The man hushes the crowd ever so slightly. ‘Tonight, we’re doing things a little differently. I only needonewilling volunteer, because I’ve been informed that we have a special lady in the audience who has been dying to give this a try.’
Oh, no.
The gut bubbles are back and the cogs are all fitting into place. All at once I understand. I don’t even need to hear him say it out loud.
‘Is there a Maddy C in the crowd?’ he asks, much to the screams of my friends.
Even if there was some way to hide, their pointing and screaming has rendered it utterly useless. They know as little as I do, but they’ve done everything but whip out a flashing neon arrow above my head.
‘Get up here, Maddy!’
Through no force of my own, I’m pushed through the waves of people all the way to the stairs. Each person I pass smiles at my taut face with glee, blindly willing me on with no explanation or reassurance. They can’twaitfor me to be there and they’re thrilled to be watching whatever foolishness Aiden has signed me up for.
‘Here she is, folks!’ the host cheers as I creep onto the stage, blinded by the lights and overwhelmed by the sea of people below me. ‘Go on, Maddy, tell us a bit about yourself– where are you joining us from today?’
‘South London.’ My voice comes out as a squeak, bordering on a whisper. Even with the mic shoved in my face, I don’t know who would have heard that. Honestly, I’m shocked anything came out at all. My mouth’s gone dry, hands shaking more than I can control. I shove them into my pockets before anyone in the crowd can notice.
I don’t get shy on stage– I’m a three-time junior debate champion for God’s sake, but I get to prep for those; I getto know what’s coming. Being shoved in front of complete strangers with no real explanation is a completely different ballgame. Plus, I’m in dungarees. Dungarees! In a nightclub!
‘Well, Maddy C from south London, you ready to take on the challenge?’ he asks, trying his best to soothe me with his grin.
How can I take on a challenge when I don’t know what it is? Or where I am? Or what I’m doing up here?
Everyone’s beaming at me in excitement and I couldn’t tell you a thing about what I could possibly be doing next, but one thing is for certain. I cannot be bad vibes. My outfit has already left me with so much to prove.
‘Right, who wants to go up against our dazzling contender?’ the man yells out to the crowd, realising a response from me is a lost cause.
The crowd swells and cheers as arms fly in the air, pointing and waving in every direction possible. He scans the crowd for the next victim– someone far more willing than I was and clearly eager to take on whatever hell I’ve committed to. I watch his hand point somewhere in the crowd as a guy burrows through to the stage, a large grin on his face as he banters with our host. I can’t register one word he’s saying. I can barely hear. My brain is fixed on whatever ordeal lies ahead of us.
‘Let’s get you two dressed, shall we?’ the host asks, voice cutting through my thoughts and bringing me back to the stage.
I hear a rustle behind me as a stagehand runs from the wings and hands me a plastic anorak. It’s flimsy and weak, practically dissolving in my sweaty fingers, but her smile is so sweet and encouraging that I have to partake. I smile back nervously as I pull it over my head, shimmying into the overgrown sleeves.
‘You both look wonderful!’ our host says. ‘So, the game is on! Are you ready to. . .’
‘PAINT THAT MATE!’ the crowd screams again.
The words are meaningless to me– foreign jumbles to my ears– but the certainty of the audience only makes whatever they are saying sound scarier. My competition is loving it– playing to the crowd and strutting around in his plastic poncho. They yelp and cheer as he makes the stage his runway, goading him into various poses and turns. I know I should do something equally fun, but my feet are stuck to the ground beneath me. Aiden Edwards will perish if I make it out of this alive.Perish.
‘Right, I will explain this for any newbies in the audience one time and one time only,’ our host says. ‘Right now, our willing participants are being handed an envelope with their magic word. When the buzzer sounds, they must open their envelope and start painting that object on their canvases. First to have their word guessed correctly by all of you wins a coveted ‘Paint That Mate’ T-shirt, and a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound bar tab.’
The prizes elicit a ‘wooo!’ from the audience, all eager for the competition to start. It sounds easy enough– a high-stakes, drunken drawing game. Not my strong suit, but not the world’s most distressing challenge.
‘The paint can be found in the barrels at the other end of the stage and our contestants have ten minutes to get their masterpiece together.’ He looks back at us to check we’re OK. ‘But can they paint with brushes?’
‘NO!’ the crowd screams in joyful unison.
‘Can they paint with their fingers?’
‘No!’
‘What can they paint with? Everybody at once!’
‘Their bodies!’
‘That’s right! The fastest, and most creative body part, wins!’ The host sends the crowd into an ecstatic frenzy.
My smile fades into panic, cheeks losing the ability to even nervously fake some joy as it all dawns on me. Suddenly the anoraks make sense, as does the reason Aiden sent me herein the first place. He wanted me to sweat under this spotlight, shy away from the challenge and immediately default my future happiness to him. But I will not let him win. I cannot. Even if it means embarrassing myself in front of this room full of strangers.
