by Helly Acton
Five seconds to go, and they’re both still head to head.
‘Ladies,’ says Jackie. ‘It’s been a pleasure. Well, some of it. That dinner would have been nice.’
Three seconds left.
Ping!
Jackie overtakes with a second to spare and an explosion of on-screen graphics spell out Hattie.
‘What a nail-biter, audience! You certainly know how to keep these housemates on their toes!’
The housemates wipe tears from their eyes as they gather round Hattie.
‘Don’t cry, ladies,’ smiles Hattie. ‘I’m ready to go. You’ve been the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Besides, it’s only …’ she counts on her fingers ‘… ten days until I see you on the other side!’
‘Flick and Jackie. Please take your seats at the table in The Secret Garden in fifteen minutes.’
‘Jacks, you could have made a bit of an effort.’ Gemma scuttles over to the sofa in her towel. It’s the night after Hattie’s eviction and Flick and Jackie are getting ready for their mate date. ‘Flick’s wearing a new dress and has blow-dried her hair ’n’ all. No disrespect, but that’s what I’d wear if it was my first day on the blob. Not to a fancy dinner.’
Jackie stands up and laughs, looking down at her baggy brown tracksuit bottoms and oversized T-shirt.
‘Uh, firstly … elastic waist means extra food. And secondly, it’s not a fancy dinner. It’s a fake dinner. Fake restaurant, fake friend. Fake Flick didn’t invite me to this dinner out of the goodness of her heart, ladies. She did it to score points with the public. Can’t you see that? Everything she does is a game, it’s …’
‘Jackie,’ Amy murmurs and shoots her eyes over to the door.
‘… so fucking obvious. She doesn’t give a shit about me, or you …’
‘Jackie,’ Amy murmurs louder. ‘Stop.’
Flick is standing in the bedroom doorway, staring at the three of them.
Jackie coughs and sits down, as Flick clicks across the living room floor on her way to the kitchen in a floaty pink floral dress and pale pink heels, her hair swishing as she goes. She looks like a walking advert. She turns around at the kitchen door.
‘Jackie, would you like me to wait for you?’
Jackie doesn’t look at her. ‘Nah, you’re all right, mate. See you in there. I’m gonna pre-drink.’
Amy follows Flick into the kitchen.
‘Jackie, that really wasn’t very nice,’ Gemma says, in the distance.
Flick turns round. Amy had expected to see tears, but she looks utterly composed.
‘Look, I’m sure Jackie didn’t mean it. I think she has a hard time trusting people.’
‘No, I’m sure she did mean it. But I’m OK with it. She doesn’t know me and she hasn’t once tried to get to know me. She walks away when we’re alone together and she pretends not to hear me when I ask her about her life. That’s the whole point of this dinner, Amy. It’s not to score points with the public. It’s to force Jackie to be alone with me and have our first proper conversation. If someone knows me and dislikes me, that’s fair. If someone doesn’t know me and dislikes me, that’s unfair.’
‘Well, that’s big of you, Flick.’
‘It’s called being an adult, Ames. And that wasn’t a dig at you, promise.’ Flick smiles and puts her hand on her shoulder. ‘Thank you for checking up on me. Wish me luck!’
Somehow, Amy doesn’t think she’ll need it.
‘Oh my God, I want a miniature lobster roll!’ Gemma whines, dropping her dry pizza crust on the plate and wiping her hand on her leggings.
‘This pizza has to be frozen,’ Amy adds, snapping her crust in two and watching the dough dust fly into the air. ‘Is this even real ham?’
‘Probably not. That gave me instant stomach cramps, babes. Yuck.’
The two of them are sitting on the sofa, watching the Flick and Jackie show unfold on the TV. So far, the dinner has been uneventful. No shouting, no wine in the face, no choking each other from across the table. It helped that Jackie apologised for her earlier rant at the start of the meal, and that Flick accepted it. Right now, they’re discussing Jackie’s controversial departure from the firm. Flick is shaking her head repeatedly, a look of genuine anguish in her eyes.
‘I’m knackered, Ames,’ Gemma says through a loud yawn.
‘Me too. Do we have to watch this? I thought it would be a bit more dramatic. And that we might need to stay up to deal with any emergencies. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we don’t. I’m happy they’ve found something in common with this whole equal pay conversation. I wonder if Jackie would ever start her own firm? What do you think?’
There’s no response. When Amy turns her head, Gemma is asleep with her mouth open.
‘God, maybe I am boring,’ Amy whispers, sitting up and stretching. ‘Gemma. Gemma. Wake up. Time for bed.’
Like a zombie, Gemma rises and drags herself into the bedroom.
As she brushes her teeth, Amy wonders how the mood will have changed tomorrow. With just four of them left in the house, any tension might appear magnified. Will Flick have turned Jackie around?
She stops mid-brush.
What was that?
She carries on, albeit a bit slower. And stops again.
That was definitely shouting.
‘Gemma, can you hear that?’ she shout-whispers from the bathroom door. Gemma stirs, but does nothing more.
There it is again. Definitely shouting, and it’s getting louder. The dinner has been a disaster. Amy hurries through to the living room and switches on the TV. The Secret Garden is empty and the table has been cleared away.
‘Flick? Jackie?’ she shouts, moving into the kitchen. ‘Hello?’
Her heart thumps when she hears the sound of shouting again. It’s coming from the garden. She slowly slides the door open and peers out.
It is Jackie and Flick. They’re sitting at the Tiki bar, Jackie with a glass full of champagne in her hand, swinging it around. Flick is folded over, but when she sits up, she’s smiling. More than smiling. Laughing. They are both in hysterics.
Amy slides the door shut and tiptoes back to the bedroom with a smile on her face and her heart feeling full. That should make the next nine days easier.
Assuming she survives for that long.
FINAL WEEK
Thirty
‘I can’t believe there are only seven days left,’ mutters Flick, breathlessly. She’s lying on the grass motionless as Roomba scuttles around her taking photographs like she’s a crime scene.
‘Gonna join me, Ames?’ Flick shouts. ‘With Hattie gone, it’s a bit boring with just me.’
‘What gives you the impression I want to exercise?’ Amy replies, as she strokes the new Cutie Pie! Activewear set she has on. ‘Besides, I’m seeing Dr Hicks in ten minutes. There’s no time. Where’s Gemma?’
‘She isn’t feeling her best today,’ Flick replies, sitting up.
Amy slowly paces up and down the dining room with her arms folded, waiting for the little hand to hit the hour so she can open the Therapy Room door. She glances up at The Tracker and pauses. She’s in first place. How? She looks around the room to see if she can locate anyone, but they’re all outside. She walks to the corner of the dining room and squints at The Wall for a clue. A few messages are coming in and she can see her name, but she can’t read what it’s about. As she leans forward, frowning, she hears Dr Hicks shout for her to enter.
‘Hello, Amy. Please come in.’ Dr Hicks smiles and shuffles his papers. ‘Are you all right?’ he asks when she sits down.
‘I’m feeling really good. Like, the happiest I’ve been in ages.’
‘Glad to hear it. Tell me more.’
‘I’m sleeping like a baby, waking up early to watch the sun rise, which has always been my favourite thing in the world. I’m just really enjoying my own company, as much as I can with three housemates. The air feels different, and I’m feeling positive about what I’m going to do next. I’m
not scared of being single anymore, I’m excited. I keep on smiling inside when I remember that I’m completely free to do what I like, go where I want, say how I feel and be who I want to be. Once I get out of here, obviously. It’s like a huge weight has been lifted and all that pressure has gone. I don’t know why I was so afraid of being single before.’
‘What kind of pressure?’
‘Lots of kinds. The pressure of caring about someone else’s happiness. I don’t have to worry if Jamie is OK anymore – all I have to worry about is whether I’m OK. And the pressure that comes when you’re in a long-term relationship. I don’t have to worry what people think or make excuses about why we aren’t engaged yet. The pressure of having to share your time with someone, so you have less of your own. Now my time is all mine. I’m going to do anything and everything. Find out what makes me really happy. Who I am and who I want to be. Maybe the love of my life isn’t a man – maybe it’s a secret beach in Asia somewhere. Or maybe it’s my writing. Or maybe it’s me, as self-centred as that sounds.’
‘I think it sounds empowered.’
She smiles at this.
‘Amy, I’m delighted you no longer fear being single, but you also shouldn’t fear being in a relationship. Or think that you have to be single to achieve your goals. The right person should help you fulfil those dreams, not cause you to abandon them.’
‘I think I need to figure out what those are first. If there is a “Mr Right”, maybe our paths will cross one day, but if they don’t, well, there’s always … Netflix. Or travel. Or cheese. I’m not scared of being in a relationship, I’m just focusing my energy on myself for a while. I haven’t done that in a long time.’
‘Sounds sensible. I read your post. It’s been a bit of a hit on the outside, you’ll be pleased to know. Do you want to talk about it?’
‘My post?’
‘“Ninety-nine Red Flags to Watch Out For”. The one with the long list. Well, I assume it’s the only one you’ve been able to post in here.’
‘How did you hear about it?’
‘It’s all over the Internet, Amy. I’m surprised you haven’t seen anything on The Wall yet. You’ve sparked a bit of a movement. Seems like everyone’s sharing their red flags on social media with the red flag emoji. It was even on The 10 O’Clock Show. Think it featured in their top trending hashtag segment.’
‘I didn’t even realise there was a red flag emoji,’ Amy says quietly, as her heart starts pounding against her chest. She can’t believe her stupid little blog is being read by anyone beyond her mum and Sarah. ‘What does it all mean?’
‘Well, I imagine it means that people can relate. They’re starting to take more notice of the problems in their relationship, and realising that even if they seem small, they could be symbolic of deeper issues. I suppose that in itself is a positive thing. We shouldn’t ignore problems in relationships. But there was one thing that made me worry when I read it.’ He puts his papers down and crosses his legs. ‘I worry that it will lead to a lot of overthinking. Analysing every word we utter, watching every movement we make in case we should put a foot wrong. I don’t think that’s healthy either.’
Amy raises her eyebrows. ‘It sounds like you just described The Shelf!’
He stares at her for a few seconds. ‘Well, yes. I suppose you’re right.’
When Amy leaves the room, she hurries straight to The Wall and finds the rest of the housemates watching the tweets pour in. Every one of them has #99redflags at the end.
@elliemnelly If he brings you 10 bunches of roses on the first date and sends you 10 more the next day to say thank you #99redflags #theshelf
@wicheyt If she spends the whole night looking at her phone taking pictures of the food, the place, a selfie, a photo with you, her cab ride on the way home – alone #99redflags #theshelf
@janeyben20 If he makes too many jokes and never wants to take anything seriously – including us #99redflags #theshelf
@aliheming3 If he tells you his name is Dave and when you find his passport his name is actually Brian #99redflags #theshelf
@angels00s Once went to the loo on a first date and came back to him reading my text messages. Made worse when they were replies to messages I sent my friends asking to be rescued! #99redflags #theshelf
@simeondoc If she texts you at the end of the first month with an itemised list of what she’s paid for and asking for you to split it #99redflags #theshelf
@emmawats75 If he has a bath and lets his mum come into the bathroom to chat #99redflags #theshelf
Amy feels a sense of pride washing over her when she realises that she’s created something meaningful. Something important. Something that could help people. It’s probably the first time she’s ever done something like that.
Thirty-One
Gemma’s in bed, moaning.
Amy sits on the edge. ‘Gem, it’s 11.30 a.m. Shouldn’t you be doing laps?’
‘She’s been vomiting,’ says Flick, coming in with a cup of ginger tea. ‘Quite violently, too. Ginger should help, but if it persists, we’ll have to tell the producers.’
‘I’m feeling a bit better,’ Gemma says, taking the tea. ‘I’m telling you, it was that fucking frozen pizza last night. That’s when it started.’
‘Gemma, I know we have had our differences,’ says Flick, sitting down on the other side of the bed and putting her arm on Gemma’s leg. ‘But I am a doctor. Let me have a proper look at you. I might be able to spot something. Or at least help you rehydrate.’
‘OK,’ Gemma says, a little reluctantly. ‘Thanks.’
‘Amy, can you give us ten minutes?’
Flick marches over to her bed, reaches under it and pulls out a large medical kit like she’s Mary Poppins. She opens the kit and looks through her equipment feverishly. This isn’t the Flick they know. This is a completely different person. An assertive, powerful and determined one. Probably the one she was up until a few years ago. Probably the one she is now, behind that happy housewife facade.
Amy leaves her in her element.
Jackie’s on her hands and knees, scrubbing sick out of the kitchen floor.
‘My God, this reeks,’ Jackie says, through a pinched nose. ‘Where’s Wifey gone off to?’
Amy turns her head to see Flick entering the Chat Room, looking agitated.
‘I thought you two were friends now?’ Amy turns to Jackie.
‘We are. Mates can tease mates.’
‘Housemates. Please go to the living room.’
There’s a new message on The Wall.
Amy,
Please join me in The Secret Garden for a sundowner at 6 p.m.
Regards,
Dr Simon Ash
Uuuuuugh.
‘Ha ha, what FUN!’ Jackie claps her hands and laughs. ‘I’m sure you’re going to get on like a house on fire!’
‘Simon’s coming here – tonight?’ Flick says nervously, as she joins them at the screen.
‘Yup,’ Jackie replies. ‘And Amy’s really looking forward to it!’
Later that afternoon, Amy’s staring at herself in the mirror in a black spandex mini she’s borrowed from Gemma. It’s far too tight for her but she’s wearing it anyway. Three weeks ago, Amy wouldn’t be seen dead in a spandex minidress, but tonight she couldn’t give a shit about whether she’s ‘beach-body ready’. This scrap of plastic she’s squeezed and squeaked into is the perfect outfit for her mission. To shock.
Amy has contoured her cheeks following Katie’s instructions, lining her lips to double their size, applying red lipstick and styling her hair in beachy waves. She’s also wearing heels for the first time in over a year. The Secret Garden is close enough for her to risk it. She’s feeling her look as she power-walks over to the table in The Secret Garden with ‘Crazy in Love’ stuck in her head.
Amy’s pre-drink prosecco has given her a taste for it, but as she reaches for the bottle of white on the table, a voice calls from the door for her stop.
‘Please, a
llow me,’ says a smooth voice.
She looks up to see a tall, tanned and silver-haired man striding towards the table with his arm outstretched. He takes the bottle from her hands and pours her a glass.
‘Chivalry isn’t dead,’ he says, sitting down opposite her and pouring a glass for himself.
‘You sound just like Flick,’ Amy replies. ‘Funny, that.’
Parts of Simon Ash are exactly what Amy has expected. Early fifties, suit, pompous. Parts of him aren’t what she has expected at all. He’s handsome in a Mr Big type of way, and that’s probably why he’s so cocky, which Amy can see immediately. Like Flick, everything about him is shiny. His eyes, his teeth, his perfectly coiffed hair. He looks like an old-school movie star.
‘I suppose you disagree with all that, don’t you? Pouring wine, opening doors, being a gentleman. I suppose you think I handcuff Flick to the oven in a pinafore?’ He smiles and stares at her so hard that she has to look away. The sexual undertones of the statement and the intensity of his eyes make her feel deeply uncomfortable. She feels a nervous heat rash start to spread across her chest. Thank God this minidress has long sleeves and a high neck, and she’s wearing enough foundation to ice a cake. She’d hate him to think he was making her blush.
‘I don’t think men need to protect women or treat us like we’re precious. I think people should look after people.’
He sits up and stretches his hand towards her. ‘I’m so sorry, I haven’t introduced myself yet. Dr Simon Ash.’
She hesitates before taking it and answering, ‘Ms Amy Wright.’
He reciprocates her firm grip and holds the shake for a few seconds too long, continuing to stare at her before letting go and smiling widely.
‘So, how is my little wifelet? I hope you’re looking after her. Tell her I am proud of her, in response to her message. She’s kept her dignity intact and she hasn’t let her values go. And tell her she gets more beautiful every day. I love watching her.’
