‘Practical isn’t sexy, is it?’ he reminds me.
‘Neither are UTIs,’ I clap back, throwing a plastic-feeling thong at him. ‘It gets chilly at night. The ones who can’t get fires going are going to suffer – the ones who can need to worry about being flammable.’
‘They’ll be fine,’ he insists.
I shoot him a look.
‘You’re an expert at sleeping outside, are you?’ I ask.
‘I once camped at Glastonbury,’ he replies through a grin.
‘That’s not the same,’ I say.
‘You’re right, it was so much worse,’ he replies. ‘All that mud and rain, and the communal toilets – God. These guys are going to be in paradise.’
The funny thing aboutWelcome to Singledomis that no one actually knows where the island is. Sure, if you use your brain, you can probably figure out that it’s a private island in the Caribbean somewhere, but we’ve always made it a thing that no one really knows, like we’re dropping them in uncharted territory. And yes, it’s a set, we’ve constructed things to look real that weren’t there before, but the climate is real, the weather is real, the bugs are real. Yes, we’re on hand to keep everyone safe (well, we usually are, this year we’re going to be offshore on a bloody boat) but there’s a reason everyone has to sign an ‘anything goes’ release form.
I sigh, drumming my fingers against the table, scanning the ridiculous products in front of me. Sun cream, swimwear, a protein powder that smells like sick. Some products are easy, sun cream makes sense, but whipping up a protein shake? Not so much.
I grab a box and see the words ‘adults only’ on the lid.
‘Well, well, well,’ Lockie says, reading it over my shoulder. ‘Now this one I’ve got to see inside.’
Curious too, I open the lid and… wow.
‘Oh, hello,’ he says, pulling out a bright pink feather boa.
‘No,’ I say quickly, reading his mind.
‘Yes,’ he insists, shaking it out and looping it around my neck. ‘Actually, better not, it clashes with your angry red face. What about on me, any better?’
He strikes a pose, lips puckered.
‘Looks good on me, don’t you think?’
‘You look like the person you get for your hen party when all the other sexy men are fully booked,’ I point out.
‘So I’m a sexy man,’ he replies.
‘Absolutely not,’ I insist.
He grins, then plunges his hand back into the box like it’s a lucky dip at a very questionable village fair. This time he pulls out… a pair of novelty handcuffs.
‘Is that…’
‘It is!’
He dangles them from one finger, the polished silver metal sparkling under the ceiling lights.
‘Brilliant,’ I mutter. ‘Just what every contestant needs on a deserted island. Forget food, shelter, or water – a way to take hostages.’
‘I think we all know they’re not for that,’ he reminds me. ‘These are for… solidifying the connections.’
Welcome to Singledomis all about making connections so, in the luxury suite that couples can unlock a night in, there is a bed, champagne, chocolate – and usually a selection of silly toys. Handcuffs are a new one though.
Then he pulls out something even worse – a skimpy nurse’s outfit, all white lace and red crosses. He holds it up against his chest, raising his eyebrows.
‘What do you think?’ he asks.
