Where. The. Hell. Are. The. Real. Bloody. Contestants?
I’m starting to worry that Simon has forgotten about me and Lockie. We’re still here, in the middle of our second full day, and we’re keeping up the act but I don’t know how much longer I’ve got in me.
‘Cleo,’ Lockie calls out.
I turn to look at him. He’s dripping wet from his swim in the sea. Water is rolling down his body, droplets weaving in and out of the contours of his muscles, and I’m trying to ignore that his swim shorts look much clingier when they’re wet.
‘Yeah?’ I reply.
‘Can I borrow you?’ he asks.
‘Erm… yeah,’ I say cautiously.
Ozzy, who is doing push-ups next to me, eyeballs me as I go.
‘This way,’ Lockie says, leading me towards the sea. ‘I have something to show you – you’re going to love it.’
I hesitate – part of me doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of dragging me away from Ozzy – but curiosity gets the better of me. I brush the sand off my legs and follow him down the narrow strip of beach until the voices of the others fade into background noise.
The tide is coming in – or going out, I haven’t been paying attention – so we have to walk a little to get to the water.
‘You look stressed,’ Lockie points out.
‘Oh, I’m fine,’ I insist, very much for the audience’s sake, well aware that our mics are obviously still on, and the cameras can see down here (even if it’s not as closely).
‘I know this relaxation tip,’ he says. ‘I thought you might like to try it with me.’
I look at him and notice something subtle, him pleading with me with his eyes, letting me know not everything is as it seems.
‘Sounds great!’ I say with faux enthusiasm. ‘I could always be less stressed.’
Ain’t that the truth.
We stop just before we reach the water. The sea doesn’t seem as calm today, waves breaking and foamy on the sand, crashing against any rocks that dare to stand in its way. Still, it seems like paradise. On the surface. If you forget that we’re taking it in turns to empty the outhouse, and I haven’t had my turn yet. I’m hoping I’ll be voted off before my turn comes around, if I’m being honest with you.
‘Okay, so how do I relax?’ I ask, sounding like I really need it. The breeze whips my hair into my mouth, which only makes me feel more stressed.
‘Try to relax,’ he says, taking deep breaths in and out.
Is he just trying to wind me up?
He gestures to the horizon.
‘I read something once that said if you sit quietly and stare out to sea, while holding hands, it’s supposed to be… good for you. Calming. Resets your head. You only have to do it for a minute. Want to give it a go?’ he asks.
I really, really don’t – but I don’t think all is as it seems. I think this is for the cameras.
‘You want me to hold your hand?’ I check.
‘It’ll relax you,’ he says with a smile.
I roll my eyes for a split second, so only he can see, but fine, I’ll do it. I place my hand in his. His palm is warm, his grip steady. It feels… No, I’m not doing that, I’m not thinking about how it feels. It feels like a hand.
His thumb brushes against mine, slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. I guess he does. He’s probably held a hundred hands on a hundred beaches. Convinced a hundred girls to make the biggest mistake of their lives by thinking they were special to him.
So we’re sitting, looking out over the bluey-green water, holding hands. The sunlight reflects on the water, sparkling like glitter. I take a deep breath of the salty air and, he’s right, this does feel better. I could almost forget the cameras, the competition, the fact I feel like I’m trapped here… but not quite. Lockie doesn’t say anything, but I can feel him watching me out of the corner of his eye.
‘And now we face one another,’ he says. ‘Holding both our hands.’
