‘And you still might,’ Porscha says, an evil tilt at the corner of her lips threatening to lift that tight smile of hers. Binky and Kassy brighten almost immediately throwing her an optimistic look.
‘It’s a game,’ Porscha repeats. ‘Anything could happen.’
We all take a moment to digest this new information.
‘Is she saying they will both come back to the villa?’ whispers Amber to me.
‘I hope so,’ I whisper back. ‘I really hope so.’
The mood instantly lifts. The boys start high-fiving and ‘bro-ing’ like mad. Suddenly we are air-kissing, and we are lifelong survivors, in it together like The Squid Game or World War Two.
‘We’ll never forget you. Hope to see you very soon,’ Binky is yelling forcefully over her shoulder. ‘I’ve had the best time ever. Let’s keep in touch. Best friends for life.’
‘Me too,’ croaks Kassy. She’s done so much angry yelling and screaming that her voice is knackered. ‘It’s been the greatest time of my entire life. I’m so sad to leave you all but at the same time I’m so happy. I miss my…’
We wait for her to think of something.
‘I really miss my dog.’
This provides a much-needed excuse for us to ooh and aah and console her and request that she gives her pooch big hugs from us, because even though we all know she doesn’t own a pet, we would want it to know we care if she did. She gives me a hard look on the way out, which pinches at my conscience.
‘See you soon,’ she says almost under her breath. ‘I know what I saw.’
Another stab to my conscience.
We wave them all off and look baffled at one another as the remaining six of us make our way back to the firepit. None of us know what is happening.
‘SO, WHO IS READY FOR THEIR ROMANTIC DATE?’ bellows Destiny, emerging suddenly from behind a bush, causing Mimi to scream with fright.
The warm breeze lifts Destiny’s fringe, like the flaps on a Boeing 747, to give us a rare glimpse of what lies beneath. She is looking wild-eyed and positively coked up to the eyeballs. It is very clear that we’d all forgotten she was still here, and that we would be required to do more filming. My soul droops at the thought of going on a date. Henri looks over at me with an almost apologetic smile and shrugs his shoulders.
‘Are the four islanders who just left really out out or will they be coming back in in?’ I ask Destiny who looks expressionlessly back with a nonchalant shrug.
‘FIREPIT!’ Porscha yells.
We gather round the firepit so that Destiny can bring some energy to our flat and demoralised demeanour. ‘Islanders. You three couples will be happy to know that your dates will be voted on by the public.’
This is news to us.
‘And the couple voted to have the most chemistry during the date will spend a saucy night in the Romantic Hideaway. YAAAS!’ Destiny yells, encouraging us to get excited and start waving our arms around as we sit there.
My mind switches instantly to panic mode while the cheering goes on around me. This is the same Romantic Hideaway that Cam showed me on the virtual tour. The room with walls and floor covered in fur for maximum comfort, whichever way you choose to have sex, upside down or back to front. The room with the love swing hanging from the ceiling and the suggestive objets d’art placed on the bubble-gum pink shelves. The room with thesex toy cupboard where Cam hid a massive blue rubber vibrator with flat batteries because he was too busy having fun with me, he forgot to replace them.
Right, I have a game plan. And the game plan is to have the worst date humanly possible, resulting in the fewest public votes.
Henri turns to look at me with his shyly confident smile and whispers, ‘Zee French make zee best lovers. I will make sure we win.’ He taps the side of his nose.
Not on my watch we won’t.
We are glued to Destiny as she reveals what type of date we are going on. ‘We asked the public what type of dinner date they wanted to send you all on. They had to choose between a romantic three-course candlelit dinner al fresco on the beach.’
We all cheer.
‘Or a romantic picnic by torchlight in the wild beating heart of the Yucatan jungle.’
We let out a less enthusiastic cheer.
‘Or a romantic time potholing down a nearby haunted mineshaft with a packed lunch and a bag of crisps.’
