‘Someone woke up on the right side of the bed.’ His bright-blue eyes glint like he’s imagining the scene. ‘Did Marcus put that grin on your face? Or is it the prospect of spending the entire day getting sweaty with me?’
Before I can think of a witty enough comeback to shut him up, Teddy calls us from across the room. ‘Shelly, Ben, it’s your turn for make-up. You’re first for the photo shoot this morning. Look lively.’
‘The camera loves you, baby.’ Ben sniggers into my ear and swipes my bum with a cheeky slap before darting in the direction of the hair and make-up team. I pray to god they didn’t catch that on film. The innuendos are one thing, but bum touching falls firmly in the “not cool” section.
Lynne, one of the stylists, insists I try on five different outfits. With gorgeous silky textures and dazzling sequins, each one is more revealing than the last. Ben watches on, not even pretending to be a gentleman, as his face is dabbed with a thick layer of foundation two shades darker than his own skin.
‘If only the lads could see you now,’ I joke, intending to lighten the situation we find ourselves in at the mercy of whatever the producers deem “good television”.
‘If only the lads could seeyounow…’ He winks, much to the make-up artist’s disgust.
‘Sit still, don’t wink, don’t blink and don’t move,’ Layla orders. ‘When this sets on your face, we’ll do your body.’
Oh god. Cringe. Layla’s going to make him take his clothes off, I can feel it. The two of us semi-clad is too much. Averting my eyes, I focus on my own sparkling attire. Lynne has finally settled on basically a swimsuit comprised of aquamarine glinting sequins for the main body of my costume. The back scoops so low I’m sure my ass crack must be showing. Thank god I learned the coat hanger trick for tanning my back. I don’t think I’ve had this amount of skin on display in Ireland since I was on the labour ward.
‘What do you think?’ she asks.
‘The colour is beyond stunning. What am I wearing on the bottom?’
Lynne laughs and sets down turquoise pointed stilettos on the floor in front of me. ‘These. You look smoking hot, trust me.’
The material is thick and supportive, super flattering and utterly secure for bouncing around on stage. After fixing, tweaking and pinning my outfit in several places, she spins me around to face a full-length mirror. I brace myself in case I’m about to witness mutton dressed as lamb. But the woman that stares back at me is anything but mutton. Between hair, make-up and Lynne’s outfit, I look like I’ve stepped straight off the world’s most glamourous catwalk.
‘Oh my god. Is that really me?’ She’s accentuated the angles of my face. The subtle, defiant arch of my brow. Doubled the size of my eyes – they’re positively doe-like and framed by the most natural looking dark lashes I’ve ever seen. With every subtle movement from my body, the sequins on my costume glint enchantingly under the bright studio lights.
‘Oh, that’s all you, honey,’ Layla calls across the room. ‘Smoking.’ She high-fives Lynne and the two women offer each other an accomplished grin.
‘You look amazing.’ Ben’s smooth, deep voice coos from behind me.
Lynne tuns me around, surveying all angles. ‘The outfit is perfect on you. Perfect for your colouring and the image we are hoping to capture. Make-up will cover your legs, even out the tan and give you a thick glow. It’s like contouring for your calf muscles.’ She nudges me towards Ben, who is now shirtless and bronze like some sort of Greek god statue.
His eyes roam slowly over my attire and his lips part as if to speak.
‘Don’t ok. Just don’t.’ I hold my hand up to silence him and he chuckles flirtatiously.
Is it for the camera? For the ratings? Or after all these years is he still hoping to piss off Marcus? If he’s not trying, he’s doing a stellar job by default.
No wonder Marcus didn’t want me to come on this show. How would I feel if the roles were reversed?
Actually, the roles are usually reversed. It’s normally me at home. Opening mail containing women’s lacey thongs, women who have no qualms proclaiming their undying love for my husband.
By the end of the day I’m wrecked. Muscles I wasn’t even aware I owned, silently scream at me for mercy. Yet the muscles that ache the most are the ones that lift my lips into the enormous grin.
Things might be far from ideal at home, but here, I’m enjoying myself. Enjoying the challenge, physically and mentally. The lavish makeover. The unwavering attention. The exhilarating workouts. The sense of achievement each time one of the teachers utters a hint of praise. And feeling like a part of a team, something bigger than myself. This is exactly what I signed up for.
