‘Are you okay?’ I check.
His jaw tightens and his eyes bulge. For a second, I think he’s going to explode. But then I watch him visibly shove the pain somewhere deep inside, forcing a smile back on to his face.
‘Jokes like that aren’t funny in the wild,’ he tells Lockie. Then he turns to me. ‘I’m all good, barely felt a thing.’
Lockie’s smirk falters. Just slightly.
Ozzy gets right back to it, finishing our bed like nothing happened, and sure enough, we’re the first couple to finish.
‘Congratulations, Ozzy and Cleo! You’ve won your beds.’
Ozzy takes me by the waist and lifts me clean off the ground with ease, spinning me in a victory twirl. I squeal before I can stop myself, heat rushing to my cheeks.
I notice Lockie’s eyes are on us. Unamused.
Second place goes to Lockie and Honey, whose half-crooked beds somehow hold together well enough.
Tony and Camilla… well, they’re still sitting on a pile of wood, glaring at each other.
‘Sorry, Tony and Camilla,’ the booming voice declares. ‘You’ll be returning your materials to the hatch. No bed for you tonight.’
Camilla looks like she’s mulling over the idea of rage-quitting the show. Tony shrugs and mutters something about a combination of sand and sunburn exfoliating his skin.
‘Let’s try them out,’ Ozzy suggests.
Currently the beds are side by side. What usually happens, when people couple off, is that they push their beds together to make a double. Ozzy gives them a nudge closer together, but not quite touching, before we lie down.
‘See? We make a good team,’ he says. ‘We should stick together.’
He’s sweet. He’s handy, as my gran would say. He’s objectively gorgeous. But as he beams at me, all I can think is: I’m not here to take part. I’m not here to find someone. I’m a prop, an understudy drafted into the mix before the real stars arrive.
Still. I can’t deny it. That was… fun, for me at least. I’m not sure Lockie is having as much fun, the look on his face speaks volumes. What is it saying, though? I have no idea.
14
We’re all gathered around the firepit, eating some food, and trying to relax after a chaotic day on the island.
I say trying to relax because, one, it’s hard to relax when you’re being filmed, and two, I’m surprised Lockie and I are still here. The real contestants must not have arrived yet. I just need to be patient.
Ozzy spears a piece of fish with a stick he’s fashioned into a skewer – because of course he has. Everything he does is so intensely manly.
‘Enjoy,’ he says. ‘Help yourselves. And no complaining, because it’s this or nothing.’
‘No complaints here,’ Tony says, talking through a huge mouthful. ‘Swear down, after my old dear’s Sunday roast, best thing I’ve ever had. It’s well fresh.’
‘It’s… edible,’ Camilla adds. She nibbles delicately, like a cute little bunny.
Honey’s sitting cross-legged, swaying slightly as she eats, looking the happiest she’s ever been.
‘It’s kinda salty,’ she says, then beams like that’s a compliment.
I can’t quite figure Honey out. Something about her vibe is just… off.
Lockie wipes his hands on his shorts – there are no serviettes in paradise – and nods at Ozzy.
‘You keep this up, we’ll build you a statue out of sand,’ he jokes.
‘Like I’m like your god?’ Ozzy replies, impressed.
