Jenny rolls her eyes and waves him away. The audience murmur, and Dr Hicks stares at Adam with a hard frown.
Amy turns to Kathy, who has folded her arms across her chest.
‘Ignore him, Kath.’ She leans over. ‘He says things like that for a cheap laugh, not because it’s true.’
‘He’s a fookin’ dick, mate, don’t even think about it,’ adds Lauren.
They turn back to the screen.
‘… if that baby isn’t burnt to a crisp, missing a limb or face down in the bin by the end of the challenge, I’ll present the next show in a pair of Speedos!’
Just under the surface of Jenny’s stiff smile is a grimace. Dr Hicks shakes his head and mutters something.
‘Who are they talking about?’
‘Me.’ Jackie turns to them, smiling. ‘Don’t worry.’ She lifts her hand up to stop Gemma from comforting her. ‘Appreciate the concern, but he’s right. Although he did miss out “floating at the bottom of the pool with a rock tied to its leg”.’
‘“Head cut off in a freak chopping accident”.’ Lauren laughs, and Jackie joins in.
Jenny continues. ‘Nah, I think Jackie will be all right. She’s a great role model for any young girls watching this show. Outspoken, ambitious—’
‘Selfish,’ Adam cuts her off. ‘She’s Selfish Jackie, isn’t she?’
‘That’s simply one opinion from a hurt partner who is bound to lash out,’ Dr Hicks adds.
Adam tries to respond but Jenny cuts him off. ‘Well, I suppose we’ll see in three days!’
The cameras zoom in on her.
‘That, ladies and gents, is all we have time for! Thank you for watching, and don’t forget to tune in to Real TV every night at nine p.m. to see what the girls have been up to!’ she shouts and waves at the camera.
When the camera zooms out, Dr Hicks and Adam can be seen having a heated discussion on the sofa, as Jenny freezes her smile, pretending it isn’t happening.
The camera feed cuts out and the room is silent.
But, of course, it doesn’t last long.
An ominous gong chimes through the air.
‘Amy. Please go to the Therapy Room at nine a.m. tomorrow. Dr Hicks will be waiting.’
Nine
Amy’s nose is whistling as she waits anxiously for the arrival of Dr Howard Hicks for her first therapy session. She can’t decide whether to sniff or blow into a tissue. She isn’t sure which the public would find most off-putting. Taking a tissue from the box on the coffee table in front of her, she fake-coughs and quickly sniffs afterwards. It works, and she relaxes. Jackie’s looking after Ben for the next hour, and Amy is delighted to have the peace, quiet and freedom, despite feeling nervous about what she’s going to reveal to Dr Hicks and the thousands watching.
She leans back and looks around her, absorbing her surroundings. This is the first time she’s been to therapy. Are all therapy rooms this soulless? This beige? Three posters on the wall are making her feel hostile.
TODAY IS A NEW DAY
No shit.
CHOOSE HAPPY
What if it’s not a choice?
BE YOUR OWN SUNSHINE
I’d rather be a fork of lightning.
There are three succulents lined up on the coffee table in front of her. Of course, she reaches forward to touch one, pricking her finger in the process. She gasps. I wonder how he’d interpret that? A physical manifestation of her self-destructive tendencies? She doesn’t need therapy; she already knows what’s wrong with her. She needs a night out with Sarah and three bottles of wine.
The door opens and Dr Hicks enters the room, shutting it quietly behind him and smiling at Amy as he approaches the table.
‘Good morning, Amy. I’m Dr Hicks. How are you?’
Amy stands up and shakes his small, clammy hand as he takes a slow, creaky seat in the vintage leather armchair in front of her.
‘Fine, thank you,’ she responds, feeling anything but.
Behind his glasses are twitchy little eyes.
‘Well, actually, I’m still a bit shocked,’ Amy adds when he doesn’t say anything back.
‘Of course. This is an unusual situation, to say the least.’ He picks up an iPad in front of him and taps the screen.
Whir. Beep.
Amy shifts around in her seat. It squeaks against her thighs, making the atmosphere even more awkward. Her denim beach shorts aren’t made for massive leather sofas. Her thighs look like two huge pieces of rolled-out, unbaked dough. When she spots this, she puts a cushion over them.
‘Try to ignore the camera,’ Dr Hicks says, still looking down but sensing her discomfort. ‘Today is the easiest session. It’s just a little chat about your background – who you are and why you’re here. Is that OK?’
Amy nods, unsure if he can see her.
‘My advice is to try to be as open and direct as you can. That way we’ll get the best results from these sessions. Don’t think about who’s watching you.’
Her parents. Her friends. Never mind her – how are they going to feel if Dr Hicks mines something from her subconscious that hurts their feelings?
What about work? What if she can’t get a job after this?
‘Oh my God, no way! It’s that nutcase from The Shelf!’ says an imaginary HR director, pointing at his screen to show an imaginary team who’ve gathered round his imaginary desk in an imaginary office. They pretend to stab each other, laughing.
Amy, if you win this, you’ll never have to work again.
Besides, she can’t back out of this session now. She’s signed the contract. She has to spill everything. She has to tell the world about her relationship, even though she’s spent the last two years avoiding the subject, and with the very person she is in a relationship with. Was.
‘Amy Wright, thirty-two, only child, a copywriter.’ Dr Hicks interrupts her thoughts.
‘That’s me,’ says Amy, pinching the skin on the back of her hand.
‘Tell me, Amy, why do you think you’re here today?’
He puts the iPad down on the table and rests his fingers in prayer mode under his chin.
‘Because I’m a … complete dickhead?’ She shrugs her shoulders and fake-laughs. If she doesn’t fake-laugh, she’ll cry, for real.
He raises one eyebrow. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘Well, I’ve wasted two years of my life with the wrong person, and now I have to start all over again.’ She can feel her cheeks heating up.
‘Start what all over again?’
‘I don’t know, trying to find someone to do life with?’ Her stomach cramps when she thinks about how desperate she must sound.
You’re such a loser.
‘And what does that mean to you? Do life?’ he asks.
‘Living together, marriage, kids, holidays, seeing things, having experiences – I don’t know, doing normal stuff that normal people do at my age.’ She sniffs and pinches the bridge of her nose.
Please don’t.
Her eyes glisten and she bites her bottom lip to stop it from shaking.
No no no no no no no.
The silence is pierced by a loud gulp.