by Helly Acton
‘Go on, Steve, you first. Why Gemma?’ asks Adam.
‘Because she’s me, Adam!’ he cries. ‘She’s authentic, she’s honest, she’s hilarious. I want to say sod it and drink the pickle juice and let it all hang out. I think we’re all Gemma.’
‘I’m sorry,’ interrupts Mike, ‘but no one can beat Flick. She is The Keeper. Give her the crown and call it a night. Sure, we might not all agree with her life choices, but she’s got a good heart. And at least she’s holding it together. I don’t know how she manages to look so immaculate every day. If Simon doesn’t marry her, I bloody will!’
‘Ohh, watch out, Simon, Mike’s got dibs!’ sqawks Adam.
‘Flick? Yawn!’ Steve looks disgusted. ‘“Simon’s incredible, Simon’s amazing, Simon is the best. Simon, Simon, Simon.” My God, I felt sorry for Amy yesterday, by the pool. I think everyone did. Did you see Jackie come outside and go straight back in again? Ha! What about that meme that did the rounds?’
‘The one where Amy’s been replaced by a skeleton?’ Adam laughs.
‘When Flick reaches the end of her story!’
‘Classic! Sorry, Flick, time to get a new one. OK, so you both raise good points about Gemma and Flick, but who do you think will go tonight? Mike, you go first.’
‘I’m torn between Lauren and Hattie. Lauren is basically MIA. I keep on forgetting she’s even on the show. All she does is lie in bed or on a sun lounger in the garden like a rock lizard. And I’m afraid poor Hattie just won’t hack it long-term.’
‘And you, Stevo? Who’ll be gone by bedtime?’ Adam asks.
‘Hattie, without a doubt. She’s had her time. I think Lauren’s time is coming, and she has way more to offer the show. I think the audience can’t wait to see what she brings out!’ He winks.
Amy gets up, moves across to Hattie and puts her arms around her. She’s beginning to breathe heavily. ‘Hattie, don’t listen to a word. It’s just for shock value.’
‘Lauren, how are you doing?’ says Amy, looking around.
Lauren isn’t in the dining room where she was sitting a second ago. Amy cranes her neck but she isn’t in the kitchen either.
‘Where did she go? Is she OK?’
‘She was right here a minute ago,’ Jackie says. ‘Maybe she’s gone to pack her suitcase just in case. Lozza?’ she shouts towards the bedroom, making Flick grimace.
There’s no response.
‘Lauren!’ Amy shouts, standing up.
‘Did anyone see her go into the bedroom?’ asks Amy.
A collective shake of the head.
‘Lauren!’ Jackie yells again, walking into the garden.
‘Check the pool!’ Amy shouts through the glass. Jackie looks around and shakes her head.
All of a sudden, a siren starts wailing on the TV and Adam Andrews’ face fills the screen. He’s looking at the audience and reading from a card. The housemates gather back on the sofa.
‘Where the fuck is she? She’s missing the eviction,’ Jackie whispers.
‘Viewers, we have some breaking news coming in from behind the scenes,’ he says, pressing his earpiece and staring to the side. He looks down before putting his finger to his lips and hushing the audience, nodding and mm-ing as he takes in whatever he’s being told.
‘OK, viewers, there’s been a change of plan for tonight’s show. I’d like to reiterate that this was not planned, and we will be refunding you all the cost of your votes.’ He looks at the camera seriously. ‘Is she there?’ he whispers into his mic.
‘Is who here?’ Gemma says, starting to look panicked.
‘Ladies and gents, what a shocker. Would you please welcome to the stage tonight’s evicted housemate, Lauren!’
The housemates run up to the screen.
‘Lauren, what have you done?’ Hattie shouts at the TV.
Lauren takes a seat on the stage sofa, smiling and giving a peace sign to the audience as they start to calm down.
It’s odd, seeing her on TV, Amy thinks. She looks like a celebrity with all those lights on her, almost like a stranger.
‘Lauren!’ Adam shouts. ‘Welcome to the stage! What a completely unexpected but delightful surprise!’
‘You all right?’ Lauren says, a picture of perfect calm.
‘Yeah, I’m all right,’ he mimics her indifference, to the amusement of the audience.
‘Lauren, can you explain what just happened?’ asks Adam. ‘Five minutes ago you were on the sofa in the house, and now you’re here. How did you get here?’
Lauren looks at Adam, then at the Barton twins.
‘Sorry, mate, which camera do I talk to?’ she says.
‘Don’t worry about that, love, you can look at me,’ Adam says.
‘Nah, I don’t want to look at you, I want to talk to Hattie,’ Lauren says. A collective ‘oooh’ fades up from the audience and Adam looks taken aback as he points to one of the cameras. Lauren scans where he’s pointing and fixes her face on the right camera, which zooms in. She smiles.
‘Hattie, love, you don’t deserve to leave the house now,’ Lauren says. ‘You’ve got plenty more to do. I want you to stay in there and prove all those haters wrong. I’m not interested in all this self-improvement bollocks and “better woman” bullshit. I’ve got what I came for – I’ve had the experience and I’m getting my ten grand. It’s all good.’
‘But Lauren, what about the million quid?’ asks Adam.
‘I don’t need a million quid to be happy. I am desperate for a gin, though.’
The audience whoop and clap.
‘Someone get this girl a drink! One final thing, Lozza – will you be following the girls on the telly?’ Adam shrugs.
‘Fook, no,’ she laughs. ‘I’ll see the lads when they’re out, in person. This show is festerin’ garbage, and you’re an absolute fookin’ tit.’ Then she stands up, removes her mic and walks off the stage.
For once, Adam has no response. The audience start up a slow handclap as he listens to his earpiece and the feed cuts out, fading the living room screen to black.
Twenty-Four
Gemma’s screaming at Hattie and Flick in the garden. She’s roped them into a fitness boot camp and has gone full SAS commando.
‘Wish I had an excuse to scream at someone,’ says Amy, sipping her coffee at the window. ‘I think it would make me feel more relaxed.’
Jackie joins her. ‘What about the Chat Room? I think it’s soundproof.’
‘True.’ Amy nods, staring at the commotion outside as Gemma starts clapping at them to up the pace. Hattie’s turned a bright shade of beetroot.
‘I wonder what Lauren’s up to?’ Amy ponders. ‘I can’t believe it’s already been two days since she left.’
‘Signing a record deal with her fifteen minutes of fame, hopefully,’ Jackie replies. ‘So,’ she turns to Amy, ‘a million quid. Gemma says she’d open a gym called Gymma. Hattie was chatting about starting a food truck chain. What would you do with the money?’
Amy thinks about this all the time. If she did win, she’d get Sarah to help her decide what to do with it all. Amy’s rubbish with money, and without advice would probably just let it sit in a bank, too scared to spend it.
‘I don’t know, really. Before now I’d have blown the whole lot on a house. But I’m not so sure that’s what I need right now. I think the first thing I’d do is book a first-class flight to Asia. Settling down can wait.’
‘Oooh, where in Asia?’ Jackie asks, leaning over the kitchen counter.
‘Probably Thailand – I love it. The sticky heat, the food markets, the people staring. Daytime drinking. Walk-in spas. The world’s most beautiful beaches. What’s not to love? It’s like a perfect balance of buzz and bliss. I don’t know – there’s just something in the air. What would you do?’
Jackie doesn’t answer.
‘Jackie?’
Amy looks up to see Jackie’s cheeks crumple as tears start to fall. She holds her face in her hands.
‘Jac
kie! What’s wrong?’ Amy puts her mug down and grabs Jackie’s arm.
‘I’m OK.’ She sniffs. ‘It’s stupid. I’m being pathetic.’ She sighs, rubbing her eyes. ‘It’s nothing, really. I’m probably just hung-over. But some dickhead was posting nasty comments about me on The Wall this morning.’
‘Saying what? Who?’
‘I think it’s a bloke from my old law firm,’ she says. ‘He was the paralegal to a partner who had it in for me there. Well, they all had it in for me.’ She shakes her head. ‘I don’t know why he’s still after me – I left ages ago. Doesn’t he have anything better to do?’
‘Don’t let them get to you – they just want you to take the bait,’ says Amy. ‘Yesterday a total stranger tweeted that she doesn’t trust me as far as she can throw me. No idea what I’ve done to deserve that.’
‘Amy, I’ve been dodging the bait for two years. But they make it fucking impossible not to bite sometimes, don’t they?’ she says quietly.
Amy looks at her sympathetically. ‘What happened?’
‘Oh, Ames,’ Jackie turns her head back to the garden. ‘It’s such a long story. Don’t want you turning into that skeleton meme again.’
She clears her throat and sits down.
‘I was so happy when I started there. No other firms gave me a look-in, despite getting a first and a distinction on my legal practitioner diploma. They could only offer me a paralegal role, but I was still delighted. I worked really hard, then a few years later they offered me a training contract, saying they saw potential. Fast-forward lots of long hours, late nights and slow progress, and I qualified as an associate solicitor. Then became managing associate. But once I hit managing associate, progress wasn’t just slow, it stopped. It seemed like everyone was being made a partner, apart from me. First in the office, last to leave, billing more hours than anyone and bringing in more business. The final straw was when a trainee I’d supervised – arrogant little tosser – overtook me. So, I started making a few noises and emailed the managing partner who hired me about it, hoping he’d have my back.’
She looks out of the window and exhales.
‘Instead, he took me for a coffee and a little chat about what was in my best interests at the firm. How I didn’t have the right managerial skills needed to take the next step. How partners have to be cool-headed, poker-faced negotiators who could leave their emotions at home. He said I would hate it, and that I should carry on building business at my level, with the kind of work I’d be comfortable with. And that it would be in the best interests of the firm, too.
‘Then I bit the bullet and asked him if he thought it was strange how there were no female or black partners in my department. That I felt I was having to work twice as hard as everyone else to climb the ladder because of my gender and my race. That I was tired. Demotivated. I mean, it’s hard to feel inspired in a room full of partners who are all old white men. Every single one of them. Can you believe it?
‘Anyway, he went off at me. Told me I was ungrateful for all the opportunities he’d given me, and that it wasn’t senior management’s fault that no black women in the firm fitted the role. I was shaking. That day, I lodged a complaint to HR and said if the issue wasn’t addressed, I’d be taking it to the Solicitors Regulation Authority.’ She shakes her head.
‘Did HR do anything?’ Amy asks.
‘HR did fuck all. They said they’d launch an inquiry, but I heard nothing for weeks. Then one morning I came into work and found them hovering around my desk, telling me I needed to come with them to an urgent meeting with senior management. When I arrived, they told me they were restructuring, and I was being offered voluntary redundancy. I took it. Left that day. At the time, it felt like my only option. The whole place was toxic after the falling-out with the managing partner. So I accepted, and then I never saw or heard from them again. Until now.’
‘What did Aaron think about all this?’
‘He was furious with me for losing the job, and didn’t understand why I wanted more when being a senior associate was enough to pay the bills and live a good life. Especially because he thought I might come round to the idea of kids and that the maternity leave would help. Even though I’ve always said no kids. But he didn’t understand me then and he doesn’t understand me now. And because I haven’t been able to get a job since, we’ve been under a lot of financial pressure.
‘That’s what eventually destroyed our relationship. It wasn’t just me being close to my dad and Aaron feeling left out. That’s why I decided to stay on here. Money. It’s what it all usually boils down to, right?’ She smiles and shrugs her shoulders. ‘Although it wasn’t just the money Aaron loved. He loved all the expensive company events we were invited to. Don’t get me wrong, Aaron’s the most antisocial person you’ll ever meet. But he loved how everyone assumed he was the lawyer and I was the housewife. He got to play make-believe, and he lapped it up.’
‘Did you hear me say you could stop?’ Gemma roars over Flick, who’s lying panting on the floor.
A look of determination spreads across Jackie’s face.
‘But if I won a million quid,’ she continues, ‘I’d sue the shit out of them.’
‘I think you should take Gemma into the courtroom if you do,’ mutters Amy.
‘She’s loving that way too much, isn’t she?’
Dooong.
Amy and Jackie look at each other. The class stops mid-plank and stares.
Twenty-Five
Dooong. Dooong. Dooong. Dooong.
‘I’m coming, I’m coming! Jesus,’ Jackie shouts as she walks down the corridor. Amy follows behind her through the dining room, when something catches her eye on The Tracker.
She’s climbed to number two, after Flick. Overnight.
Her thoughts are disrupted by a heart-stopping screech at the door. She darts down the corridor to find Jackie holding a box with a beaming smile.
‘What’s that?’ Amy asks as the other housemates rush up behind her.
‘Civilisation!’ she cries, showing them the box lid, which reads Sponsored by Vibe Mobile.
The housemates scurry behind Jackie like a flock of baby birds as she takes the box into the dining room, holding it carefully like it’s made of glass.
‘There’s a note!’ cries Gemma. ‘What does it say?’
Dear housemates,
For two hours, you will have access to a brand-new iPhone, courtesy of your fans at Vibe Mobile. Feel free to explore, download, browse and send a message to the world beyond your walls. Binge away!
Frothing with excitement, they each grab a phone and hurry to find a comfortable corner. The house falls silent apart from the occasional tap, ping and mutter of ‘Oh my God …’
Amy hunkers down in the Tiki bar and logs into the pre-installed Instagram app.
What the fuck.
She has 400,342 new notifications.
Too terrified to look at what might be an onslaught of nasty comments, she bypasses the notifications and heads straight to Sarah’s profile. Her latest post is a cocktail at Sticks ’n’ Sushi, taken last night.
Missing my fav @amywrighty_88 Can’t believe it’s been 18 days – not that I’m counting.
Amy’s heart swells as she quickly types.
Save one for me! Miss you x
She resists a fleeting temptation to look at Jamie’s profile, and opens Jane’s instead. It’s a photo of the twins watching Peppa Pig. They’re covered in jam.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Then she spots an old photo of her and Jane from school on her feed.
So proud of my bestie @amywright_88! Can’t wait to celebrate with her when she WINS! #theshelf #amyontheshelf #bffs #tbt
Besties? Since when? The last time I saw you was months ago. And you made me feel like crap.
Amy moves on to Facebook.
Holy fucking shit.
Almost every post she scrolls past is about the show. There are photos of the housemates everywhere. Gifs. Memes. News articles
. Cartoons. Songs. Even This Morning has run a segment on it. She feels sweaty.
When the actual fuck and how the actual fuck did this get so big?
OMG YOU WILL LEGIT DIE when you see what Amy used to look like!
The Shelf: Style Evolution on gossipyrabbit.com
Oh no. No no no no no no. Nooooo.
She stares at her sixteen-year-old self from 2004. She remembers the outfit vividly. A Von Dutch trucker hat, bell bottoms and blue lens sunglasses. And she was so much thinner.
‘Where do they get this stuff from?’ she asks in a trance, as she wanders into the living room. She’s glued to her screen but wants to see if anyone else is on the verge of a heart attack.
‘Old friends looking to make a quick buck?’ answers Jackie, glancing over her shoulder. ‘Oh my GOD, is that me?’ she cries, grabbing Amy’s phone.
In the same article, Jackie’s towering over her dad in a shiny white pinstripe suit that’s three sizes too small for her, with her ankles sticking out the bottom of the trousers.
‘That was my first day of work experience,’ she broods. ‘Look at me! No wonder the boys ran a mile!’ she laughs. ‘Ah, miss you, Dad!’ She looks up at the cameras.
The Shelf has occupied most of the Mail Online, and the housemates are freaking out about seeing their faces plastered everywhere. Amy’s panic is a mixture of excitement about her newfound celebrity and horror that most of the pictures are taken at unflattering floor angles by Roomba. The little bastard has managed to capture every nail bitten, tooth picked, yawn and tummy slump. It’s easy to forget the cameras are on you all the time, from every angle, in every room.
The Shelf Exclusive: Jamie and Amy – getting back together?
What?
Jamie’s lying sideways on his sofa at the top of the article. One knee is raised and he’s resting his head on his wrist. He couldn’t look more obnoxious if he tried, holding the pillow Amy bought him for Christmas, embroidered with his initials. She also bought an AW pillow to put next to it, but he moved it to the guest bedroom, claiming the colours worked better. She couldn’t be bothered to argue.
