The group tries to process the ‘he said, she said’ saga.
Kathy breaks the silence. ‘So, did you post it?’
‘Yeah, I had to, I was being paid, wasn’t I? I captioned that red lippie gets me in the mood for some red-hot lovin’. Then in the middle of the night we made up.’ She laughs and joke-winks.
‘So you weren’t prepared to compromise at all on what you were doing, despite the fact that it was upsetting him?’ HuJo asks. ‘Is that a lesson you’d like to teach little Bel when she’s older?’
‘Look, I know I spend a lot of time on my phone,’ Gemma continues. ‘But I have to – it’s what pays the bills. I’d never tell him not to go into work every day. And my job isn’t exactly a nine-to-five, is it? Instagram doesn’t work like that. He can come crying to me when he stops enjoying his free trainers.’
Amy sees both sides of their argument, to be fair. Jamie had been spending much more time on his phone recently. It wasn’t just leaving it face up on the table at dinner – it was during sex, too. He never used to do that. ‘Just in case so-and-so calls,’ he’d say. ‘I need to show I’m always available.’ But why would so-and-so call at 9 p.m. on a Sunday?
When HuJo lands on Amy, she talks about the time Jamie accepted an invite to one of Jane’s dinner parties and then at the last minute refused to go, saying that he had work to do. Amy had to go alone, again, surrounded by couples, and then cover for him, again. When she called him on her way back, he didn’t pick up. She tried a second time, still nothing. And then he called her, drunk, from a nightclub at 1 a.m. She didn’t say a word on the phone as he told her he was networking, and then sent him a single message telling him he was selfish. He didn’t reply. Ever. And when there was still no reply the next evening, despite two blue ticks, she began to get worried he’d fallen into a ditch or been stabbed. So she called him, and he picked up like nothing had happened. All he mumbled on about was how ill he was.
‘Then somehow he managed to charm me into bringing him a Whole Foods takeaway, a Pret green juice and some paracetamol. I’m such a sucker. And we never talked about the text I sent.’
‘OK, so that’s like a major under-reaction, isn’t it?’ says Gemma. ‘I’d have stormed over first thing in the morning and made his headache much worse.’ Gemma turns to HuJo, who’s keeping quiet.
‘Well, I just thought that would make me look needy,’ Amy replies. ‘I didn’t want him to think I cared that much.’
‘And that’s what keeping C-A-L-M is all about. I think your reaction was suitable for the circumstances you describe. You made your feelings known with the text message and you let it go. And you even did something nice for him the next day, which makes you the bigger person.’
‘Or the doormat!’ says Jackie. ‘No offence, love. But your reaction gave him an open invitation to do it again and again.’
‘Jamie should have thanked his lucky stars to have a girlfriend like you, and not me,’ adds Gemma.
‘Amy, how long did you stay together after that?’ HuJo asks.
‘Eighteen months.’
‘Exactly.’
Jackie mouths what the actual fuck? to the rest of the group.
At the end of the session, which seems to reach no agreed conclusions, HuJo distributes some C-A-L-M bracelets around the circle.
‘Remember, girls, if you find yourself in a situation where you’re feeling emotional, just glance down at your bracelets and remember not to overreact.’ He looks at them. ‘And don’t forget – we’re watching you. Maybe the calmer you are, the more points you could win on the show.’
No one responds. No one puts their bracelet on. And after a few proseccos that night, to celebrate being back to a baby-free house, the mantra is rewritten by a hiccuping Jackie.
Consider your wants.
Answer to nobody.
Love yourself.
Meet your needs before others’.
The housemates are having an early supper of chicken, green salad with no dressing and a side of cauliflower rice. ‘It’s Keto!’ Gemma explains as she presents her speciality dish at the dining room table.
‘Is it me,’ Jackie whispers to Amy, out of everyone’s earshot, ‘or does this cauliflower rice taste like the inside of a shoe?’ They laugh, then hush as Gemma comes back, looking delighted with her efforts.
‘Does anyone else miss the babies?’ Hattie asks.
‘NO,’ the rest of them chorus in reply.
Doooong.
The women look at each other, frowning.
‘Fingers crossed for pizza delivery!’ Jackie shouts, as she gets up and walks towards the corridor.
‘Oi!’ shouts Gemma.
Jackie laughs as she throws open the door, the other contestants watching from the dining room table.
A petite woman with glossy blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders steps into the corridor and stretches out her arm.
‘Hello, Jackie. I’m Flick. Contestant number seven.’
WEEK TWO
Thirteen
Felicity Brimble, Flick for short, has glowing skin, shiny blonde blow-dried hair, sparkling eyes and a waist the size of Amy’s left thigh. It’s only 8.30 a.m. and she looks like a perfectly manicured miniature supermodel in a long-sleeved little black dress and nude heels, with a touch of blusher, a suggestion of mascara and a dab of lip gloss.
Flick’s arrival last night was strangely uneventful. It felt like she was delighted to be here. There was no drama, no tears. She briefly introduced herself, unpacked her immaculately folded clothes, showered and went to bed wearing a face mask. While the housemates agreed it was odd, they all felt relieved. They were finally baby-free and looking forward to savouring an early night of uninterrupted sleep.
This morning, Flick trots across the living room and lowers herself at a sideways angle onto the sofa, crossing her legs tightly. Amy notices she doesn’t have a single patch of cellulite, and subtly moves a pillow over her own thighs.
‘I can’t believe I’ve missed out on over a whole week here!’ Flick says, swishing her hair over her shoulders and smiling to reveal celebrity-white teeth.
‘Uh-huh.’ Jackie laughs as she leans over the back of the sofa. ‘You do realise you’re on The Shelf, right? The world’s worst TV show? I’d say it’s a blessing you missed the first week.’
‘What? I love it!’ Flick smiles. ‘I’ve been watching you girls all day, every day since it started.’
‘I can’t believe you’re thirty-four,’ says Kathy. ‘You don’t look a day over twenty-one!’
Flick blushes a soft peach colour. ‘Gosh, I don’t think so, Kathy, but thank you.’
‘Do you do your own make-up, babes?’ Gemma asks, leaning in to her face. ‘How do you get your eyebrows so neat? What’s your trick?’
‘Hours of practice, lovely. I’m a bit of a perfectionist,’ Flick whispers back, like she’s pretending to think it’s a flaw.
Amy is finding it hard not to stare at her. She’s slightly star-struck, but she’s also suspicious. Flick was dumped less than twelve hours ago. In public. Where’s the crimson face and snotty tears? So far, the only thing to spring from Flick’s eyes is a look of shock when Lauren burped loudly in the kitchen earlier.