I nod. ‘Pretending mode, activated.’
The irony isn’t lost on me.
‘You and the girls have dinner and drinks coming any moment, so we’ll be filming in the hope you’ll talk about your dates.’
I suppress a groan. ‘I was hoping you were going to take my mic pack.’
‘Look, between us, the sooner you say your piece, the sooner you can go to bed,’ she says in a lowered voice. ‘They just need the shot.’
‘Okay,’ I say, steeling myself. ‘I do need to eat anyway.’
‘Precisely. Right, got to dash.’ Reb squeezes my shoulder, then disappears down the corridor of doors to backstage.
As I slowly walk back to the dormitory, I can’t help but think about the network of glass and wires and cameras that must be in the walls around me. It’s all veryTruman Show, or probably five different episodes ofBlack Mirror.
It’s a very peculiar thing to know, for certain, that you are being observed. Not that that’s particularly different from how I feel just existing as an autistic person; it feels like someone’s always waiting to catch you out.
Is this how the farm animals feel when we have school visits? God, I hope not. I don’t really have time to spiral about the emotional wellbeing of the animals in my care right now.
When I walk in, my eyes find Dolly immediately, in the middle of the group of women. She’s radiant as ever, curled into the corner of the couch with her arm slung over the back. She and Whit whisper together.
As the door closes, all eyes turn to me. Her smile is the one I return.
She drags over a footstool and pats it. Dolly wants me to sit with her? Oh, it’s so nice to have a friend. I’m pretty sure we’re friends.
I take the seat, and Bridget plonks a bronze cup of mysterious fizzing alcohol in front of me with a ‘hiya, butt’.
Priya seems to be leading the main conversation. ‘So if we all had ten dates, that means we’ve all dated all the same men, correct?’
Everyone nods, some less enthusiastically than others.
‘So are we going to talk about who our top threes are?’ Niamh asks, sounding casual, but her eyes flash like she’s ready for a fight to break out.
‘No way,’ says Whit, crossing her arms at the wrists in an X. ‘That’s a recipe for disaster.’
‘Or good television,’ murmurs Dolly, which earns an eye roll from Whit.
Dolly’s glance meets mine, and we giggle.
Her eyes drop to my lap. ‘Darling, unless you are trying to start a WikiFeet, I would put your shoes on while they’re filming.’
That’s when I realise the heels are still clutched in one hand, the notebook in the other. I have no idea what WikiFeet is, but it doesn’t sound good, so I stuff my hot feet into my nasty little shoes and grit my teeth.
Dolly pats my knee, her touch soft and warm, and I feel slightly less irate about my shoes.
‘Look, guys, maybe we should be compassionate about this,’says Lina, once again the voice of reason in our group. ‘All of us will have connections with more than one man, and there will be overlap, so I think it would be really mindful if we didn’t have this kind of conversation right now.’
‘Bores. You’re all bores,’ grumbles Niamh. ‘In that case, did anyone else get the guy who was obsessed with teeth?’
Priya rolls her eyes. ‘We talked to everyone, Niamh. That’s what we just established.’
‘Right, and did he talk to you about teeth?’
‘Sorry, did you say teeth?’ asks Dolly.
Whit leans forward excitedly. ‘Oh yeah, he wouldn’t shut up about his—’
‘TURKEY TEETH,’ chorus the Hannahs with Whit, though they have more enthusiasm and volume than I’d expect for the topic of teeth.
