She sighs.

  ‘He does! You were just choosing to stay with the wrong guy. And from what I’ve read, you were so fixated on getting married that you couldn’t see he wasn’t right for you. Now, you’ve wasted two years of your life – do you really want to waste another two?’

  ‘I wasn’t fixated on getting married!’ she snaps, as Sam kneels in front of her.

  ‘Amy, you have two choices. You can take the leap and change the course of your life for the better. Or you can leave and spend the rest of your life dreaming about what could have been. Imagine who you could become if you stay. You have five minutes left to make your decision,’ Sam says as he stands up.

  ‘You will need to sign one of these documents,’ Sam continues. ‘The first gives us permission to broadcast you and says you’ll stay on the show for as long as you’re a contestant. The second says you don’t give us permission to broadcast you and you’ll leave through the back door, never to hear from us again. We’re going to wait outside the room while you make your calls and consider your choice. Once you’ve decided, call Harry back in and sign the paperwork. And after, I’ll walk you back to the Chat Room where you can press either the Stay or Go button.’

  Sam stands up, opens a filing cabinet in the corner and takes Amy’s phone out, as Harry hands her the non-disclosure agreement. She signs it and then they both leave the room.

  It’s suddenly silent apart from Amy’s loud breaths. Her chest is tight and her face is burning. She switches on her phone with shaky hands and feels her throat lump growing again.

  She goes to Recents and presses Mum. Knowing her
, it’ll be on silent.

  Please answer, please answer.

  The phone rings out to voicemail. She switches to her dad’s number but the same thing happens. She leaves a message.

  ‘Mum, Dad,’ her voice wobbles. ‘Something’s happened. Don’t worry, no one is hurt. I don’t have long to explain, but Jamie broke up with me. On a TV show.’

  She swallows her lump and tries to sound positive, so they won’t worry if she decides to stay.

  ‘It’s called The Shelf! It’s like Big Brother. I’m at the studio now and they want me to stay here for a month. If I stay, I could win a million pounds! Anyway, I don’t quite know what to do and I’m still in shock. I was just giving you a quick call to see what you think. And if I stay, I won’t have access to my phone for a while, so it’s also a goodbye for now. Please don’t worry, I’ll be fine! You’ll either see me later, or … on TV, I suppose! Ha, weird!’ She fake-laughs. ‘OK, bye. Love you.’

  She hangs up, sighs and carries on scrolling through Recents. Seeing Jamie’s name makes her feel sick and angry. She hovers over Sarah’s number for a few seconds and decides against pressing. Sarah won’t answer when she’s at work. And if she does, she will spend Amy’s remaining two minutes shouting about why she should leave immediately. And Amy isn’t sure she wants to hear that. She needs to weigh up her options alone and make her own choices.

  On the plus side, she could win a million pounds. Freedom. Experiences. A first-class ticket to Asia. Time to start her blog. And she has been on an eat-sleep-work conveyor belt for the last six months. It’s not like she has a job to go to tomorrow. And she’s been wanting to take a proper break from freelancing for ages. Being here means no more narcissistic creative directors and dickhead clients for a whole month. This could be the trigger she needs to do something more with her life. It is exciting.

  Something to tell the grandkids she’ll probably never have.

  And then the anxiety hits. She is all alone. Single at thirty-two. What will her friends think of her? Sarah will be disappointed. Jane will think she’s a tragedy. What will the other contestants think of her? What will the public think of her?

  She’s furious with Jamie. But she’s angrier at herself for sticking her head in the sand when she saw the signs. What would she do if she left now? She could break into Jamie’s, pour her foundation all over his bedsheets, get arrested, thrown in jail, take drugs, turn to the streets, lose all her teeth.

  Calm down.

  A chance to win a million pounds.

  A chance to change my life.

  A chance to start again.

  A chance to show everyone I can be someone.

  A chance to be me.

  She closes her eyes, exhales and feels her nerves morph into excitement.

  What have I got to lose?

  Harry breaks the silence by opening the door, creeping in and sitting opposite her. Without saying a word, Amy takes the pen, signs the paperwork and seals her fate.

  ‘Ready to go back in?’ he says.

  Sam hurries Amy back along the studio floor and guides her into the Chat Room. When she reaches the armchair, she turns to face him one final time.

  ‘I really hope you’ve made the right choice, Amy.’

  The lights go off, the TV turns on and a countdown timer starts on the screen. When it reaches one, her face flickers onto the screen. She sweeps her hair back through her fingers, wishing she’d been to the bathroom. She looks like a sunburnt hamster.

  ‘Hello, Amy. Welcome. You’ve got an important decision to make.’

  A piercing siren sounds and two big signs appear on the screen. One says STAY and the other says GO.

  ‘Amy. Please make your choice.’

  Amy draws a deep breath, closes her eyes and states her decision.

  KAPOW!

  Firework graphics fill the screen and pop music roars through the air as the STAY sign lights up in neon and the cameras turn to the studio audience, who are going wild. The Chat Room lights up and confetti pours onto Amy from a bucket on the ceiling. She covers her head and can’t help but laugh as she looks at herself on the screen through the paper shreds and glitter.

  Back in the studio, the cameras zoom in on Adam Andrews, former tween star of soap West London Free and reality show fail The Comeback Kid. The show had stopped airing after three episodes in which he failed every audition he attended, including one to play himself in a documentary remake of the soap. He never made it on TV again, apart from a D-list celebrity appearance. But he did make it online. His memes from the reality show are so popular that he has his own keyboard extension.

  Pinch yourself. Adam Andrews knows who you are, even if he is a digital D-lister.

  ‘Amy is a stayer, but will she be The Keeper?’ he shouts into the mic. ‘Stay tuned for our next contestant: Jackie!’

  The room turns black and the door beside her automatically unlocks.

  ‘Amy. Please return to the studio house and make yourself at home.’

  She takes a deep breath and stands up.

  Five

  All Amy’s packed is a week’s worth of holiday clothes and a straw hat the size of a picnic rug. She fiddles with the lock on her suitcase, which was magically sitting in the hallway when she returned.

  ‘No coats required.’ She remembers him grinning.

  Twat.

  She debates who’s a bigger twat, her or him, as she drops onto the sofa, curls up into the cushions and strategically hugs a silver pillow to hide her belly rolls from the camera. She cringes as it dawns on her that she could be spending the next month in a bikini in front of millions. Of course, things would be different if she was the size 8 she’d planned to be at the start of the year. And every year since she was sixteen, for that matter. At least she’s wearing her trusty flight outfit. Skinny black jeans and an oversized jumper. Thank God for this season’s baggy trend. Who cares that Jamie hates it.

  With no social media to fill these long minutes and occupy her thumb, Amy chews nervously at her broken nail. She abruptly stops and lowers her hand, remembering when Jamie told her she was filthy for doing it. He must be watching her. Picking at the cushion threads, she wonders if he feels guilty. Perhaps he’ll rush through the front door any second now with a thousand apologies tumbling from his mouth.

  Oh, shut up, Amy, scolds her inner voice. Jamie doesn’t say sorry. He’s an arsehole. An arsehole she was prepared to spend the rest of her life with. An arsehole who’s ripped up her playbook and left her alone at thirty-two with no prospects of marriage or kids.

  If Sarah was here, she’d drill some sense into her. She’ll be furious when she discovers what’s happened. Maybe more furious with Amy when she finds out she’s been choosing to stay with an arsehole over being single at her age. For confirming what she’s suspected all along.

  ‘Have you ever looked at this age concern from a different angle?’ Sarah once said to Amy. ‘Do you ever worry: Oh no, time’s running out to travel the world, watch what I like, eat my lunch without sharing and enjoy the simple and silent pleasure of being alone? Do you ever stop and think about what you’re giving up?’

  Sarah’s jumped from boyfriend to boyfriend since they graduated and was always adamant that she’d ‘never settle’, even if it meant sacrificing having a family.

  Amy had broached the subject of loneliness once. Did Sarah never feel lonely being single? Sarah had snorted half a gin sour out her nose. ‘How could I ever feel lonely, Ames? My life is full of people. Friends, family and, most important of all, me. For a guy to be with me, they have to be happy to fit into my life. I’m not selfish, I’m selfirst. Every boyfriend has expected me to fit in with their lives, and they didn’t like it when I expected the same. Obviously, not all guys are like that. Jamie isn’t like that, is he?’

  ‘No, he’s pretty good,’ she lied, remembering Jamie telling her she was a distraction. Why couldn’t she be braver?

  Amy closes her eyes and imagines Sarah sitting here on t
he pink sofa next to her.

  ‘Amy, I’m so angry with that twat, and with you for not telling me the truth. But you’re here now, you’ve made your choice. And this could be the best thing that’s ever happened to you! Jamie is pig shit – be happy he’s out of the picture! I’d like to send him a thank you card for setting you free. Where can I get anthrax? Now listen. You are only thirty-two. You don’t need to rush into anything. Hell, you wouldn’t need to if you were seventy-two! Live life for yourself for as long as you need. If you meet someone that wants what you want, great. If you don’t, those are the cards you’ve been dealt. And if you still want kids, head to a sperm bank. I hear Danish guys are trending. You don’t need a relationship to have a kid. If there’s no one to pick up little Bertie from the nursery when you’re working late, then I can help. I’ll send my driver.’

  She imagines Jane sitting on the other side of her. The boohoo face, the head tilt. She’d probably make Amy feel like it was her fault. She imagines Jane’s head shaking with one eyebrow raised, the unspoken What are you doing wrong that you can’t seem to keep a man? She sees her discussing Amy with all their old school friends: ‘What’s wrong with Amy?’

  Amy can’t imagine any of her other friends being there for her. They’d be too busy planning baby showers or first birthdays, which are the only parties she’s ever invited to now. And they’re just the worst. At the last one, she was forced to do a ‘mums and bubs’ dance to Peppa Pig Hits, without a baby. To mask her misery, she’d made the mums laugh by jiggling a wine bucket on her hip instead.

  They might lend her one ear, with the other on a baby monitor, offering a few standard words of comfort like ‘there’s plenty of fish in the sea’. They wouldn’t hear her reply: ‘But the sea is full of rubbish and things that kill you’. They wouldn’t really want to be burdened by the heartache saga of their last single friend. She knows because she’s been one of those smug bastards for the last two years. Single over thirty is like an illness that’s too awkward and depressing to talk about.

  As she wonders who’s going to watch the show, she sees something race towards her from the corner of her eye. She screams as she jumps a metre into the air, lands on the back of the sofa and falls over the other side, where she lies, cursing under her breath, in a crumpled heap on the floor. If the producers have released a rat into the house for comedy effect, she’s going to sue them for a sprained ankle as well as emotional trauma. Trembling, she peers over the sofa and exhales in relief.