‘What’s all this?’ Amy smiles tensely, like Chandler Bing in a photograph. There’s a knot in her stomach.
Jamie smiles back, as he motions for her to turn around. He slowly places the blindfold over her eyes, and the outside world is shut off.
‘How am I supposed to walk through the airport with this on?’
‘Amy, we aren’t going to an airport.’
‘OK … Soho Farmhouse? Lime Wood?’
‘Nope, not a spa either. Mate, can we turn the music on?’
The driver obliges and Classic FM fills the limo. As she leans back into the seat, Jamie places his hand on hers, squeezing it a little too hard, like he’s trying to tell her something he can’t bring himself to say. Not an airport, not a spa. She suddenly has a horrible thought and shoots up out of the seat.
‘Jamie,’ she whispers, ‘are we … going to an orgy?’
‘What? No. Just wait, we aren’t far.’
‘OK. Sorry, I’m just excited!’ she whispers. She doesn’t want him to call her ungrateful again.
Amy hears the car indicate as it moves to the side and slows to a halt.
‘We’re here.’ Jamie sighs as he wriggles out of her grip and opens the door.
Amy hears a muffled conversation outside before the door opens and she feels Jamie take her hands. He guides her slowly out of the limo and walks her through what sounds like an electric gate.
‘OK, Ames, there’s a ramp coming up, we’re going to be walking down it.’
His voice isn’t as calm anymore. He sounds shaky. Amy wonders why he’d be taking her into a basement and not through a front door. Then she realises what’s happening.
It’s all so obvious now. He’s organised a surprise party, and he’s going to ask her in front of her friends and family. Hold on. She knows exactly what this is. It’s a bloody flash mob. Jamie’s obsessed. A few months ago, he interrupted her pouring her heart out about a problem at work to show her a flash mob proposal at Waterloo.
‘God, I’d run for the hills if someone did that to me,’ she replied, irritated that he’d changed the subject. ‘Talk about a giant red flag. He doesn’t want her having any of the attention.’
‘So what? He’s still asking her – isn’t that enough for you lot? I don’t think you’d complain if you got a million views at the same time.’
‘Jamie, I’d rather you asked me on the loo than for the likes.’
‘Steady on, Piglet.’
And that’s how every conversation around marriage has ended.
‘There’s a door coming up, I’m going to hold it open for you,’ he says, placing his hand on her lower back. She feels a draught in front of her as he guides her into what feels like a wide-open space. It’s completely silent, and her laugh echoes through the air.
‘Jamie, I feel like I’m in a prison – are you locking me up?’ She laughs, in an attempt to disguise her growing unease.
The door slams shut behind her, echoing through the air.
‘Jamie?’
‘I’m here.’
She feels his breath on her cheek as he gently unties her blindfold. And, as he slowly removes it, he gives her a kiss on the forehead and takes both of her hands in his. The light comes flooding in and she sees his eyes staring deeply into hers.
Nervous, she looks up and sees a stark white ceiling with strip lights. She doesn’t know where she is or why this place means anything. Turning her head, she sees a huge open-plan living area painted a thousand shades of pink, with a pink velvet sofa and a dining room table big enough for twelve. A surprise party, staycation and proposal all rolled into one isn’t Jamie’s style at all.
A mechanical whir sounds from a corner of the ceiling. She looks up and sees a small camera with a red light pointed in her direction.
‘Jamie, where are we?’ she says, still trying to smile. ‘Why are you filming us? What is this place?’
He takes her face in his hands and leans in to whisper in her ear. ‘Goodbye, Piglet. Good luck.’
With that, he turns and walks out of a large steel door at the end of a corridor. After it slams shut, Amy hears an ice-cold voice ring through the air.
‘Hello, Amy. You’ve been left on The Shelf.’
WEEK ONE
Three
Amy spins around wide-eyed, but there’s no one there. It’s just the ceiling camera, which is still pointing at her. With her eyes locked on the lens, she takes a few steps to the left. It whirs as it follows her, its red light flashing.
‘Jamie?’ she says slowly through a locked smile. ‘What’s the shelf? Where are we?’
She walks over to the door Jamie left through and takes the handle. Trying her best to appear calm, she pushes and pulls, but it’s locked tight. Next to the door are two large buttons, which read STAY and GO. She presses GO, gently at first, then harder and faster with each try until she breaks a nail. Yelping with pain and squinting at the damage, Amy feels a wave of fear flow through her stomach and she starts pounding loudly on the steel with a tightly closed fist.
‘Jamie?’ she shouts through the door.
The sound of her banging rings through the air until it’s cut off by another whir, this time much closer. Amy stops her fist in mid-air and draws her eyes upward to see a second camera above the door. She lowers her head and her short breaths mist up the metal in front of her.
‘Jamie, please,’ she says quietly. ‘This isn’t funny.’
Like second nature, she reaches into her back pocket to locate her phone. It’s empty. She forgot in the panic that he took it from her. Why, though?
Amy turns her back to the door and shields her face from the voyeurs above, studying her surroundings through her fingers. The corridor in front of her has bright white walls and pink vinyl floors ending in wide steps. On the left is the living room and on the right is the dining room. Next to that is a large white marble kitchen area complete with an island and stools. The surfaces are bare. As she walks away from the steel door, she feels a lump forming in her throat. This is the worst proposal she could ever have imagined.
Amy peers around the corner into the living room before turning her eyes to the corridor camera. She keeps watching the lens as she quickly darts left and then jumps right, before running into the living room and ducking behind the sofa. Leaning her head against the velvet, she closes her eyes and lets out a huge sigh. This must be a surprise party, she thinks. I just need to pull myself together and be patient.
Whir. Beep.
Amy opens one eye and finds her face a few inches away from a camera on wheels. This one’s attached to a long neck spouting out of what looks like a Roomba vacuum.
Krrrrr … click.
Has it just taken a picture of her?
‘Jamie! Stop it!’ she shouts, as she shoves it away with her foot.
Amy stands up, dusts herself off and walks around the U-shaped sofa, her nails scratching the pink velvet as she does. She slumps onto the gold and silver cushions and stares at the cinema-size TV screen, which takes up half the wall. In front of her is a glass coffee table, with no remote and no instructions as to what she’s supposed to do next. She stares at the TV, hoping it will turn on any second to show her family and friends shouting ‘Surprise!’ Perhaps there’s been a technical hitch, or someone’s late to the reveal.