Page 66 of Taking the Heat

Back in the makeup chair, my blonde strands were wound into a tight bun. Tonight’s outfit was laid out on the bed, white skinny jeans and an aqua swing top, sheer with shiny beading over the boobs. Matching aqua wedges gave me height without stealing my balance and I strode out confidently on the wooden walkway, ready to take on the night.

In the bungalow, I was greeted by my friends, everyone concerned for me after yesterday. Multiple death threats were issued for Dante, who slunk in late and eyed me darkly from the back corner, but flanked by Chris and Clara, I felt invincible.

We hoed into dinner, feasting on whole lobsters and creamy sauce, bantering happily between our tables. Megs and Callum were laughing at something Lars said, while Toshi and Beau intensely discussed something, their brows low and serious. Henry was on his feet, demonstrating a waltz step to Jen as she clapped at his efforts. Clara entertained Nik and the threesome with a raucous tale of the time she broke in backstage at a Miley Cyrus concert and Chris only had eyes for me, listening avidly as I described one of my most trying hotel shifts, where I had to round up a team of drunken naked footballers and send them back to their rooms.

Looking around the room, I realised that we have all become a family. A weird, incestuous family, maybe, but I love these people. We are all connected by this bizarre experience and our relationships will continue long after the cameras stop rolling.

When Miles cleared his throat, boos echoed around the room and someone threw a shoe at him.

‘Now, now, Clara! That’s not very nice!’

‘The other one is on its fucking way,’ she warned.

‘Goodness! Contestants, I’m feeling quite hurt! After all, the secrets I bring tonight might be just what you need to hear.’

Chris huffed. ‘I doubt it, mate.’

‘Well, let’s just see, shall we?’ Miles straightened his yellow bowtie, growing more confident as the screen behind him glowed to life. ‘We all know Meghan has a very hard choice before her; after all, who could decide between two such worthy princes?’

Megs stiffened, while Nik and Callum on either side of her shot each other nervous glances.

‘One of you hasn’t been honest. Have you … Callum?’ The TV flashed up a mug-shot photo of a very young Callum, his face blackened and angry. ‘You were arrested at fifteen, were you not?’

Meghan spoke up, her voice clear and proud. ‘Do you think I’d care about Callum being arrested? Look at him! He was a kid. We all make mistakes.’

‘Don’t speak too soon, my lass. You might be interested in the date of his arrest. It was the seventh of February, 2004. Ring any bells?’

‘The night my house burned down.’ Megs spoke immediately, as if the date was branded on her memory.

‘Meghan, I can explain,’ Callum tried to explain desperately. ‘I was homeless and hungry and off my face, love. I recognised our old street, and I lost it. I meant to burn down my old place, not yours.’

‘My pa nearly died that night,’ she whispered, horrified. ‘My arm was burned, my sister lost half her hair.’

‘I’m so sorry, love—’

‘Everything we owned went up in smoke. We lost it all. We had to move away and my parents never recovered.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Callum’s eyes were tragic. ‘Because I thought you’d hate me.’

‘You were right,’ she said, standing. ‘Get out of my sight.’

‘Meghan, please—’

‘Goodbye, Callum.’

She stared him down, and he rose, his shoulders slumped, tears rolling freely down his ruddy cheeks. As he reached the stairs, he turned and spoke her words back to her, ‘We all make mistakes, love.’ Then he was gone.

The room was silent, the kind of post-event quiet you experience when the music gets switched off after the cops pull you over for something. Meghan sat, her face unreadable.

Miles’ next revelation about the Jordanian princess actually being broke was lame in comparison. The night ended and we all drifted out of the bungalow. I tried to grab Megs to see if she was okay, but she vanished.

Chris was being held behind for a meeting to discuss his next date plans, so Clara walked me home.

‘I don’t fucking believe it! Teenage arson, date rape, royalty and hookers; this place is a fucking psych ward!’

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