I realise, with slight embarrassment, that I can’t get out of the bath without help. When my endo flare gets really bad, it’s like I can’t use any of my core muscles as they’re too inflamed or busy contracting.
Warren, the man that he is, doesn’t bat an eye when I have to ask for help. This is the first time he’s seen me naked, and I don’t feel exposed or lusted after or unsafe. He just gathers me up in a big fluffy bath sheet, and tells me he’s ordering sushi.
I have to do the classic lie down to dry because I’m too tired to do it properly yet.
The sushi arrives, and Warren brings me a little plate. ‘Forgive me, I’m going to use my fingers.’
‘I promise not to dob you into the entire nation of Japan.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Wife?’
‘Yes, husband?’
‘I know you well enough to know you’re going to fight me if I try to stop you getting in the cab to dinner.’
‘Too right,’ I groan, closing my eyes as I eat a truly delicious bit of salmon nigiri. I swear, this stuff is healing.
I feel two taps on my wrist, and open my food-blissed-out eyes. ‘That’s the signal,’ he says.
‘For what?’
‘For I’ve pushed it too far and we need to get out of there.’
‘We won’t need to use that,’ I murmur, dipping an avocado maki roll in the soy sauce for a bit too long. I need the salt when I feel this shit.
‘Dolly, with great respect, you can’t see yourself. I’m your husband. It’s my job to look out for you especially when you’re not looking out for yourself, isn’t it?’ He has me there. ‘Two taps, I’ll keep the conversation going, then tell production you’re unwell and we have to go. Easy.’
‘Fine,’ I concede, pretty sure I’ve told my mum the same thing at some time in the past. ‘Did I tell you that you’re the perfect husband?’
He laughs. ‘I think we need to set a minimum reminder. Like, maybe four times a day?’
‘Don’t push it,’ I say, feeding him a popped-out edamame covered in salt and chilli. He licks the salt off his lips, and I’m struck with a pang of sadness. I kind of wish I could love him, after all. ‘But you are. Perfect, to me.’
Chapter Twenty-EightDolly
Bridget Evans, 26, Swansea, and Jackson Smith, 25, Leeds
BRIDGET We had to do an intimacy challenge and it was pretty lush.
JACKSON We had to stare into each other’s eyes for ten minutes non-stop.
BRIDGET Eye contact is sooooo important, babe.
In the end, I don’t go for fake fancy trousers because the show drops off a present from a designer I’ve followed on socials for ages. It’s a navy kimono-style dress with large draping sleeves, dramatic and beautiful all at once. I get Warren to take some photos for me to tag them on Instagram when I make my dramatic return, but all the makeup in the world can’t conceal the slightly green tinge to my skin. I’m grateful the dress does give plenty of space for my endo belly, though.
Obviously we make it to dinner, because there’s no way in hell I’m missing the communal dinner party. It tends to be an opportunity to air grievances, usually influenced by the production team. On the US version of the show, there’s usually some arguments. On the Australian series, well, there were several simultaneous fist fights.
The show takes us out in individual cabs to a restaurant overlooking the Thames, all gently lit with orange and gold as the sun gets low in the sky. It’s beautifully decorated, a kind of visual cornucopia with fake and real flowers everywhere. There’s even a fountain. It’s a lot but on camera it’ll look incredible.
The ten of us are seated on one long table, our names written on white cards to guide us where to sit. Warren and I are in the middle, side by side, opposite Lina and Zack, with Zack directly across from me, which is less than ideal. If anyone is going to snap at him, it’s going to be me thanks to my short temper exacerbated by my uterus’s antics. Perhaps that’s what production were hoping for. But then, not even Lina can really look at him for long. She keeps dropping her eyes whenever he talks.
And he doesn’t fucking shut up.
‘I just think,’ he says, stuffing olives into his mouth and putting the nibbled stones right on the tablecloth, ‘that maybe everyone was being a bit unkind about my indiscretion.’
‘My man, if you stop bringing it up, we’d forget about it,’ cringes Warren. ‘Let it die!’
