‘Are you fucking serious?’ I snap.
He spins around, his eyes wide. He definitely wasn’t expecting me to catch him mid-whatever this is.
‘Lockie? What’s going on? Over.’ I hear Simon’s voice over the walkie.
‘Cleo—’ Lockie starts.
‘You absolute arsehole,’ I cut him off.
‘I can explain,’ he tells me.
Ha! Can he? Does he even need to? It looks pretty fucking self-explanatory to me.
‘Oh, really,’ I say as I approach him. ‘Because it kind of looks like you’ve been sneaking off to talk to Simon? All this time? Were you in on it from the start?’
‘No,’ he says firmly. ‘No, it wasn’t like that?—’
‘Get this stupid wristband off me right now,’ I snap, shoving my arm at him.
Suddenly, the microphone on my wrist feels like it’s burning my skin.
‘Just let me?—’
‘Now!’ I demand.
He hesitates for a split second before crouching in front of the hatch and dragging out a first aid kit. He takes out a knife and cuts through the plastic of my wristband, freeing me from it.
‘Cleo, please?—’
‘I’m not talking to you while you’re still wearing yours,’ I reply.
He holds my stare, then, without breaking it, cuts off his own wristband. He drops it on the floor next to mine.
‘There,’ he says quietly. ‘No mics. No trackers. There aren’t any cameras in this area. Simon can’t hear us on the walkie unless I push the button. Can we please talk?’
‘You’ve been filming us this whole time?’ I blurt. My voice shakes with anger. ‘This entire fucking time? Has it been airing?’
His shoulders drop guiltily.
‘Yes. But we didn’t plan for it to go like this,’ he replies. ‘The walkie was just a backup for Simon, in case something went wrong. The storm was real though?—’
‘I know the storm was real!’ I snap. ‘It’s not the wankingTruman Show.’
He swallows hard, trying to find the words that won’t piss me off more – good luck to him.
‘When it hit, everything did go dark. But then, when the feed came back… I spoke to Simon. He said the viewing figures were through the roof. He said if we stayed put, just a little longer, it would be the best story they’ve ever had.’
‘It’s not a story,’ I clap back. ‘It’s our lives. You took our choice away. Our free will!’
‘Everyone is going to come out of this looking great,’ he reassures me, stepping closer. ‘The show is a smash. We kept it alive. Simon loves us for it?—’
‘Well, I hate him. And I hate you too,’ I blurt.
It’s not at all elegant, but at least it’s honest.
‘Cleo, all we have to do is get on the boat, and then the island feed cuts off,’ he says. ‘You know what the contracts are like, they say if we interfere with the show, they can sue us for damages. So we just play along. They’ll switch to rescue footage. There’s going to be this big send-off, they’re going to have the final today. We did it. Shortest season ever and the most viewers.’
‘I don’t care,’ I say, backing away. ‘I don’t care about viewers, or Simon, or…’
