by Helly Acton
The housemates take their seats on the yoga mats outside and HuJo removes his shirt. Being naked from the waist up for a mindfulness session seems unnecessary.
‘First of all, ladies’ – HuJo arches his back, stretches his arms and flexes his six-pack – ‘thank you for being here with me today.’ He shuts his eyes and inhales through his nose.
‘Do we have a choice?’ mutters Gemma.
HuJo opens his eyes.
‘Choices are exactly why I’m here. Do you want to know one of life’s biggest truths? We can’t always choose what happens to us, but we can always choose how we react. Today I’m going to teach you, girls, how to stop overreacting. I call it Keep Calm.’
He looks around at the group, expecting a response. He’s disappointed.
‘Now, when I say keep calm, what do you think I mean?’ he continues.
‘Ooh, I know! Keep Calm and Carry On!’ shouts Hattie, excitedly. ‘My mum got me the mug for Christmas!’
‘My mug says: Stay Angry and Smash Balls,’ replies Lauren.
He ignores the sniggers.
‘I’m jokin’. It’s actually a flag above my bed.’
Still nothing.
‘What I mean by calm is C-A-L-M,’ he spells out the letters. ‘C is for Consider your reaction. A is for Answer with a smile. L is for Let it go. And M is for Make it better. Being C-A-L-M is the key to responding with the right level of emotion in every situation. Especially in relationships. It’s about disciplining your minds, ladies, regulating your moods and controlling your natural urges to lose your rag.’
‘Every situation?’ says Jackie, looking cynical.
‘Every situation,’ he repeats. He stands up and walks around like he’s circling his prey. When he reaches Jackie, he leans over and starts to rub her shoulders. Jackie instantly squirms away and spins around, with virtual laser beams shooting out of her eyes.
‘I’m sorry, Jackie, you just seem on edge. Maybe motherhood is making you tense. I was just trying to relax you. Apologies, I should have warned you.’ He crouches down next to her, uncomfortably close.
‘It’s not about warning me, mate – it’s about asking me. And the answer is always going to be no.’ She carries on glaring at him as she shuffles away.
HuJo nods his head, straightens up and returns to his mat.
‘Well, that response brings me nicely on to what I was about to say. I’ve created C-A-L-M especially for women. Women are wired differently. You respond with your hearts, not your heads. You’re emotional. You find it easy to feel hurt, stress, anger, upset and jealousy. You find it easy to … overreact.’
‘So, we should be doormats?’ Jackie interrupts. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’
HuJo closes his eyes, breathes in for a few seconds and exhales loudly through his nose.
‘Many women have thanked me for saving their relationships. Will you give me a chance to save yours, Jackie?’
Hattie shoots her arm up. ‘Are you keeping C-A-L-M right now?’ she says, leaning forward.
‘Yes, Hattie, I am. Do you see? If I had overreacted and shouted at Jackie, I would have made the situation much worse.’
Jackie tuts and folds her arms.
‘Now, girls, today I’m going to ask you to recount personal situations where a partner has made you feel upset, and you responded emotionally. Then, we’ll discuss whether this was an overreaction, an under-reaction or a just-right reaction. Close your eyes, clear your mind, breathe and reflect.’
Amy closes her eyes and thinks about everything Jamie used to do that upset her. How he stared at other women, making a joke of it instead of trying to hide it. How he made time for the gym, but not for her family. How he stopped inviting her to the pub with his friends. How his eyes would follow her fingers if she reached for a biscuit, then get annoyed if she got upset and say he was just teasing. How he’d ask what Funsponge Amy had done with Fun Amy. It’s like a Netflix menu – too many choices and impossible to pick one.
‘Shall we start with you, Hattie? Tell us about a time when you felt upset with a boyfriend.’
Hattie’s cheeks turn pink as she glances around the group.
‘Well, Dylan cut up all my fitted clothes a few months ago. He told me I was too big to wear anything tight and he didn’t want people staring at me. He said it was for my own good, but they were some of my favourite clothes. They were memories. He even threw out the dress I wore to our school leavers’ dance.’
The group gasp.
‘What a control freak, Hattie,’ mutters Gemma. ‘I would have cut off his knob.’
‘And obviously, Gemma, that would have been an overreaction. How did you react, Hattie?’ HuJo asks.
‘I locked myself in the bathroom, made a bed in the tub and cried myself to sleep. We only have one bedroom. I crept out of the house in the morning, went to Mum and Dad’s for three days and didn’t reply to any of his text messages begging me to come back. When I did go back, we just carried on as if nothing had happened.’
‘So, that’s also an overreaction. Now, what Dylan did was wrong. But your response was wrong, too. You threw a tantrum and then you sulked. It was childish.’ HuJo spreads his palms on the mat. ‘You wouldn’t be able to do that if you had a real baby, now would you?’
‘But when I try to argue with him, he gets so angry,’ Hattie replies. ‘It’s scary. He screamed so loudly once, the neighbours came round to check on us. He won’t let me talk, he won’t ever listen. My voice isn’t loud enough. I’m not tough enough. So, I give up.’
‘Well, then, my advice is don’t respond immediately. Wait until he’s cooled down, go into the kitchen, make yourselves some tea, let it pass. That would have been the C-A-L-M reaction, not storming off in a sulk.’
‘I didn’t storm off, I went and hid quietly. He was the one who ranted downstairs for an hour.’
HuJo pretends not to hear her and turns to Lauren, who’s been picking at the grass, sighing and looking bored.
‘Lauren. How about we move on to you next?’
‘Oh God,’ she says, leaning back on her hands. ‘My ex went mad when he found out how many people I’d slept with. He told me he couldn’t date a woman who’d slept with more people than him. He said real ladies don’t open their legs for anyone, and that I wasn’t marriage or mother material.’
Another gasp from the group.
‘And now you’re all wonderin’ how many people I’ve slept with, aren’t you?’ Lauren laughs.
The group snigger.
Amy wishes she could be more like Lauren. She’s unapologetically herself and doesn’t seem to give a shit about what people think of her.
‘And how did you react?’ asks HuJo.
‘I told him he had a small willy and that was probably the reason he’d only slept with two women. And that he wasn’t husband material because he’s a boring shag. And just a reminder – and a warning – his name is DAVID DICKSON and he works in IT,’ she calls out to the camera and joke-winks. ‘I’ve got your back, ladies.’
‘Are you proud of your reaction, Lauren?’ HuJo asks, coughing and looking uneasy.
‘Yeah, I am, actually.’
‘Well, throwing immature insults at someone about his penis size is just as bad as storming out in a sulk like Hattie did. Why take the bait? Be the bigger person. You should have smiled, said you were sorry that your past makes you incompatible and then left with your head held high.’
‘Wait, so she has to apologise, take being slut-shamed on the chin and move on?’ Jackie scowls. ‘That’s bollocks. Lauren, I would have responded in exactly the same way. That was a completely normal reaction. Can I also just point out,’ she goes on, raising her hand, ‘you’re teaching us how to react to situations, instead of teaching men not to be complete shitheads and cause those situations. Seems like the wrong way round, doesn’t it?’
The housemates mutter in agreement and turn to HuJo, waiting for his response.
He ignores them. ‘Adults talk, c
hildren throw tantrums and name-call. We’re all adults, aren’t we, girls?’
‘We aren’t robots! Being calm in those two situations is impossible!’ cries Gemma. ‘How can we smile when we’re called fat sluts? We can’t turn round and be all, “Oh, I’m sorry you feel like that, I’ll just let it go and be on my way”!’
‘OK, Gemma, let’s move on to you,’ says HuJo, less smiley than he was at the start. ‘What’s your situation?’
Gemma leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees.
‘So, I was sitting on the sofa the other night watching telly, just minding my own business. I was on Instagram, trying to think of a caption for the selfie I took wearing this new red lipstick I got sent. Suddenly, Jason turned round and went apeshit for no reason at all. He said, “Did you not hear what I just said?” And I said, “What are you on about?” And he said, “I want a herb garden like the one on the show”, and I said, “Sure, why not, let’s get one”. That’s what I thought he wanted to hear, but he didn’t speak to me until bed. Then in bed he started going on at me about how I care more about my followers than I do about my family, and that I’m addicted and how it’s not good for me and it’s not good for us. He told me that my mum had said something about it, too. He said that I can’t be two seconds away from my screen. So, I said, it’s not my fault, I have like a thousand notifications every time I look at my screen, and how can I ignore that? I have to respond to my followers, because that’s what they want and they’ll stop following me if I don’t reply. He told me that he’s sick of being ignored, and that my friends are tired of seeing me posting instead of being present. And then I said, well, maybe they’re just jealous because I’ve got twenty thousand followers. Then he said, they don’t give a shit about that, they’re just sick of talking to someone who just looks at her screen the whole time. So I said, well, are you sick of all the free shit we get, like that Peloton bike? And then he turned over, muttering that if I uploaded the red lippie selfie, then it’s obvious I don’t care about his feelings or our relationship. I did feel bad, but this is my job. What was I supposed to do?’
The group tries to process the ‘he said, she said’ saga.
Kathy breaks the silence. ‘So, did you post it?’
‘Yeah, I had to, I was being paid, wasn’t I? I captioned that red lippie gets me in the mood for some red-hot lovin’. Then in the middle of the night we made up.’ She laughs and joke-winks.
‘So you weren’t prepared to compromise at all on what you were doing, despite the fact that it was upsetting him?’ HuJo asks. ‘Is that a lesson you’d like to teach little Bel when she’s older?’
‘Look, I know I spend a lot of time on my phone,’ Gemma continues. ‘But I have to – it’s what pays the bills. I’d never tell him not to go into work every day. And my job isn’t exactly a nine-to-five, is it? Instagram doesn’t work like that. He can come crying to me when he stops enjoying his free trainers.’
Amy sees both sides of their argument, to be fair. Jamie had been spending much more time on his phone recently. It wasn’t just leaving it face up on the table at dinner – it was during sex, too. He never used to do that. ‘Just in case so-and-so calls,’ he’d say. ‘I need to show I’m always available.’ But why would so-and-so call at 9 p.m. on a Sunday?
When HuJo lands on Amy, she talks about the time Jamie accepted an invite to one of Jane’s dinner parties and then at the last minute refused to go, saying that he had work to do. Amy had to go alone, again, surrounded by couples, and then cover for him, again. When she called him on her way back, he didn’t pick up. She tried a second time, still nothing. And then he called her, drunk, from a nightclub at 1 a.m. She didn’t say a word on the phone as he told her he was networking, and then sent him a single message telling him he was selfish. He didn’t reply. Ever. And when there was still no reply the next evening, despite two blue ticks, she began to get worried he’d fallen into a ditch or been stabbed. So she called him, and he picked up like nothing had happened. All he mumbled on about was how ill he was.
‘Then somehow he managed to charm me into bringing him a Whole Foods takeaway, a Pret green juice and some paracetamol. I’m such a sucker. And we never talked about the text I sent.’
‘OK, so that’s like a major under-reaction, isn’t it?’ says Gemma. ‘I’d have stormed over first thing in the morning and made his headache much worse.’ Gemma turns to HuJo, who’s keeping quiet.
‘Well, I just thought that would make me look needy,’ Amy replies. ‘I didn’t want him to think I cared that much.’
‘And that’s what keeping C-A-L-M is all about. I think your reaction was suitable for the circumstances you describe. You made your feelings known with the text message and you let it go. And you even did something nice for him the next day, which makes you the bigger person.’
‘Or the doormat!’ says Jackie. ‘No offence, love. But your reaction gave him an open invitation to do it again and again.’
‘Jamie should have thanked his lucky stars to have a girlfriend like you, and not me,’ adds Gemma.
‘Amy, how long did you stay together after that?’ HuJo asks.
‘Eighteen months.’
‘Exactly.’
Jackie mouths what the actual fuck? to the rest of the group.
At the end of the session, which seems to reach no agreed conclusions, HuJo distributes some C-A-L-M bracelets around the circle.
‘Remember, girls, if you find yourself in a situation where you’re feeling emotional, just glance down at your bracelets and remember not to overreact.’ He looks at them. ‘And don’t forget – we’re watching you. Maybe the calmer you are, the more points you could win on the show.’
No one responds. No one puts their bracelet on. And after a few proseccos that night, to celebrate being back to a baby-free house, the mantra is rewritten by a hiccuping Jackie.
Consider your wants.
Answer to nobody.
Love yourself.
Meet your needs before others’.
The housemates are having an early supper of chicken, green salad with no dressing and a side of cauliflower rice. ‘It’s Keto!’ Gemma explains as she presents her speciality dish at the dining room table.
‘Is it me,’ Jackie whispers to Amy, out of everyone’s earshot, ‘or does this cauliflower rice taste like the inside of a shoe?’ They laugh, then hush as Gemma comes back, looking delighted with her efforts.
‘Does anyone else miss the babies?’ Hattie asks.
‘NO,’ the rest of them chorus in reply.
Doooong.
The women look at each other, frowning.
‘Fingers crossed for pizza delivery!’ Jackie shouts, as she gets up and walks towards the corridor.
‘Oi!’ shouts Gemma.
Jackie laughs as she throws open the door, the other contestants watching from the dining room table.
A petite woman with glossy blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders steps into the corridor and stretches out her arm.
‘Hello, Jackie. I’m Flick. Contestant number seven.’
WEEK TWO
Thirteen
Felicity Brimble, Flick for short, has glowing skin, shiny blonde blow-dried hair, sparkling eyes and a waist the size of Amy’s left thigh. It’s only 8.30 a.m. and she looks like a perfectly manicured miniature supermodel in a long-sleeved little black dress and nude heels, with a touch of blusher, a suggestion of mascara and a dab of lip gloss.
Flick’s arrival last night was strangely uneventful. It felt like she was delighted to be here. There was no drama, no tears. She briefly introduced herself, unpacked her immaculately folded clothes, showered and went to bed wearing a face mask. While the housemates agreed it was odd, they all felt relieved. They were finally baby-free and looking forward to savouring an early night of uninterrupted sleep.
This morning, Flick trots across the living room and lowers herself at a sideways angle onto the sofa, crossing her legs tightly. Amy notices she doesn’t h
ave a single patch of cellulite, and subtly moves a pillow over her own thighs.
‘I can’t believe I’ve missed out on over a whole week here!’ Flick says, swishing her hair over her shoulders and smiling to reveal celebrity-white teeth.
‘Uh-huh.’ Jackie laughs as she leans over the back of the sofa. ‘You do realise you’re on The Shelf, right? The world’s worst TV show? I’d say it’s a blessing you missed the first week.’
‘What? I love it!’ Flick smiles. ‘I’ve been watching you girls all day, every day since it started.’
‘I can’t believe you’re thirty-four,’ says Kathy. ‘You don’t look a day over twenty-one!’
Flick blushes a soft peach colour. ‘Gosh, I don’t think so, Kathy, but thank you.’
‘Do you do your own make-up, babes?’ Gemma asks, leaning in to her face. ‘How do you get your eyebrows so neat? What’s your trick?’
‘Hours of practice, lovely. I’m a bit of a perfectionist,’ Flick whispers back, like she’s pretending to think it’s a flaw.
Amy is finding it hard not to stare at her. She’s slightly star-struck, but she’s also suspicious. Flick was dumped less than twelve hours ago. In public. Where’s the crimson face and snotty tears? So far, the only thing to spring from Flick’s eyes is a look of shock when Lauren burped loudly in the kitchen earlier.
‘Did you take the week off work or something?’ Amy asks.
‘No, I work from home, so you’ve all been keeping me company in the background. You know, Amy, you really shouldn’t bite your nails.’ She laughs and wags her finger.
Amy titters back so Flick doesn’t feel awkward.
‘So, Flick, what do you do from home?’ Kathy asks.
‘Let’s see,’ she says, playing with her hair. ‘I’m a cook, cleaner, gardener, PA, interior designer, bookkeeper, nurse, therapist, driver.’ She looks around the group. ‘I’m a stay-at-home mum. Of sorts.’
‘With all those jobs you must make a fortune,’ Jackie shouts, walking towards the kitchen.
