‘Has a villain ever won the money?’ Lockie asks. ‘I’ve seen bits of the show, here and there, but I’ve never seen that.’
‘One time, one villain ended up in a couple who won the popular vote,’ Dan tells him. ‘But to win the money the public decide whether or not you’re in love. You only win the money if they believe it’s love.’
‘Well, we don’t need to worry about that, do we?’ I interrupt. ‘Because our plan is to get in and get out.’
‘And do your best not to fall in love with me,’ Lockie instructs me with faux seriousness, pointing an accusatory finger my way.
‘Oh, it’s going to be such a struggle,’ I say in a breathy voice. ‘I just don’t know how I’ll resist you, I really don’t.’
Dan just laughs.
‘So, I know you’re not the usual type, but I’m sure you know the lingo to blend in,’ he continues. ‘You know when you’re being mugged off, when you’re grafting, when you’re cracking on… You know getting a pie-ing from doing bits?’
‘I’ve worked on this show long enough to know asnakefrom asort,’ I remind him.
‘Doing bits is a new one to me,’ Lockie says. ‘Bits of what?’
‘Bits of what you think,’ I tell him.
‘Comedy?’ he replies.
‘I’m sure it is the way you do it,’ I joke.
A stylist wheels in a rail of swimwear – the brightest colours in the smallest styles. It’s hard to say if they’re eye-catching or invisible.
‘Right, Cleo, this looks like your size,’ the stylist says, grabbing a bikini for me.
Looking at it in my hand, this looks like no one’s size.
‘Where’s the rest of it?’ I joke.
‘Lockie, these are for you,’ she says, ignoring me, handing him a pair of trunks.
Because the men get to feel comfortable, of course.
‘Try them on,’ the stylist instructs us.
I cannot believe this is happening.
We head into a cabin each (for which I’m very grateful), and I put on the barely there bikini, then stare at my reflection under harsh light. To be honest, it’s not the light that’s harsh, it’s my own self-criticism. I’m all for everyone wearing whatever they want, no matter what society says… except me. How am I going to feel comfortable in this? My skin is pale, my hair is flat, and the bikini might look my size but it doesn’t act it. I tug at the material, trying to make sure all bases are covered.
When I walk out, Dan looks me up and down.
‘You’re looking very… white,’ he tells me. ‘Like… the ghost of a Victorian woman who died of something incredibly draining.’
‘Thanks,’ I say plainly.
‘We could sort you a spray tan,’ the stylist helpfully suggests. ‘We can do a quick coat or two – just make sure to keep dry, while it develops. I can contour your body a little, if you’re worried…’
I wasn’t worried about that. I am now.
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ I say, folding my arm across my chest, trying to protect my body.
Lockie comes out wearing his swim shorts. He looks ridiculously good, hot as any contestant we’ve ever had. He looks comfortable – then again, his shorts are made of so much material that you could make at least ten of these bikinis.
‘Right,’ he says, clapping his hands. ‘Ready to humiliate ourselves?’
‘It is what it is,’ I say, borrowing a phrase that is always overused on the show.
