They ignore me. Obviously.
It’s a fancy house. If we weren’t stacked together like sardines, I’d probably enjoy it more.
The kitchen is decorated in stark white, and once I’ve gulped down some water, I’m wide awake.
While the others are racking up fines, I may as well do a little exploring and try to work out if there are any cameras in the building. I’m pretty sure it’s just someone’s house, not a specifically built set, so the likelihood of them being in the walls is low, but still. A secret lesbian on television can’t be too careful.
It’s like being on a film set, but in my pyjamas. And no one else is here.
Well, notmypyjamas. The show regulation sexy pyjamas. It’s so ridiculous. Ibroughtslinky, sexy pyjamas to wear but production insisted all the girls wear these matching sets with our names embroidered on the tit – as though I’m going to mix up my size 24 top with Bridget’s size 6 one. Please. They’re a rip-off of theLove Islandmerch and presumably are being sold on TikTok shops or Instagram affiliate links right now. The men have matching slinky boxer shorts that remind me of the Boots 3 for 2 Christmas present options for men.
I wasn’t going to argue in case I got accused of not being a team player.
I wander into the living room, which might have the highest concentration of bean bag chairs outside of the nineties. I wish I could call Mum. She loves shit reality TV décor, always complaining about the neon light signs onLove Island, or the chairs without supportive backs. If I had my phone, I’d take pictures for her.
She’ll have seen probably two episodes by now, I think, so will have seen me ‘falling in love’ with Warren. I wonder what she makes of that.
I swallow down the rise in my throat, and as I turn,something catches my eye. Through the window, I see a lone figure standing by the pool.
Unfortunately, I would know that silhouette anywhere.
I could go back to bed, ignore whatever Carys-created drama is happening.
I could.
I hate how much I notice about her. At security when she needed help and wouldn’t ask for it. At dinner too. The confused, icy look she gave me presumably when she realised I got David for her. I hate that these instincts just kick me into auto-drive when I really should be keeping clear.
I’m pretty sure Patrick was one of the actually just snoring contingent. I could make him deal with this.
Whyisshe standing out there in the middle of the night?
I wonder if she’s finally realising that you can’t re-cork champagne, or lesbianism. Well, you probably can preserve opened champagne with some kind of rich person device, but I’m a girl from Crosby who doesn’t even buy the real stuff in the first place. Gay panic is my expertise, not champers.
Bringing Patrick in to assist in a queer crisis is not going to help. Hey, babes, I know you’re reconsidering your whole relationship to attraction and desire, but here’s the man you’re supposed to marry in a few weeks!
Yeah, no.
The temperature must drop a lot overnight because even standing inside in my tiny show regulation pyjamas is making me wish I’d brought a proper fleecy dressing gown. She’s outside in the cold.
Seeing Carys’s bare feet is the last straw.
My carer instincts kick in, powering me forward before I can think twice.
‘Carys?’ I call her name softly as I approach.
I didn’t mean to startle her, but I think she’s on a hairtrigger. When she spins round and realises it’s me, the look she gives me is a mixture of confusion, upset, maybe not anger but something.
‘What do you want, Dolly?’ she snaps. Her body a sharp line, all taut elbows and folded in on itself.
Well. Fuck me then!
I’m only human, so I can’t help but be annoyed. ‘I saw you were awake and standing out here at two in the morning,’ I hiss, conscious of waking the others.
Carys blinks a few times. ‘How do you know it’s two?’
I point up at the sky. ‘Well, that big fucking thing called a moon is kind of a giveaway, don’t you think?’
She rolls her eyes. ‘It comes out in the day too.’
