by Helly Acton
‘Have you told Jason?’ Amy asks, when the excitement subsides.
‘I told him on the phone in the Chat Room an hour ago. Flick helped me figure it all out.’ Gemma reaches out and rubs Flick’s arm. ‘Even though I’m sure she’s shocked I’m having a baby out of wedlock. Jason is going to be a great dad. I think it’ll make him grow up. And I think I’m going to be making a few other changes in my life. Maybe give my family a bit more attention than I have done in the last year.’
Flick is smiling, but Gemma being pregnant is probably a painful reminder that she isn’t and might never be.
‘So, you guys are getting back together?’ Jackie asks, holding her hand.
‘We were always going to get back together.’ Gemma smiles and strokes her stomach. ‘And now that this little bub is here, I’ve never loved him more.’
Water. I need water.
Amy sits up, immediately regrets it and drops her head back onto her pillow with her fingers pressed against her temples. Her brain is throbbing against her skull and her mouth tastes of sour milk.
Where am I?
She lifts her neck and blinks a few times. She’s on the floor next to Jackie’s bed. And desperately hoping she was sensible enough to leave some water and two painkillers next to her makeshift bed last night. Fat chance.
She hasn’t eaten since lunchtime yesterday and her hands are shaking. That’s what nine glasses of prosecco will do. Or was it ten?
Can I make it to the bathroom by using my feet to slide myself forward on my stomach? she wonders, considering how to reach the tap with minimal effort and energy.
‘Jackie?’ she whispers.
There’s no response.
‘Flick?’ she whispers again.
Still nothing.
She finds enough energy to pull herself up. Why do her legs hurt so much?
‘Mmmy.’ She hears a mumble next to her.
‘Jackie?’ Amy croaks.
‘Mmmy,’ Jackie says.
Amy looks up at the side of the bed and sees Jackie’s little red eye poking over the edge.
‘What am I doing down here?’ Amy asks.
‘Don’t you remember?’ Jackie groans, shifting under her duvet. ‘You wanted to prove your love by sleeping next to me.’
There’s silence for a while before they both burst out laughing, quickly followed by moans when they realise that laughing is the worst thing they could do right now.
‘How much did we drink?’ Amy asks.
‘I think we finally drank the tap dry,’ Jackie replies. ‘Why do you have a massive bruise on your knee?’
‘Housemates, please go to the living room.’
Amy and Jackie grab their heads and whine.
‘Tut, tut, tut, ladies,’ says Adam Andrews, shaking his head to the camera and rolling his eyes.
‘Jackie and Amy, what the devil were you two up to last night?’ he asks, as the screen switches the feed to house footage from the night before.
Amy sinks into the sofa, mortified.
It’s the living room. Flick’s sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea, watching The Wall. There’s a movement behind her and suddenly Amy and Jackie enter the picture.
Oh, God.
They’re shouting at each other.
Then they’re hugging each other.
Then they’re weeping.
Then they’re slut-dropping on the coffee table, and Flick’s leaving the room.
Then they’re falling off the coffee table and onto the floor, collapsed in hysterics.
The camera feed switches back to Adam’s face on the screen and he lifts one eyebrow.
‘Very mature, ladies,’ he says. ‘Flick, enjoy your lap dance?’
She smiles. ‘Not as much as the others, I’m sure.’
‘OK then, moooooving swiftly on!’ shouts Adam. ‘Please welcome Dr Howard Hicks to the stage! So, Doc, you’ve got something really exciting in store for our three girls this evening, haven’t you?’
Dr Hicks takes his usual seat. ‘I do, Adam. Tonight, we’re treating them to a night on the tiles in the Tiki bar with twenty eligible bachelors! This is no challenge. It’s some well-deserved time off from all the tasks they’ve undertaken so far.’
The thought of having another drink makes Amy turn green.
A few hours later, and they’re in the Tiki bar, surrounded by strange men who know everything about them. Amy’s been talking to a guy called Ed for almost an hour without interruption, slowly sipping on an Aperol spritz and managing to hold it down.
Amy doesn’t really fancy Ed. What she fancies is his life. He had her at ‘I’m a digital nomad’ when she asked him what he did and he went on to explain how he’s a technology writer who spends half the year in Singapore and half the year in the UK writing for different publications remotely. She wants to know everything, and how she can be one too.
He isn’t unattractive. If Amy was in a different headspace, she’d be into his scruffy brown hair, woven cardigan, John Mayer vibe. He seems laid-back and he laughs easily, looking down at his feet each time.
‘Ed, it’s been so lovely talking to you.’ She smiles. ‘Thanks for letting me in on your nomad secret. Perhaps I’ll see you on the beach in Thailand next year.’
‘Sure. Perhaps we could carry on chatting when you’re released.’ He writes his number down on a card.
Amy looks around as she walks away. Jackie’s shouting and gesticulating about politics to a surprisingly captivated audience of three men. Flick is smiling and talking to a handsome older man, tucking her hair behind her ear and acting bashful.
Suck on that, Simon, Amy thinks as she wanders past, listening to her talk about how she’s an old-fashioned homebody, with him hanging onto every word.
‘Amy?’ A soft voice distracts her. When she turns round she comes face to face with a short, stocky blond guy. He has kind eyes and an Aperol spritz.
‘Hi, I’m Charlie. I noticed you like Aperol spritz!’ He whispers, ‘My favourite, too, but don’t tell my mates. They think I like ale! Grrr.’ His dimples are so distractingly cute that she stumbles over her words.
‘Hi Amy. I mean Charlie. I’m Amy, duh!’ She laughs, embarrassed. ‘Thanks,’ she says as she takes the Aperol spritz and has a long sip, hoping to God he’ll say something next because she can’t think of anything apart from how beautiful those dimples are.
Charlie starts with small talk and Amy feels relieved she can listen instead of chat about herself. He’s a city type turned country bumpkin, raising dairy cows with his mum on his family’s farm near the Devon coast. It seems idyllic.
‘This is all so surreal.’ He laughs. ‘I never thought I’d get picked for this. And I’m such a massive fan of the show. Mainly of you.’ He quickly looks down. ‘Sorry, that was a slip. I probably just made you feel really awkward. I promise I’m not a stalker. This is so unfair for you all. I feel like I know you so well, and you know nothing about me.’
‘Well, tell me more about yourself, then. Like how come you’re such a huge fan of the show? You don’t seem like the type. I didn’t think we’d have too many dairy farmer groupies on here.’
‘It is a bit odd, isn’t it? My mates rip the piss out of me, the bastards. It’s actually because of my mum. Dad died a few years ago and she’s been amazing on the farm by herself, but she is getting on a bit and finding the physical stuff a struggle. She’s going to hate me for saying that. She broke her hip last year. So, I decided to quit the city and go down and help her. I couldn’t be happier. Cut a long story short, Mum didn’t have a TV. Long hours, the radio and books were enough to keep her happy in the evenings. But being trapped indoors all day with her cast, she was climbing the walls, so I bought her a telly. The Shelf is the first show we’ve watched together, and she’s completely hooked. We watch the catch-up every night after supper. It’s like the best thing that’s happened to her. We used to bond over milking the cows – now we bond over who’s going to be The Keeper around here.’ He poi
nts his beer around the garden and then leans across and whispers, ‘It’s you,’ in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.
‘Would it make you uncomfortable if I burst into tears and gave you a big hug?’ Amy says, her eyes feeling misty and her fingers wanting to squeeze his cheeks.
‘Nah, ’course not. It’s classic Amy, right?’ He laughs, clinking her glass.
She grins. ‘Oi!’
‘Anyway, so that’s the reason. I’m a complete mummy’s boy and proud of it, too. I hated the city. I hate money, so I was pretty awful at my job. I should have been a teacher, that’s what I always wanted to do. All my mates were going into finance, so I thought I’d better go into it too. Stupid, really.’
Kind.
Funny.
Handsome.
Lives on a dairy farm in Devon.
Loves his mum.
Will support and supply my cheese addiction.
So far, it feels like Charlie could be Amy’s dream man. Perfect fling, boyfriend, husband and father material.
Later, The Wall is flooded with Charlie fangirls and someone’s already set up a Charlie the Farmer page. Amy doesn’t blame them. He’s a total catch.
She feels a bit sad knowing she has absolutely no interest in taking this further, but at the same time she’s hopeful, knowing there are Charlies in this world who will make her happy whenever she’s ready for it.
If she’s ever ready for it.
Thirty-Six
Amy’s eyelids are sticky. The telltale sign that she’s had far too many late nights. She hasn’t done two nights in a row since the first days of Jamie, and her dusty head and sluggishness is a painful reminder that she isn’t twenty-five anymore. She forces her eyes open and shuffles up the pillow until she’s half sitting to stare at the others across the room. Jackie is snoring; Flick’s bed is already made. The room feels so empty with just the three of them left.
Would she have predicted this would be the final three? Flick, yes. Her and Jackie, not so much. Her tactic from the start has been to keep her head down and not make a fuss. Jackie’s tactic has been to put her head up and cause as much fuss as possible. Both seem to have worked, although she can’t help feeling that Gemma should be here.
Amy kicks the duvet off and swings her legs over the side of the bed. She knows exactly what she needs today.
Absolutely nothing.
She starts with a face mask: Beach Bomb: a blast of rehydration after a day in the sun. It’s a bittersweet reminder. Next on the list is a hot shower, scrubbing her scalp and exfoliating all over with the mini loofah she bought to remove dead skin for a deeper tan. Another pointless purchase, but she is enjoying the tingling sensation on her skin and the idea of all those toxins from the last two days being washed away. She finishes with an inch-thick layer of moisturiser all over her body and a mug of whitening Listerine that she lets sit in her mouth until her tongue stings and her eyes water.
Today is not a hair and make-up day. Instead, Amy scrapes her hair back into a bun and a headband to make sure not a single strand can irritate her forehead as she puts on stretchy leggings, a huge hoodie and slipper socks. Outfit complete, for the rest of the day. She realises she’s swapped pyjamas for more pyjamas. She doesn’t care.
It had taken her a long time to start dressing this way in front of Jamie. The first time she had, he’d teased her for getting a bit too comfortable, with his great big manic laugh that she loved back then and loathes now. After he’d said it, she’d gone back to dressing up every morning in case he really did think she was letting herself go. Then one day they both had a hangover from hell and he seemed to accept her like that.
She wipes the steam off the mirror and stares at her blank, barefaced reflection. It’s going to be the first day she hasn’t worn foundation since being here.
Well, world, this is me. Fucking real.
She’s relieved to see Jackie’s still fast asleep and Flick is getting into the swimming pool. She doesn’t have to talk to anyone for at least another half an hour.
In the kitchen, she makes herself a tea with two sugars – what a treat – and puts four pieces of white bread in the toaster. Yes, four. Lashings of peanut butter, lots of jam and cut into long triangles, because for some reason it tastes better that way. With her sweet tea and her toast mountain, she takes a seat on the sofa and curls her legs up. She’s never missed Netflix – or her phone – more. The comments on The Wall will have to do.
@mrgrumpypants Bit hungry are we, Amy? #theshelf
Oh, fuck off.
She takes one big bite of her toast before the worst thing that could possibly happen, happens.
‘Amy, please go to the Therapy Room. Dr Hicks would like to see you.’
‘Amy! It’s good to see you. I feel like it’s been a while.’ Dr Hicks smiles from his armchair. ‘How have you been? Just three days to go, now!’
Amy doesn’t answer immediately as she takes a slow seat on the sofa and leans back.
‘I’m actually feeling pretty drained today, Dr Hicks. I really don’t feel like I have a lot of conversation in me.’ She fake-yawns to make a point.
‘That’s OK, we don’t have to use up the full hour. Let’s just see how far we go. But before we start, I want to show you something funny that I thought you might enjoy.’
He passes the iPad over to her. On the screen is a picture of a woman wearing sunglasses in the shape of red flags.
He chuckles. ‘Isn’t that funny?’
Amy sighs. ‘This whole red flag thing is getting ridiculous, Doctor. It’s embarrassing. It’s not like I came up with the phrase “red flags”, and there are probably a thousand similar articles out there. I don’t deserve any credit for it, let alone some viral trending hashtag and sunglasses.’
Wow, she’s in such a bad mood.
‘Why did the blue and gold dress catch on, or that shark song? Enjoy it, Amy. Own your moment. Anyway, we don’t have to dwell on it if it makes you feel uncomfortable. A lot has happened since we last spoke to each other. I want to start with the Sorry Supper. In our previous session, you wanted to leave over it. I’m so pleased you didn’t. So tell me, how did it go?’
‘I felt nervous before, and nothing much afterwards. He looks different, but he’s exactly the same Jamie as before. Anyway, I got a few answers out of him, but I still don’t buy his you put me under silent pressure, I’m the real victim here story, and I think he’s a coward for not having the guts to break up with me in person.’
‘Are you pleased that you went through with it?’
Siiiiigh.
‘Sure. It wasn’t such a big deal after all, and it hasn’t changed how I feel about him. But I suppose it was good in the sense that I didn’t feel upset when I saw him – I just felt detached. Maybe that’s a sign I’m moving on. At least I don’t have to dread bumping into him anymore. Not that I ever would, but you know, if we’re ever in the same bar or on the same tube.’
‘Good, Amy. I think that sounds like a solid result there. And let’s talk about your other date this week, with Simon Ash. How was that?’
‘It was awful! It scared the life out of me, thinking how it could have been me in five years’ time with Jamie. It almost made me feel relieved to be here, which is a first. I didn’t think I had anything in common with Flick until I met Simon and had a deep and meaningful conversation with her the next day. I just think the whole thing is so tragic. How she’s waited so long for him, how he’s wasted her time with false promises and blatant lies. And how the one thing she wants to happen in life might never happen for her now. I just can’t believe Flick, who’s so together, so clever, so perfect, still thinks he’s the good guy.’
‘So, how did it make you feel when she voted you out in Truth Hurts, the day after your chat?’
‘Yeah, I was a bit shocked at the time. I mean, yes, I thought she would choose Gemma or Jackie because of how much friction they’ve had in the past. Not me. Not when I’m the one she’s closest to in the
house. But, you know, whatever, it’s fine.’
That was convincing.
‘You didn’t want to confront her about it, like Jackie confronted you about your choice?’
‘Not really.’ She sighs. ‘What would that achieve? She made a rational decision, and I can’t take it personally. We can all just … move on. Do a HuJo and let it go.’
‘But you and Jackie talked it out and it looks like you’re fine with that, too. Maybe even more fine with Jackie than with Flick.’
‘OK.’
‘Amy, it’s good to get our feelings out. If it’s on your mind and you want to know why Flick chose you over Gemma and Jackie, you should talk to her about it. Take a deep breath. Have the conversation. The art of confrontation can be tricky to master, but it’s worth investing the effort in doing so. What are you afraid of?’
‘I’m not afraid. The truth is, I just can’t be arsed. What would I achieve from asking Flick why she chose me? It’s not like we’re going to be lifelong friends when we leave here in a few days. We’ll just go back to our same old lives, like we never knew each other at all. Besides, she already said why she chose me, and it was a perfectly valid response. I was the closest contestant to her on The Tracker. She’s a doctor. It’s science.’
‘Amy, I’m using your situation with Flick as an example of your continuing fear of confrontation, which is something I think we need to work on.’
Yes, I know that, Doctor, but not today.
‘It’s especially important in relationships. You need to have the courage to confront someone without feeling worried they’re going to shout back, storm off or break up with you. The courage to confront your partner will be crucial in your next relationship, and it’s something you need to build. And I think one of the ways that you can overcome this fear is through practising on people like Flick. The earlier you confront someone in a relationship over a matter that makes you profoundly unhappy, the sooner you can find out whether they’re right for you. If they break up with you over it, they weren’t right for you and you can feel happy you don’t have to waste any more time on them. Now, I don’t mean you should confront every little issue. I mean the important stuff. The big conversations. Like Flick. You thought you were close. And like Jamie. You thought he was The One.’
