That was close.
‘Ready to go in there?’ he says, pointing to the Beach Hut entrance.
I nod.
‘I just went in to say that I’d like to get to know you more,’ he says. ‘Especially after today. You were hilarious.’
How excruciating. My face is on fire. ‘Listen, those things I said…’
He holds his hands up, laughing. ‘It’s okay. We were just messing with you. But you might want to clear it up with the rest of the world.’
‘One hundred per cent,’ I say, shaking my head with embarrassment.
He fixes me an intense look. ‘I like that you’re so sweet and innocent, yet so capable and… insanely hot.’ He looks me appreciatively up and down while I yank self-consciously at my skirt and shirt to eke out a few extra inches of coverage. ‘It’s like you have no idea how sexy you are. I’d be up for stealing a chat when you come out of the Hut.’
I’m a bit caught off guard. ‘Okay, yeah. Sure.’
He saunters off, so confident, so sure of himself. How do people do that?
As soon as I’ve finished clarifying my position on all things challenge related, I make my way to the dressing room. One look in the mirror and it is all I can do to not shriek in horror at my reflection. What a state! Hair all over in two raggedy bunches. Make-up literally smeared down my face. My nose looks sunburnt and shiny. My outfit has dried all crinkly due to the constant dunking in the water.
Binky and Kassy race in. They are wearing bikinis and looking fabulous. ‘Where have you been? Quick, get changed. They are scrapping the challenge. We’re going to film making mocktails, instead.’
‘IN OUR COUPLES!’ yells Binky. Then looks to me alarmed. ‘What’s my one called again?’
Because of my encyclopaedic study of the contestants, thanks to Cam, my knowledge of them is extensive. ‘Marcel. Twenty-four. Likes all sport, camping and cooking vegan meals. He loves his grandmother very much because she raised him, and they have five dogs and seven cats.’
Binky looks a bit deflated.
‘But he has been single for over a year, since his fiancée ran off with his dad, which triggered him to start his own business and now he is well on his way to making his first million dollars.’
She perks right up. ‘I am definitely pulling him for a chat.’
‘Do mine! Do mine,’ squeals Kassy.
‘Brad. From Australia. He likes Bush trekking, extreme sports and sewing. He has four brothers and two sisters. He is twenty-one years old and, after a dry spell of two years, he now feels ready to settle down with the girl of his dreams. Kassy, you are his exact type.’
This proves a popular move.
‘Let’s do Libby’s make-over,’ Binky yells. ‘Amber! Get in here! Kassy, you do wardrobe, I’ll do hair.’
Ten minutes later, my hair is up in a messy bun, my face is natural and vibrant thanks to Amber’s clever make-up, and I am wearing a gorgeous bikini and matching sarong picked by Kassy from the free clothes rack our sponsor has provided. It fits me perfectly. It’s colourful and eye-catching without being too revealing. We walk to the outdoor kitchen together linking arms as though we have been friends for decades. Mimi is already there draping herself over Carlton while glancing at Giovanni every few seconds.
The benches have been laid out with every kind of fruit and the shelves on the back wall are groaning under the weight of dozens of bottles of brightly coloured juices. Brad’s phone pings. It’s his first time. He looks like he has won the lottery.
‘I GOT A TIXT!’ he bellows, and we all squeal excitedly. ‘LOVE OISLANDERS. IT IS TOIME TO GET FRUITY. BEST MOCKTAIL AND BEST NAME WINS,’ he screeches. Everyone is leaping up and down.
‘Wins what? Does it say?’ I ask.
‘Who cares?’ yells Mimi jumping into Carlton’s arms. ‘It’s all about the winning!’
Carlton flicks his eyes my way as though to apologise.
‘Hey, Libby,’ Giovanni intercepts. He has noticed Carlton looking in my direction. ‘You look nice.’
‘So do you,’ I say out of politeness. He is wearing swimming trunks that would fit a very small child, possibly under the age of four. He has doused himself in so much oil that the first thing he picks up slips easily through his fingers, and even though I instinctively try to catch it, it crashes noisily to the floor. We have broken a glass fruit bowl and there are chunks of chopped pineapple everywhere. A voice comes across crackling out through the speakers.
‘CUT! Jesus Christ, Libby. Why must everything you touch turn to shit?’
