by Ali Ahearn
Nigel smiled. ‘It’s fine.’
He paused, his face twisting for a moment into a secretive expression. ‘Listen, Joni. I can see how unhappy you are. I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but there may be another way. You know … other than you staying here to finish the game.’
Hope danced inside Joni like a prima ballerina.
‘What would I have to do?’
‘Contest the will.’ Nigel was matter-of-fact.
Joni sighed. ‘Don’t you think we thought of that? Frankie went over it every which way. It’s watertight.’
Nigel smiled slowly. ‘Not the allocations, the terms. I think I’ve found a precedent.’
Joni caught her breath. Contest the will? Overrule G? Even from the grave, the thought was shocking. But not shocking enough to dismiss it immediately.
Maybe if there’d been some hope for her and Frankie, some way to fulfil G’s most ardent desire, she might have felt differently. But she and Frankie hadn’t spoken to each other all afternoon. And things didn’t look like they were going to change any time soon.
‘Tell me more.’
Day 17
Joni felt only numbness as she sat in the safe seats, in the circle of fire beside the trapdoors. This time there was no hand-holding with Frankie, and she tried to tune out Darryl’s voice, building to a crescendo as it began to announce the voting results. She thrust her head upwards, to drink in the black sky splattered with an impossible number of stars.
Nigel’s words kept repeating, like a mantra, in her brain.
I need to make a decision. Soon.
She dragged her attention back to the three couples who were left. Takahiro and Kazuki. Kandy and Misty. And Cheryl and Nick.
She jumped at the sudden metal clunking sound.
And then there were two, and a space where Cheryl and Nick had stood moments before.
She felt Frankie slump beside her.
‘I can’t believe these figures.’ Sally was shaking her head as she stalked back and forth across the editing tent. ‘How can the blondes be scoring so low? Those tits make this show like Baywatch. In the Colosseum. They just barely beat the Exes.’
Lex, filing his nails as Sally pored over the focus group sheets, said, ‘The audience want more.’ He sounded fascinated. ‘It’s been the same since Shakespeare. They want a story. Breasts can only get one so far.’
Sally snorted disbelievingly. ‘Tell that to Pammy.’
‘Look.’ Lex put his nail file down. ‘It’s not their fault. It’s just that the viewer has become hooked on the bigger picture. The blood feud. A plotline as old as time. As much as you don’t believe it, Sal, the world is rooting for these girls to reunite.’
Sally was looking intently at the footage that had become her favourite ten-second splice – Nick and Frances, against a tree, oblivious to watching eyes.
‘Damn it, I’m going to have to save this for the final show now.’
‘Such a shame,’ Lex muttered, his sardonic smile lost on his target.
Miranda interrupted, brandishing another sheaf of papers. ‘You’re right, Lex, they love Joni and Frances. But at the same time, they can’t wait to see what the Japs do to them.’
‘Exactly,’ Lex sighed. ‘It’s The Brady Bunch meets the Bourne franchise.’
‘I guess you’re right,’ Sally said. ‘The Sorority Sisters have to go.’
Chapter 13
Frances
‘That’s for Joni, you toerag,’ Frances muttered as the trapdoor opened under Nick’s feet and he disappeared before her eyes.
Where the chutes led had been a source of serious discussion on Endurance Island. Frances had always figured they led to the helipad they all knew was somewhere on the island. Joni suggested they led straight to hell.
Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred quid.
Nick, with his left-brain thinking, had suggested they were probably linked to a cave system somewhere on the island that most likely terminated at the headland.
Kazuki and Takahiro were convinced that, wherever they led, it would be populated with snakes or scorpions.
Maybe both.
And, in a startling twist, Kandy and Misty had contributed a geothermal theory, based on Googling maps of the island prior to their arrival.
But as Cheryl’s distant ‘Faaaaaarrrrkkkkk’ echoed from the metallic mouth, Frances hoped Nick was right, and that it jettisoned his arse into the ocean and he banged his head on the way.
His gaze had sought hers as they’d waited for Darryl to stop pretending he was sodding Julius Caesar and announce the verdict. Despite his betrayal, she hadn’t been able to look away. Their gazes had locked. His gaze was empathetic, with a hint of reproach. Hers was wounded, with a whole lot of fuck you.
He hadn’t tried to talk to her since the beach, to justify it. Neither of them had. And she’d been glad. But she could feel his eyes on her as she’d moved through the following days. They’d radiated his disappointment. Telegraphed the accusation You know me better than that.
And it was doing her head in.
Because he had two things going against him. First, she didn’t know him better than that. In fact, apart from a couple of weeks in this artificial environment in which even Denis Thatcher would have looked good, an astronomy lesson and one horny snog, she barely knew him.
And, second, she knew Joni. All too well.
Joni, who had coveted everything Frances had ever had. And taken it too. Like some bloody bower bird attracted to anything pretty and shiny, especially if it belonged to someone else.
Clothes. Shoes. Jewellery. Perfume. Make-up.
Men.
She was conscious of her sister beside her, as the hard wooden log bit into the bones of her backside. Of a skinny thigh brushing against hers. Of the fading bruise that somehow looked fresh and livid in the glow of the firelight. Of the blur of green, like blooming bacteria, frothing around her head.
Joni sat slumped as if even she knew that, finally, she’d gone too far.
‘When we get off the island, I never want to see your face again,’ Frances said.
It was a few moments before Joni answered, ‘And that will be different how?’
Frances hardened her heart against the defeat in her sister’s voice. ‘Let’s just get through these next two weeks the best we can, okay?’
Joni stood. ‘Sure. Whatever.’ And then she turned away.
Day 22
They managed to get through the week leading up to the next challenge without mishap. With seven years’ practice at shutting each other out, a week had been chickenfeed. They did what had to be done: worked together when required and stayed the hell away from each other when it wasn’t.
Nighttimes were the worst. The paltry gap between their beds felt more fraught than the DMZ. Stick-and-grass walls were never meant to contain things that were too hard to speak about and too enormous to resolve. By the time Friday rocked around, Frances was ready for a challenge. Any challenge.
After a breakfast of boiled rice in a Vegemite broth that, alarmingly, Frances had actually grown to like, Sally rounded them all up with her usual cheery disposition. ‘Right, you fookers, get your arses to the fireplace, pronto.’
Like trained monkeys, the remaining three couples complied with unquestioning promptness, and Sally favoured them with an evil grin. Frances half expected her to pet the nearest of them and say, ‘My precious.’
Lex and Darryl stood beside her like reluctant henchmen.
‘Today is our fourth immunity challenge and we’ve upped the stakes even higher. Winner gets immunity and one more week on Endurance Island.’
Joni and Frances looked at each other. To fulfil the dictates of G’s will and inherit a cool mil each, they only had to make it to the finals. Be one of the last two couples standing.
So, today was a must-win for them.
‘Today’s challenge is a treasure hunt. Very soon, on the altar behind me …’ a dramatic pause and theatrical handsweep indicating
the faux stone structure that had been used in several of their challenges, ‘… six silver domes will be placed.’
Six pairs of eyes that had been glued to The Stapler suddenly refocused a metre behind her as a metallic snick heralded the opening of a trailer door. Six of the crew, all dressed like chefs, complete with those silly high hats, marched out one after the other, each carrying a plate topped with a silver dome.
The contestants watched as each plate was placed on the altar. Frances heard Takahiro whispering something to Kazuki in Japanese, already strategising. For a moment, she was envious of their seriously screwy relationship. At least, in their own messed-up way, they had a connection. Her first instinct, to turn to Joni and whisper, ‘Food challenge?’ didn’t even make it out of the starter gate.
But the thought stayed with Frances, as everyone watched and waited, shuffling their feet. What, in the name of all that was holy, was under that silverware? What in hell were they going to have to eat? It didn’t take even two functioning brain cells to figure out it wasn’t going to be chocolate.
‘Each of you was contacted individually before the show started and asked to bring your most valued personal possession but told that it was to be kept a secret. At the beginning of the competition, you were each asked to surrender your items to me.’
Sally gave them all another evil smile. ‘Today, we all get to see what pathetic trinkets you losers can’t do without and then we’re going to hide them from you.’
Frances bit back a protest. The relief she felt at not being made to eat a raw goat’s testicle – or a cooked one, for that matter – was tempered by the fact that within minutes everyone on the island and at home would know what a sad, superficial loser she actually was.
No-one was supposed to know.
They’d been told their treasure would be kept safe and its identity a secret.
Frankly, with everything that had gone on in the past weeks, Frances had completely forgotten about the treasure. Getting enough to eat, winning the challenges and surviving the trapdoor had wiped it from her mind.
And this certainly wasn’t how she’d thought it would play out. Having watched all nine seasons, Frances knew this request was a first for Endurance Island. But she’d figured their personal items would be used at the last minute, to blackmail them into doing something they didn’t want to do, like betray their partner or steal the money.
This she hadn’t expected.
Two cameramen moved into position at each end of the faux stone altar and any hope that their possessions wouldn’t be the main focus of the challenge died an instant death.
Frances cringed at the thought of what lay beneath her silver dome. She also noticed Joni shifting nervously from side to side, and petting Desmond with quick, agitated strokes.
‘As Darryl calls your names, you will each come up to the altar. The plate with your treasure is marked. Lift the lid, pick it up, turn to show everyone else and then be prepared to answer his questions.’
‘Oh goody,’ Kandy murmured in her high Marilyn Monroe voice. ‘I hope we go first. I can’t wait to see it again.’
Even Takahiro and Kazuki were muttering quite animatedly about the forthcoming reveal. It seemed like everyone was excited but them. Frances slid a sidelong glance at her sister. Joni, her fingers still frantically working Des’s coat, looked about as excited as she did.
Chuffing Nora. What the hell had she brought?
Jesus, why didn’t The Stapler just line them all up and perform root canal on them without a local instead?
‘Rightio then.’ Darryl’s voice caught everyone’s attention. ‘Takahiro. You’re up first.’
For a little guy, he could certainly leap high. In fact, he practically levitated all the way to the altar. He quickly located his lid and whipped it off. ‘Ahhhhhhhh,’ he sighed and picked the item up.
‘What is it?’ Joni hissed, craning her neck to try to see around him.
Takahiro turned, holding his treasure aloft. Frances rolled her eyes, as he slowly withdrew a dagger from a heavily jewelled scabbard, the metal snicker foreign amid the wild pulse of the jungle.
‘He is a sick fucker,’ Joni muttered.
Darryl asked his first question. ‘Tell us, Takahiro, the significance of your item.’
‘This belong to my father. He brave warrior for honourable Emperor Showa during war.’
Darryl continued. ‘And why did you choose it as your treasure item?’
‘It is home of my father’s spirit. I was two-year-old last time I see him. It reminds me to have honour.’
Frances felt his beady little eyes come to rest on her and understood the threat she saw in them. But she also saw something else. The pain and loss of a little boy trying to find a reason why his father had gone away, never to return. Trying to live up to something he’d never really understood.
Up until now, she’d dismissed him as an irritation, like one of the many species of insects on this bug-infested island. A caricature of a man whom she towered over as he continually yapped at her heels. But standing there with the dagger in his hand, honour glittering in his gaze, she could finally understand the crazy in his eyes.
In Takahiro’s head he wasn’t a five-foot-two middle management drone, but a samurai warrior dressed in full armour. Honouring his father.
His battlefield? Television game shows.
‘Next! Kazuki.’
Kazuki whooped and scurried towards the altar. His plate was next to his boss’s and he removed the dome eagerly. He grasped the object in his hands, grinning, and turned to face the assembled group, beaming like a madman.
‘Can you tell us the significance of your treasure?’ Darryl asked.
‘This is trophy for being good employee. Miyagi-san gave to me after working for company ten months.’
Takahiro vigorously nodded his approval and Frances wanted to nut him. Poor beleaguered Kazuki’s most prized possession was a tacky twenty-centimetre-square piece of wood with a fake brass face? It looked like it had been bought at Poundland. And Takahiro had pocketed change.
‘And why did you choose it as your treasure item?’
‘It make me work harder, longer. Be better worker. Make better life for my wife and children.’
‘Hai!’ Takahiro beamed.
In the face of Kazuki’s zeal, Frances’s dislike for Takahiro hit a new high. She might be starting to understand him more, but it didn’t mean she had to like the man. All Kazuki wanted was to make a good life for his family. Surely he didn’t deserve this kind of cheap exploitation?
‘Okay. Thank you,’ Darryl said, flipping a page over.
Frances tensed, waiting for the next victim to be called.
‘Kandy, you’re up next.’
Joni sighed audibly and Frances looked at her sharply. ‘What did you bring?’ she whispered.
Joni looked down at Des. ‘What’d you bring?’
Oh God. It really was that bad!
There was a scrape as Kandy lifted the lid on her treasure. She turned abruptly, holding an object that caught the morning sunlight. Everyone squinted and lifted their hands to shield their retinas from enough bling to power a small city.
‘Kandy, turn that fooker off,’ Sally demanded, her face averted.
‘Ooops.’ Kandy placed the crown on her head. ‘Sorry, I just love how it sparkles.’
Frances blinked as her vision slowly returned. Kandy stood before the papier-mâché altar, her Pammy-esque breasts falling out of her bikini top.
‘Are those … real diamonds?’ Joni asked.
Good question. What the fuck was she doing here, playing for a paltry hundred thou, when she owned a crown that the Queen would kill for?
‘No, silly. They’re just diamantés. Pretty real-looking though, huh?’ Kandy said.
Everyone nodded and stared for a while longer.
‘So, Kandy,’ Darryl said, donning his sunglasses, ‘can you tell us the significance of your treasure?’
Kandy be
amed. ‘I won this crown in the Miss Teen USA pageant, way back in 2007.’
Frances blinked. She supposed four years ago was ‘way back’ when you’d only been alive for nineteen of them. Add another eleven, and Frances’s way back included a Jennifer Aniston do, New Labour and ‘I’m Too Sexy’.
‘It’s not my first crown – I have twenty-two in total – but this is my favourite. Winning this was the best thing that has ever happened to me,’ Kandy gushed. ‘Apart from this, of course.’
‘Of course.’ Darryl gave a tight smile. ‘Why did you choose it as your treasure item?’
Kandy looked at him. ‘Because it was the proudest moment of my life.’
Frances supposed it wasn’t Kandy’s fault she didn’t have a mother like theirs. One who thought beauty pageants were plots by the patriarchy to keep women as dumb sex objects and mere ornaments for men. One who thought girls with photographic memories should have been more than beauty queens.
Darryl gave one of his best cheesy smiles and Frances wondered what thoughts were running through his sleazy little mind as he ogled a twinkling Kandy. ‘Thank you, Kandy,’ he beamed. ‘Misty, you’re next.’
Misty made her way up to the altar and removed the lid on her treasure. She clutched her item to her chest briefly, before turning around to reveal some sort of rolled-up paper.
‘Remove the rubber band,’ Darryl intoned.
Misty did as she was asked, and slowly unravelled the paper to reveal a large glossy print of Dolly Parton dressed in a fringed and sequined cowgirl shirt that sat low – real low – on her impressive cleavage. It was signed by the woman herself with:
To Misty,
Follow Your Dreams.
Love, Dolly
‘Can you tell us the significance of your treasure?’
Misty nodded. ‘Dolly is my idol.’ She flapped the poster, as though willing everyone to understand. ‘I waited in line for three hours to get her to sign this.’
Everyone stared silently for a moment, their gazes inevitably drawn to those two famous appendages.
Misty went on, unperturbed. ‘She’s so beautiful but she grew up dirt poor, just like me, and had to work so hard for everything. And she never forgot where she came from, or the people who helped her along the way. Just like me and Kandy. It’s not just about her perfect figure, it’s about her. Dolly inspires me to be a better person.’
