The Shelf

by Helly Acton

  ‘At the end of the month,’ Adam continues, ‘two girls will go head-to-head in the epic show finale. The girl with the most votes gets a cash prize of one million pounds, ongoing therapy sessions, a fitness membership, a makeover, a holiday and a year’s subscription to dating club Love Market.’

  The audience cheer.

  ‘And the girl who just misses out? Well. She doesn’t go home completely empty-handed. She leaves with a month’s worth of self-healing on the house and a healthier attitude towards relationships!’

  Adam turns to the crowd and lifts his arms.

  ‘And that’s a wrap, folks! Tune in tomorrow to find out what’s next in store for our contestants!’

  The screen cuts out and silence fills the air.

  ‘Lads, it’s eight o’clock,’ says Jackie. ‘And high time we tested that prosecco tap.’

  It’s just gone 10 p.m. when Amy tiptoes into the bedroom and crawls under her covers. Gemma, who went to bed an hour ago, stirs lightly. The last time Amy slept in a bed this narrow was when she was ten. She thinks back to Jamie’s California king, where she was this time last night, trying to fall asleep without making a sound.

  ‘It’s your huge nostrils,’ he would say. ‘What? It’s a compliment. Fearne Cotton has a massive pair, and she’s a belter.’

  Amy would pretend to find it funny, then stare at everyone else’s nostrils the next day wondering if hers were bigger than average. He would continue to joke about it, along with her bingo wings, wobbly thighs and double chin.

  When she first developed her nostril complex, about three months into their relationship, Amy was genuinely worried that Jamie would dump her because he couldn’t bear the thought of being kept awake for the rest of his life. She’d spent hundreds of pounds on every expensive gimmick available, including a mouth guard that made her look like Hannibal Lecter. They eventually settled on an app that played rain to drown out the sound of her breathing. Of just being there in the room.

  She wishes she was at Amuse Bouche. In any normal break-up, she’d weep over a glass of wine and grapple with Sarah for her phone. Then she’d go home, gorge on pork dumplings and watch Kardashians reruns while swiping Love Market to make herself feel momentarily better. That’s how you get over break-ups. You don’t get over break-ups on national TV in the company of five strangers who you have nothing in common with apart from being dumped in public.

  Of course, the producers aren’t holding her hostage. Amy could walk right now if she wanted to and still get the participation fee, which would more than cover a trip to Thailand. But something at the back of her mind makes her want to stay. Maybe she doesn’t really want to go back to her drink-dumpling-reality-TV-binge routine. Perhaps she wants to do something completely different that breaks the endless cycle. Maybe she wants to prove to the world that she can do this. And let’s face it, one million pounds is probably worth all this humiliation.

  Worries flood her mind.

  What the hell am I doing? Is this the worst decision I’ve ever made in my life? Am I going to die alone?

  Can Gemma hear me breathing?

  Eight

  WAAAAAAAAAH, WAAAAAAAAAAH!

  It’s so loud. So very loud. Fucking blaring, in fact. Amy jumps out of bed and looks around the room, confused. What is that? A fire alarm? She sees the others running around the room, trying to find the source of the sound. Someone turns on the lights, blinding them all for a second.

  A second wail hits the air. WEEEEEEEEEH, WEEEEEEEEEH!

  ‘What the fuck is happening!’ shouts Jackie, standing on her bed.

  WAAAAAAAAAH, WAAAAAAAAAH!

  Kathy shouts something inaudible.

  When the noise abruptly stops, they inch towards the bedroom door and peer out towards the living room.

  ‘Oh my God,’ whispers Jackie.

  WEEEEEEEEEH, WEEEEEEEEEH!

  ‘It’s six o’clock – what are they doing to us?’ Gemma shouts as they all move into the living room together, apprehensively.

  The housemates stand transfixed, staring at the cots that have magically appeared next to the sofa. There are six screaming babies, each with the name of a contestant on their bib. Not real babies, of course. Creepily realistic dolls that have been set to cry mode, with no stop button that any of them can find. The housemates have woken up on Love Island, except they couldn’t be further from paradise here.

  WAAAAAAAAAH, WAAAAAAAAAH!

  Amy scans the cots and finds her doll. Ben Wright. She looks inside, picks him up carefully and examines him underneath to see if she can turn his volume down. Nope. Unsure what else she can do, she holds him at a distance in front of her.

  This must be our first challenge, she thinks as she scans the room to see what everyone else is doing and if she should be copying them. Jackie’s holding her doll upside down by one leg, Gemma has hers in a headlock as she marches towards the kitchen with an offer to make everyone tea, and Hattie has her hand over her doll’s mouth as she stumbles back to bed, bumping into the bedroom door on her way.

  ‘Hold up, Gem, there’s a note in my cot,’ says Lauren, unravelling the paper. ‘“Congratulations, housemates. Welcome to motherhood. It’s Day Three and time for your first challenge – Oh, Baby! – where we’ll be putting your natural maternal instincts to the test”.’

  ‘And if we don’t have any?’ asks Jackie rhetorically.

  Lauren shrugs and continues. ‘“For the next few days, you are accountable for the health and well-being of your tiny tot. Inside your cots, you’ll find everything you need. Nappies, formula, wipes and blankets. The rules are simple. Set a routine that supports their physical and emotional needs. Sleeping, feeding, sicking, pooping and feeling loved”.’

  ‘But … they’re plastic.’ Hattie looks around at the others anxiously. ‘How do we know if we’re doing it right?’

  ‘“We’ll be watching and rating your response to this huge life responsibility”,’ Lauren continues. ‘“And finding out just how suited you are to the task”. Fookin’ hell. That last bit was me.’ She drops the piece of paper and picks up her baby by the back of the head. ‘Christ on a bike, why does mine look like Phil Mitchell?’

  She starts to bounce him around. ‘All righ’, darlin’, I’ll ’ave a pint a’ larga an’ a packet a’ fags,’ she mimics in a sandpaper Cockney twang.

  Amy’s chewing mindlessly on a piece of underdone jam toast, watching Ben snore in his cot.

  ‘Since when do babies snore?’ she asks the room.

  A blob of jam falls from the toast and lands on his forehead. She quickly licks her thumb and wipes it off, checking up at the cameras and jumping at the sound of the tannoy overhead.

  ‘Contestants, please take a seat on the sofa. The show is about to start.’

  A familiar theme tune sounds and they look at each other. Amy glances at the clock and inhales sharply.

  ‘Is that what I think it is?’ asks Gemma. ‘Are we about to be on …?’

  ‘Welcome back, viewers at home, and a very good morning to those of you who’ve just joined us!’ chirps Jenny Mackenzie, host of Real TV’s live audience Saturday-morning show, Put the Kettle On. ‘We have a very special segment in store for you this morning! Let’s give a big hand to the host of new hit show The Shelf, Adam Andrews!’

  Adam’s on the sofa, looking twice as orange as yesterday.

  The screen cuts to the living room, and Hattie is the only one who responds, with a half-hearted wave.

  ‘And, of course, to our contestants! Oh, Adam, they all look a bit shocked, don’t they? Are they all right?’ Jenny giggles, covering her mouth with her hand.

  ‘Well, Jenny, I would be too if I woke up to find a newborn baby in my living room!’ He laughs too hard and slaps her on the knee.

  ‘It’s only Day Three and The Shelf is already hitting the headlines – you must be delighted. Now, tell us a little more about this first challenge. What’s it called – Oh, Baby?’

  Adam switches his face t
o serious mode. ‘Bang on, Jen. So, The Shelf is all about giving girls who are unlucky in love the chance to prove they can be long-term prospects – that they have what it takes to be a life partner. And one of the essential qualities to being a life partner is a willingness to self-sacrifice. Care for the physical and emotional needs of someone other than themselves. Nothing puts that to the test quite like motherhood, does it?’

  ‘Perhaps not. So, what do the girls have to do to win the challenge?’

  ‘To be honest, Jen, we just want them to be themselves. Look, most of them have zero experience with children. How they care for these babies will be a window into their characters. Some are born to handle motherhood, some aren’t. And knowing this will help them find the right match – and path – in the future.’

  ‘And someone who can help assess their characters is just behind the cameras, isn’t he?’ Jen comments, and cranes her neck.

  ‘That’s right!’ Adam waves furiously. ‘I’d like to introduce you to a man you’ll soon be seeing a lot of! He’s our resident therapist, a shoulder for the girls to cry on and recently published author of UK bestseller Are You in a Realationship? Dr Howard Hicks!’

  ‘Who?’ says Kathy.

  ‘Never heard of him,’ replies Amy. And it seems no one else has either. The audience’s claps are muted at best as a small, middle-aged, balding man with thin-framed round spectacles walks timidly onto the set, taking a cautious seat on the sofa and waving coyly at the crowd.

  ‘Dr Hicks, welcome to the show.’ Jen smiles. ‘It’s brilliant to have you here. Tell us, what’s that book of yours all about?’

  Dr Hicks pushes his glasses up his nose and answers slowly. He looks uncomfortable in the spotlight.

  ‘Well, Jenny, firstly, thank you for having me here. Are You in a Realationship? is all about getting couples to consider how real their relationship is. Are you being truthful with each other? Is your relationship love or habit? Couples are meant to read it together. It will either end their relationship or make it stronger. Either way, the outcome is positive. It’s meant to encourage honesty while preventing hostility or blame.’

  Dr Hicks stares at the audience and smiles as a lone cough sounds in the background.

  Amy looks around, wondering if anyone else thinks the book sounds quite good. Jackie’s fixing a braid, Kathy’s staring into space despondently and Gemma’s flossing her front teeth with a strand of hair.

  Just me, then.

  ‘Wow, that sounds like a bestseller to me, doesn’t it?’ Jenny nods at the audience, who take that as their instruction to cheer.

  Dr Hicks turns pink and waves away the cheering.

  ‘So, tell me, Doc,’ continues Jenny, after hushing them down, ‘what will you be getting up to here on The Shelf?’

  ‘OK, Jenny,’ he shuffles forward on the sofa, ‘I think the concept of The Shelf is an extremely interesting one, and I’m going to be fascinated to see how the housemates develop during their time on the show. I think we’re going to see some very surprising results—’

  ‘Uh-mazing,’ interrupts Adam, sounding insincere.

  ‘I’ll be hosting regular therapy sessions, trying to understand why they’re on the show in the first place, hoping to guide them out of this predicament they find themselves in and helping them to be stronger candidates for long-term love in the future.’

  ‘And what about all that dirt you’ll dig up?’ Adam laughs, looking at the audience and winking. They snigger collectively.

  ‘Yes, well, that’s not quite my intention,’ Dr Hicks responds, pushing his glasses up on his nose again. ‘But I’m sure we’ll hear some interesting stories. Perhaps a few that we can all relate to as well.’

  ‘And tell me, Dr Hicks, do you have any predictions on how the contestants will cope with the motherhood challenge? How do you think our new mums will do in there?’ Jenny’s smiling so hard her eyes are almost closed.

  He shakes his head. ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly comment, Jenny, I haven’t spent any time with them.’

  ‘Go on, just take a guess, Doctor Howard!’ Adam squeals and Jenny nods furiously in agreement.

  ‘Please, I can’t, really – it would be deeply inaccurate and unfair.’

  ‘Spoilsport! Well, Jen, I can tell you that I’m guessing Kathy will cope best – obvs, been there, done that, got the saggy’ – he pauses for effect and looks sideways at a wide-eyed Jenny – ‘T-shirt.’

  Jenny rolls her eyes and waves him away. The audience murmur, and Dr Hicks stares at Adam with a hard frown.

  Amy turns to Kathy, who has folded her arms across her chest.

  ‘Ignore him, Kath.’ She leans over. ‘He says things like that for a cheap laugh, not because it’s true.’

  ‘He’s a fookin’ dick, mate, don’t even think about it,’ adds Lauren.

  They turn back to the screen.

  ‘… if that baby isn’t burnt to a crisp, missing a limb or face down in the bin by the end of the challenge, I’ll present the next show in a pair of Speedos!’

  Just under the surface of Jenny’s stiff smile is a grimace. Dr Hicks shakes his head and mutters something.

  ‘Who are they talking about?’

  ‘Me.’ Jackie turns to them, smiling. ‘Don’t worry.’ She lifts her hand up to stop Gemma from comforting her. ‘Appreciate the concern, but he’s right. Although he did miss out “floating at the bottom of the pool with a rock tied to its leg”.’

  ‘“Head cut off in a freak chopping accident”.’ Lauren laughs, and Jackie joins in.

  Jenny continues. ‘Nah, I think Jackie will be all right. She’s a great role model for any young girls watching this show. Outspoken, ambitious—’

  ‘Selfish,’ Adam cuts her off. ‘She’s Selfish Jackie, isn’t she?’

  ‘That’s simply one opinion from a hurt partner who is bound to lash out,’ Dr Hicks adds.

  Adam tries to respond but Jenny cuts him off. ‘Well, I suppose we’ll see in three days!’

  The cameras zoom in on her.

  ‘That, ladies and gents, is all we have time for! Thank you for watching, and don’t forget to tune in to Real TV every night at nine p.m. to see what the girls have been up to!’ she shouts and waves at the camera.

  When the camera zooms out, Dr Hicks and Adam can be seen having a heated discussion on the sofa, as Jenny freezes her smile, pretending it isn’t happening.

  The camera feed cuts out and the room is silent.

  But, of course, it doesn’t last long.

  An ominous gong chimes through the air.

  ‘Amy. Please go to the Therapy Room at nine a.m. tomorrow. Dr Hicks will be waiting.’

  Nine

  Amy’s nose is whistling as she waits anxiously for the arrival of Dr Howard Hicks for her first therapy session. She can’t decide whether to sniff or blow into a tissue. She isn’t sure which the public would find most off-putting. Taking a tissue from the box on the coffee table in front of her, she fake-coughs and quickly sniffs afterwards. It works, and she relaxes. Jackie’s looking after Ben for the next hour, and Amy is delighted to have the peace, quiet and freedom, despite feeling nervous about what she’s going to reveal to Dr Hicks and the thousands watching.

  She leans back and looks around her, absorbing her surroundings. This is the first time she’s been to therapy. Are all therapy rooms this soulless? This beige? Three posters on the wall are making her feel hostile.

  TODAY IS A NEW DAY

  No shit.

  CHOOSE HAPPY

  What if it’s not a choice?

  BE YOUR OWN SUNSHINE

  I’d rather be a fork of lightning.

  There are three succulents lined up on the coffee table in front of her. Of course, she reaches forward to touch one, pricking her finger in the process. She gasps. I wonder how he’d interpret that? A physical manifestation of her self-destructive tendencies? She doesn’t need therapy; she already knows what’s wrong with her. She needs a night out with Sarah and three bottles
of wine.

  The door opens and Dr Hicks enters the room, shutting it quietly behind him and smiling at Amy as he approaches the table.

  ‘Good morning, Amy. I’m Dr Hicks. How are you?’

  Amy stands up and shakes his small, clammy hand as he takes a slow, creaky seat in the vintage leather armchair in front of her.

  ‘Fine, thank you,’ she responds, feeling anything but.

  Behind his glasses are twitchy little eyes.

  ‘Well, actually, I’m still a bit shocked,’ Amy adds when he doesn’t say anything back.

  ‘Of course. This is an unusual situation, to say the least.’ He picks up an iPad in front of him and taps the screen.

  Whir. Beep.

  Amy shifts around in her seat. It squeaks against her thighs, making the atmosphere even more awkward. Her denim beach shorts aren’t made for massive leather sofas. Her thighs look like two huge pieces of rolled-out, unbaked dough. When she spots this, she puts a cushion over them.

  ‘Try to ignore the camera,’ Dr Hicks says, still looking down but sensing her discomfort. ‘Today is the easiest session. It’s just a little chat about your background – who you are and why you’re here. Is that OK?’

  Amy nods, unsure if he can see her.

  ‘My advice is to try to be as open and direct as you can. That way we’ll get the best results from these sessions. Don’t think about who’s watching you.’

  Her parents. Her friends. Never mind her – how are they going to feel if Dr Hicks mines something from her subconscious that hurts their feelings?

  What about work? What if she can’t get a job after this?

  ‘Oh my God, no way! It’s that nutcase from The Shelf!’ says an imaginary HR director, pointing at his screen to show an imaginary team who’ve gathered round his imaginary desk in an imaginary office. They pretend to stab each other, laughing.