by Helly Acton
Krrr, click!
It’s the Roomba again.
‘Ugh, sod off!’ she barks into its tiny glass face. ‘And stop taking pictures of me from below my chin! Everyone knows it’s the worst angle!’ She mutters that last bit quietly as she crawls back into her sofa nook.
Turning her back on the Roomba – which is now silently staring at her like a needy one-eyed puppy – she looks down at her black jumper and notices it’s covered in glitter, with a brand-new motif. An upside-down face of make-up, which has been daubed on her chest along with all her tears. She needs to clean up before the next arrival. It should help her feel a little more human in this hideous hospital lighting. Men must have designed this set, she thinks.
Amy swings her legs to the floor and stands up. She rolls her suitcase behind her as she limps her way to the bedroom, the wheels making tiny squeaks with every turn and providing a fitting soundtrack to the tragedy that she is. Alone, abandoned and hobbling her way to a small single bed – all she needs to do now is walk into a door frame or stub her toe to complete her public humiliation.
In the bathroom, Amy searches the walls for cameras or mics. She can’t see any, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there, hidden somewhere in this heavy decor. It’s enough to trigger a seizure, with floor-to-ceiling gold-and-black marble covering every surface. Three showers, one bath and three sinks. She hopes to God they aren’t expected to wash at the same time. There are two types of women in this world: those who get naked in the gym changing room, and those who get naked in the gym changing room toilets. Amy is definitely one of the latter.
If she’s going to be on TV, her face needs a good scrub and some surface work, but at least she did all the pre-holiday hard graft in Jamie’s flat. As the sink fills with hot water and steam clouds the glass, she leans over and splashes her face, instantly feeling the ugliness of her morning wash away. She pats her face dry and feels happier for a fleeting second, watching the glitter spiral down the plughole.
Ten minutes later and Amy’s still deep in thought, sweeping a third layer of mascara onto her eyelashes. She’s deliberately taking her time, embarrassed to perform the clumsy dance of her regular make-up routine. For her final act, she applies a layer of sheer pink lipstick that she got from the cover of Heat. It’s been lying lidless in her make-up bag for at least two years.
Would I watch this show if it wasn’t happening to me? she wonders. Would The Shelf be my next Love Island?
She likes to think she’d hate to see women being dumped for entertainment. But the truth is, she’s a sucker for a TV craze. If she was on the outside, she’d be one of the millions tuning in, and she’d hate herself for it.
Amy’s chosen the bed that’s furthest from the door and next to the wall. Rather a wall than a stranger, is her logic. After unpacking her clothes into an assigned wardrobe, Amy waits. Not for long.
Ping!
Ping!
Ping! Ping! Ping!
She pokes her head into the living room to see the TV has come to life and there are words scrolling down the screen. It’s a comments feed.
Oh God.
Isn’t it too soon for public commentary?
@ultimanufan Give us a smile love, you could win a million quid! #theshelf
@thebirdsloveabitofhim I would #theshelf
@imlukeyman Oi Amy, watch out for that #cameltoe #theshelf
Amy shoots her eyes to her crotch and covers it up with her hands.
@imlukeyman Haha made you look! #madeherlook #theshelf
@playwithsarahj Jamie is such a tosser! Why kiss her like that? Cruel #theshelf
The last message makes her feel better until she remembers that kiss. His smile. His hair. The familiar smell of Dior Sauvage floating around him. Him just being there, in her life.
Stop it.
She leaves the TV and wanders through to the kitchen. She’d love a cup of tea, but after spending a minute trying to find the fridge, she gives up, conscious she looks like a twit. She’ll never get used to the world watching her every move. She walks outside through the giant bifold doors that wrap around the studio house.
The doors open onto a neon green plastic lawn that’s home to three large garden gnomes. Their heads turn in unison as she moves past, as if gnomes could get any creepier than they already are. When she looks closer, she spots cameras in their eyes and jumps back. Her face must have been the size of the moon in that shot.
There are two social seating areas on either side of the garden. One looks like a Tiki bar and the other like an après-ski chalet. There’s also a long, thin swimming pool that takes up one side of the garden and makes her cringe when she thinks of the public seeing her near naked. What will the comments say then?
At the Tiki bar, she slides her fingers into her back pocket before it dawns on her. It’s empty. And it will be for a while. She drops her head onto her folded arms on the counter and wonders how long it will take to stop automatically reaching for her phone. Her security blanket. Her window to the world. To Jamie. What would she be looking at now? She’d be zooming in on his recent pictures, trying to find any kind of evidence to suggest this was coming. Maybe there’d be something in his eyes.
How can I ever trust a man again? Will I ever even meet a man to distrust again?
She and Jamie built a life together, and now that he’s smashed it to pieces she has to rebuild it from scratch. On her own. Exhausted, she takes a deep breath through her nose and exhales for five.
BANG!
The silence is broken by the slam of a door and heels clicking loudly across the floor. She sits still and tries to stare through the glass door as shouting erupts from the living room.
Amy gets up from her seat and tiptoes across the garden and back into the kitchen, where she stops in the dining room doorway and approaches the sofa.
A tall, powerful-looking woman is shouting at the TV screen with her arms folded tightly across her chest. She’s wearing a skintight red dress with gold heels and has an enormous beehive of braids coiled on her head, adding half a metre to her height. Her neck, ears and wrists are dripping in beads. She oozes glamour.
‘Oh, get fucked!
‘Fuck off!
‘What the fuck do you know, @essexboy2000? Fuck all, that’s what.’
She turns around and towers over Amy. Unfolding her lithe arms, she takes Amy’s hand in long, slim fingers as she grins with brilliant white teeth shining through bright red lipstick.
‘All right, love? I’m Jackie! What the fuck have we done?’
Six
All six contestants are sitting awkwardly on or around the sofa, struggling to speak through sobbing or spitting venom. They’ve just finished picking at a salad delivery, which was discreetly dropped off in the fridge earlier.
What are you supposed to say to a stranger who’s just had the plug pulled on their whole future? Amy had chosen an inappropriate ‘Lovely to meet you’ with Jackie, an unconvincing back pat and a ‘Well, it could be worse’ with Hattie, a chef from Southampton, and an awkward ‘So, how would you spend a million pounds?’ with Kathy, a quiet fifty-two-year-old mum from Bristol.
‘On myself!’ she chuckled, shifting in her seat to lean across the coffee table. ‘My kids are busy living their own lives in London now. If I shared it with them, I wouldn’t see the little shits for the rest of the year. Bless. I love them really.’ She smiled before glancing at the camera, her eyes glistening in the light.
For the fifth and sixth contestants, Amy resolved to give a knowing nod that simply and silently said ‘I feel your pain’.
‘How many people do you think are watching us?’ whispers Hattie, who’s clearly feeling insecure about being on screen, constantly trying to sit where the camera can’t see her and hiding her tummy with folded arms.
Jackie continues, ‘No one’s going to watch this show, it’s a bunch of sexist wank. I give it a week before it’s cancelled and we’re out of here.’
Whir. Beep.
&n
bsp; The cameras turn on Jackie.
‘Exactly. Who the fook would wanna watch our motley crew of miserable outcasts?’ says Lauren, a DJ from Newcastle with a bleached-blonde pixie cut and a nose piercing. ‘A reality show about funerals would be more upliftin’.’
‘I don’t know, Lauren,’ begins Kathy, staring blankly into the distance. ‘People love seeing other people fall. It makes them feel better about their own lives.’
The housemates have made a policy to avoid looking at the comments feed in front of them, which is proving impossible for most of them. Over the last hour, it has become clear that the public are taking a sick pleasure in being cruel, and the continuous string of emotional outbursts are exhausting. But for some housemates, the temptation is too much. Just a few moments ago, Amy’s heart almost burst when she asked Gemma what she did for work.
‘None of your fucking business, mate.’
‘Sorry, I was just trying to make conversation,’ replied a red-faced Amy.
‘Sorry, babes, I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to this creep asking me how often I work out. Fuck, I wish I had my phone. I’d properly give him a piece of my mind.’
The comment does make sense. Gemma looks like she’s made of pure muscle. She also seems to love the spotlight, and has reapplied her lip gloss in front of the glass doors at least ten times since they arrived an hour ago.
The screen suddenly switches to a countdown clock, starting from five.
4 … 3 …
Amy feels sick.
2 … 1
‘Here we go,’ says Lauren.
The TV goes blank momentarily before Adam Andrews’ giant face appears, his eyes the size of side plates they’re so big on the screen.
‘All right, girls?’ He winks.
A bass-heavy dance track starts blasting and the cameras quickly pan out to the studio audience, who are going wild and throwing their hands up in the air like they’ve joined a religious cult.
‘Ugh, I hate it when men call us girls,’ mutters Amy. ‘It’s so gross.’
‘It’s better than what my ex Dylan used to call me,’ Hattie replies quietly with a straight face. ‘Hattie the Hippo.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve been Piglet for the last two years.’
‘Hippo was actually a compliment compared to what the boys used to call me at school. I’ll give you a clue – it begins with F and rhymes with Hattie.’
Amy leans over and gives her a side hug.
The camera focuses on a group of four young men wearing matching white fedoras, tuxedo jackets and tangerine skin. When they see they’re in the spotlight, each one unbuttons his jacket to reveal a word printed across his oily six-pack.
GEMMA – IS – A – FITTY!
They pump their arms and thrust their hips in time to the track.
‘Where do they find these people?’ mutters Jackie.
‘OH MY GOD!’ screams Gemma, leaping out of her chair. ‘Those are the lads from my gym!’
Gemma breaks out into exactly the same dance routine, her glossy pink filler-plumped lips pursed in duck-face mode.
‘Sick!’
She jumps back onto the sofa, looking around at the other housemates, smiling sweetly, with her chewing gum lodged in her veneers.
‘OK, calm down everybody,’ Adam laughs as he addresses the audience at the front of the stage and they start to simmer down. ‘Wow, you lot are loving this, aren’t you? Well, there’s even more to love coming up right now, because it’s time to meet the stars of the show. ARE … YOU … READY?’
The audience scream a collective ‘YES!’ followed by a chorus of woo-hoos.
‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ says Hattie, whose hands have started to shake uncontrollably. ‘What have I done?’
Lauren takes one of them and clasps it in her lap.
‘I’ll take that as a yes then, shall I?’ Adam looks out, his Tangoed face basking in the glow of the adulation. ‘Well then, let’s go!’
The camera zooms out as he runs over to the studio sofas.
He’s not alone.
‘Holy shit.’ Jackie sits up.
‘Jason, you little fuck!’ Gemma shouts. ‘Look at him, sitting there like he’s fucking cock of the woods!’ She flips him a bird.
‘He can probably see you, Gemma,’ says Kathy.
‘Do I look like I give a fuck? I hope he can.’ Gemma adds a second bird. Lauren joins her in solidarity with her one free hand, the other still holding onto Hattie.
Gemma’s face relaxes into a smile.
‘Cock of the walk,’ Amy says, and then immediately regrets it when Gemma shoots her a look.
Jamie’s in the middle. He’s changed into the shirt Amy bought him for Christmas last year. Well, technically she didn’t buy it. He exchanged the one she bought him for this. She never did get his gifts right. She watches him lean back with his arms behind his head, loving every minute of his moment in the spotlight. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. The best thing that’s ever happened to him is the worst thing that’s ever happened to her. What the hell kind of relationship has she been in for the last two years? She wishes she could jump through the screen and rip that shirt right off him. But she also wishes he would stand up, admit that he’s made a huge mistake and come and save her from this living nightmare.
Fat chance, she thinks as he smiles and waves at the audience. His crow’s feet wrinkle up. He disgusts her.
‘OK everyone, let’s begin. So, over there,’ Adam points to the camera, ‘we have our lovely contestants, fresh off the love train and ready to make some life changes!’
The screen switches to the living room camera. No one moves. No one smiles. It switches back to Adam, who’s pulling a sad face.
‘Oh dear! Chin up, girls, you’re on telly! Now, let’s meet the men responsible for those slapped arses – sorry, I mean faces. Give it up for the exes, everyone!’ He starts clapping with the audience. ‘Let’s meet our first contestant.’
Please not me please not me please not me.
‘Jackie Adu!’
A huge picture of Jackie laughing at the camera fills the screen, with graphics on the side. It couldn’t be further from the image of her now. Amy can see her chest start to rise with deep breaths.
Name: Jackie Adu
Age: 38
Location: London
Profession: Solicitor
Status: Married, no kids
Description: Selfish
The screen switches back to the sofa and the cameras zoom in on a tall man who’s towering over Adam, despite sitting down. He doesn’t look as pleased with himself as Jamie. He almost looks humble. But who is Amy to judge? She thought Jamie was The One, and look where that idea landed her.
‘Aaron! Tell us. Why did you leave Jackie on The Shelf?’
‘Hi everyone, hi Jackie.’ He gives a half-hearted wave, looking into the camera. ‘I’m Aaron Adu, Jackie’s husband. Estranged husband now, I suppose. The truth is, I left Jackie on The Shelf because she doesn’t understand what marriage is.’
‘What do you mean?’ Adam interjects, looking comically sincere.
‘Well, she doesn’t consult me over big decisions that impact our lives. She keeps secrets from me. She puts her father’s needs before mine. And she doesn’t want kids, even though I told her I did when we got married.’
Jackie shifts in her seat, radiating anger. ‘And I told you I didn’t want kids when we got married,’ she says through her teeth.
‘Broken promises.’ Adam shakes his head.
‘I don’t feel proud of myself for putting her on here,’ Aaron continues. ‘But I do think The Shelf will teach her to value what’s most important in life when you’re married. Isn’t that the whole point of the show?’
Jackie rolls her eyes and shouts to the camera.
‘I keep secrets from you, Aaron? Me? This morning you told me we were taking my dad out for lunch. Now look where I am. Hello? Can you hear me?’
; ‘I don’t think we’re on sound, love,’ says Lauren. ‘They don’t want to hear our side.’
‘Tricky situation, Aaron, but it sounds like you’ve done the right thing. Now let’s move on to Jason!’ shouts Adam over the audience applause.
The screen flashes a picture of Gemma posing on the side of an infinity pool. The audience start to coo and whistle.
Name: Gemma Burns
Age: 30
Location: Cheltenham
Profession: Personal trainer
Status: Long-term relationship
Description: Distant
‘Jason, my word, you must have a very good reason to leave that on The Shelf! Explain yourself, sir! Why is Gemma “distant”?’
Jason is pure beef. He has a neck as wide as his head and tree trunks for arms. The high pitch of his voice is a shock.
‘Steady on, mate. Gemma Burns isn’t “that”. She’s my girlfriend. I mean, ex-girlfriend. I think. Is she? And yeah, she’s beautiful. Inside and out. But I was forced to leave her on The Shelf because she needs an intervention. All she does is stare at her phone all day, posing for pictures or replying to comments. It’s been months since we had a proper conversation. Whenever I try and talk to her she doesn’t even bother looking up from the screen anymore. It’s like her followers are more important to her than her friends or family. I miss her. We all miss her. She needs to wake up and realise that she has a problem and that I didn’t sign up for going out with the back of a mobile phone.’
Adam shakes his head. ‘Sounds like a classic case of being taken for granted.’
‘Yeah, but she …’ Jason backtracks. He doesn’t seem cocky at all, despite Gemma’s comment earlier. ‘She’s a good person. She’s just lost her way a bit. She’s got caught up in this whole influencer world, and that’s what I have a problem with.’
