God, she’s right. I’m letting this get too out of hand. It’s just a game show at the end of the day.
‘Important things like my entire village burned down while I’ve been ill,’ she says accusingly.
Oh, my God. I open my mouth to apologise.
‘And all my dragons died.’ She is spitting feathers. ‘All of them.’
I count to three in my head before I say anything. ‘So, who will my new Emotional Support and Well-Being Official be?’
I hope they are saner than she is.
She screws her eyes at me. ‘Cameron. He’ll replace me until they figure something out.’
Cameron is coming over!
I glance over to the hallway mirror. My hair is a mess. Where are my expensive beach waves? My face is slightly sunburnt with streaks of two-day-old make-up under my eyes due to the lack of bathroom access and a general malaise from being starved half to death. I am barefoot with matted hair and wearing a hospital gown. Just add a knife dripping blood and I could be an escapee from a horror movie.
‘When will he get here?’ I panic as she throws her bags into the waiting taxi. ‘I need to shampoo and condition my hair. I need to make myself look more… less… more… waxed and polished,’ I say, making myself sound like a rusty second-hand car.
‘Good luck.’ She shakes her head and gives me a condescending look. ‘That gown makes you look mental.’
Sadly, she’s right. I should turn it round and tie it at the front. And I will, as soon as I think of a suitable retort. She is really getting on my nerves.
She slams the boot shut. ‘You’ll not last five minutes in the villa. People like you never do.’
People like me? Distinctly average, underwhelming underachievers with no sex appeal?
In just a few words, she has popped what little confidence I had like a balloon. She’s voicing my worst fears.
‘Maybe you need to take a long look at yourself first and concentrate on your own issues. It’s easy to stand there and judge others, but your opinion doesn’t make it fact. It just makes you sound bitter and jealous.’ I do namaste hands like Lois. ‘And by the way, dragons aren’t real.’
‘Fuck you,’ she yells back. ‘Why don’t you try working for a living? And FYI, getting your ass out on TV is not real work.’
This is becoming very tit for tat now, but she has hit a nerve. A very raw nerve. I have come halfway across the bloody world to get my ass out on TV.
‘I will be reporting you to the ombudsman and requesting that I never have to see you again.’
She yanks the car door open and turns to me. ‘I hope you get the shits real bad. And I meanrealbad.’
Mean fudging cow.
‘I hope you choke on your own vomit,’ I retaliate, instantly regretting it. It’s the jet lag and two days without food.
A movement distracts us.
‘Hi there,’ says Cameron, getting out of the taxi, looking very startled. Our eyes meet and he holds my gaze. ‘Nice to finally meet you, Libby.’
6
The taxi whisks Hortense and her bags away, leaving Cameron and me facing each other. He gives me a cautious look before reaching out to shake my hand.
I have blown my chance to make a second good impression.
‘Hi,’ I say, embarrassed to the core that I’ve been caught being so rude and that I look such a mess. The opposite of a bombshell. I couldn’t look less of a bombshell if I’d hurled myself through the hedge and rolled around in monkey poo.
‘Hi,’ he says again.
I’m not sure he knows what to make of me. I’m pretty certain that he’ll be regretting his decision to pick me for the show. He has a tall, firm-shouldered, slim-waisted physique, long toned legs and the sort of easy vibe that commands attention. I glance at the smart-looking suitcase by his side. And he has good taste. I see he has casual but expensive footwear. I’m trying my hardest not to gawp, but he’s making it extremely difficult. He could easily be an actor/model/singer/ex-husband of Gwyneth Paltrow. He is a hundred times better looking in real life than on the video call which, unfortunately, has automatically catapulted him way out of my league.
