‘I want tears, bitch-slaps and hair-pulling,’ Sonia replies. ‘That’s good TV. Save the long talks and political debates for Question Time. Yawn!’
The audience cheer and laugh.
Katie looks disgusted. ‘So, you want a show that makes women look like emotional train wrecks?’
‘Bit dramatic,’ intervenes Adam. ‘OK, Katie, if you’re voting to save Amy, who’s on your leave list?’
‘It has to be Flick.’
‘You were all over Flick the other day during glam time!’ Adam cries out.
‘I don’t dislike her, I just don’t understand why she’s here. She’s in a relationship. She doesn’t need to learn how to be in one. She can’t have her cake and eat it.’
The audience burst into cries of ‘Ooooohh’.
Flick sighs. ‘I didn’t force them to put me on here. They phoned me.’
‘OK,’ Adam continues, ‘so you want Flick to go, but who do you think will go tonight?’
‘Hattie, of course,’ she says. ‘Poor kitten hasn’t got a cat’s chance in hell of being saved by these viewers.’
‘All right, all right, all right,’ Adam says, turning back to the camera. ‘We’ve got two-to-one on Hattie leaving the house tonight, but we aren’t quite ready to cut her cord yet, folks. Because we have one last, very special guest, that we’re saving a spot for on the sofa. He knows her better than anyone else …’
‘Oh nooooo!’ Hattie starts fretting. ‘They can’t bring Dylan out, can they?’
‘Babes!’ Gemma replies. ‘He’s long gone, don’t worry.’
‘Welcome to the stage for the second time, our very own Dr Howard Hicks!’
Hattie exhales.
The audience cheer as Dr Hicks does an awkward half walk, half run towards the sofa and lowers himself down, smiling and waving at the audience.
‘So, Doctor Howard,’ Adam asks him in a serious tone, ‘we don’t have much time. What I would like to find out is what you think the emotional impact of this rejection will be on our first loser. How do you think someone like Hattie will handle it?’
‘Well,’ coughs Dr Hicks, ‘don’t forget that Hattie’s exit isn’t a sure thing. The Tracker in the dining room is simply a social media listening tool. It’s an automated system with an algorithm that tracks whether the housemates are being talked about positively or negatively. It’s not always accurate. For example, the system can’t detect sarcasm. If I was to say “Yeah, sure Hattie is going to stay”,’ he says in a dramatically sarcastic voice, ‘then the computer will pick that up as me saying I’m sure Hattie is going to stay. Not the opposite, which is what I mean.’
Adam stares at him blankly and the audience are silent. Someone sneezes.
‘So you think Hattie will get the fewest votes tonight?’ Adam asks.
‘No, that’s not what I was saying at all,’ Dr Hicks responds. ‘I’m saying don’t trust The Tracker. It isn’t that accurate.’
‘OK, gotcha!’ shouts Adam, mouthing Whaaaa? at the audience, who all laugh. ‘So back to my original question: how will the evictee feel?’
‘Well, how would you feel, Adam?’ Dr Hicks asks him.
‘Really embarrassed, to be honest. I’d want to crawl into a hole and die quietly,’ he says, laughing.
‘Well, yes, maybe. The housemate that leaves in the first eviction will feel a mix of emotions. At first, they will feel humiliated that they’ve been rejected. Then they’ll experience a surge of delight as they think about being free to enter the outside world and reunite with their family and friends. Then, when they see the crowds that have gathered outside, they’ll feel a rush of trepidation swiftly followed by excitement as they’re cheered on.’ He smiles. ‘They went in as nobodies and they’re leaving as household names. Their faces will be recognised by thousands around the country. They certainly won’t be able to pop to the shops for a pint of milk in their slippers anymore.’
‘But what if the crowd boos, not cheers?’ asks Adam.
‘Well, I suppose they might boo, yes,’ says Dr Hicks.
‘Oh no, oh no, oh no!’ cries Hattie quietly.
‘People who boo are probably just unhappy,’ Jackie tells her.
‘OK, thank you to all my guests!’ cries Adam, with his finger on his earpiece. ‘I’m being told we’re just thirty seconds away from the big reveal and the final votes are being counted and verified as we speak. Who will the public decide to save? Who will be the first to leave The Shelf after almost a fortnight of making new friends, soul-searching with our star therapist, getting a celebrity makeover and so much more?’
A countdown timer appears on the big screen behind him and he ushers his guests to stand up and hold hands like they’re seeing in the new year.
5 …
4 …
3 …
2 …
1 …
The housemates scream and explosions go off everywhere, with so much glitter filling the screen that they can’t see who has been voted off for several long and painful seconds.
‘Who the fuck is it?’ screams Gemma.
The glitter falls like a curtain.
Kathy.
They clasp their hands to their mouths and Amy shoots her head round to The Tracker. Dr Hicks was right. Hattie is still at the bottom, but Kathy got the fewest votes.
‘I can’t believe it! Kathy!’ gasps Amy, grabbing her hand. ‘No one’s said a bad word about you!’ she says.
‘Kathy, you have five minutes to pack your bags and leave the house.’
The housemates all gather to console Kathy on the sofa, as she rubs her face with her hand.
‘Don’t cry, Kath, just think about it. You’re free!’ Lauren says, grabbing her in a bear hug and squeezing her tight.
After a few seconds in Lauren’s arms, Kathy stands back to reveal a broad smile on her face.
‘I know! I’m delighted to be getting out of here!’ She beams as she stands up from her seat. ‘I knew I’d never win this show at my age, and I never really cared about getting to the end. I just wanted the experience, and to start a new life. And I’ve got all of that in just twelve days!’
‘I’m free!’ she shouts as she walks to the bedroom. When she reappears with her suitcase, she’s grinning. ‘Sure, I won’t be leaving with a million pounds, but ten thousand is enough of a leg-up.’
The housemates say their goodbyes as they watch her roll her suitcase towards the steel front door, with the GO button glowing green for the first time. She turns round as she reaches the exit and waves. And with a slam of the door, Kathy is gone.
Nineteen
‘Zerz beeble nn ze gardol,’ mumbles Hattie by the glass doors.
‘You OK there, Hat?’ Amy replies absent-mindedly from the sofa. She’s engrossed in an argument on The Wall about who’d win in a fight, Gemma or Jackie, and whether women should have six-packs or not. All she can do to defend them is yell at the screen like a screaming banshee. She hasn’t got used to life with no phone. She still reaches into her back pocket when she sits down. She still reaches over to feel for it on her side table every morning. She’s coping better than Gemma, who’s developed a nervous habit of scrolling her palm with her forefinger.