Page 28 of The Twelve Days of Christian
“What causes the most fireworks on these shows?” Haley looks between us as if we should know this like she does, but seeing our blank stares helps us out. “The gossip. Contestants dissing each other. All those secret asides where they’re encouraged to let loose with what they really think. On shows like this, theywantpeople to talk about each other, stir up trouble. They don’t want to rule out their best source of conflict. The magazines are full of it, long after the season ends.”
My brain whirrs, the cogs spinning wildly now. There is another person who knows exactly what went down. One who could talk about what I did and not be sued for doing so.
“Loreena,” I say. “She knows everything.”
But, still stuck on the inside, she can no more talk to the press than I can. And even if I could sneak out of here, there’s no way I can reach Loreena. It would take a paramilitary operation to get back undetected. My practical skills don’t extend to parachuting in behind enemy lines, or stealthy landings on the wild beaches of a remote island. My brief flash of hope is gone as quickly as it came, followed by a new realisation. I sigh.
“Even if I could get a message to her, there’s no way they’d let her reveal my secret on air. They can cut anything they want.”
And yes, I could wait for it all to be over. However, that’s not an option I want to live with—the world thinking I’m a creep for weeks until the whole story is allowed to come out.
“But it’s a start, right?” Haley’s voice is bright. She’s practically bouncing with excitement. I can’t bear to crush her optimism.
“It is.” I force a smile. “We’ll work something out. Thanks Rachel.”
“Anything for Haley,” she says, making it perfectly clear she’s helping me under duress. “Now, how about a glass of wine while you finish dinner?”
I should be more hopeful, sharing some of Haley’s positivity, but while I take care of the rest of the dinner, and the two girls relax and chat, I slowly sink back into my despondent mood. Since last night, the world knows I’m not on that island. It’s even more crucial I lie low. Reporters will be hunting me now. Their questions alone would provoke the wrath of the production company lawyers, whether I choose to answer or not.
I lean on the worktop, head in my hands. Not knowing there’s a lifeline was bad, but knowing there is one dangling out of my reach—somehow it’s worse. And beyond that, there’s a quiet dread, a dark shadow lurking at my shoulder. I have this strange premonition, a twisting in my gut; the bastards atWild For The Winaren’t done with me yet.
Chapter 14
Day Six
Alongside me, Christian’s bodyis coiled as tight as the trigger on one of the damn snares he hates so much. As the theme song forWild For The Winblasts from the TV, the opening credits for Episode 6 rolling across the screen, his mouth thins in a terse line. The moment he sees me looking, it moulds into a curve, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. I pat his knee, and he reaches across and squeezes my hand. We’re partners in this now, him and me.
“You should relax a little,” I say. “Surely the worst is over.”
We faced the footage of his eviction together last night, and now he’s away from those jerks they can’t hurt him anymore.
“I suppose so,” he says. “I’m worried all of it was for nothing. What if, behind the scenes, the cruelty still went ahead?”
“I doubt it,” Rachel says. “They wouldn’t take the risk. Once one person called them out, raised doubts, they wouldn’t have risked another.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” he sighs, his shoulders dropping, a little less on edge from her reassurance.
Christian trusts Rachel, even though it’s obvious she’s not a fan of his. Her help wasn’t the silver bullet we’d hoped for, but itissomething. Loreena Bunt is the key even though for now she’s out of our reach. Over dinner, Christian praised Rachel to the point where she told him to shut up. But I know my friend has a big ego—she’s quietly pleased she found a way forward, and secretly loved his every grateful word.
“I still feel bad about Loreena.” He frowns as she appears on the screen, poking at a small fire with a stick, and giving the steaming billy can sitting on a frame above it a stir. “I totally fucked up her chances.”
“Maybe not. I think Loreena can take care of herself.” Rachel has a distinct hint of admiration in her voice.
“Yeah, I suppose she can, can’t she?” He chuckles a little at the thought. This time, a genuine, undiluted smile lights Christian’s face.
I smile too, realising my less-than-charitable opinion of Loreena—and now I’ll admit it, the unexpected stab of jealousy I felt back on the night when they partnered up—has evaporated. Seeing her through Christian’s eyes is part of the lesson he’s taught me about myself. In the past, I’ve been as bad as the rest of them out there; quick to judge, forming opinions based on flimsy superficial evidence, believing the crap the media spins. But I’m determined tonot be that person anymore. I want to be a better person, for myself; and for him.
“She’s an inspiration,” Rachel says, as they continue to focus on Loreena. She’s gamely shoring up the tent, even though the rain pours down. One of the other contestants gives her some shit, and she flips him a middle finger. “I love the way she doesn’t care what anyone thinks.”
We sit and watch in silence. There are fireworks between some of the other pairs. It seems it’s not all warm and cosy inside those tents. The pressure is showing as they bicker and snipe. Hunger is taking its toll as some turn their noses up at their wild food concoctions. I can’t say I blame them. They look disgusting.
One of the guys—who I’m sure I last saw as a naked contestant on one of those horrible dating programmes—steps behind a large tree and the cameras follow. He’s certainly bundled up in plenty of clothes now, with a faint dusting of snow on the ground. He slides his hand deep into a jacket pocket, producing a silver flask. Toasting the viewers with a secretive “Slainté”, he slugs back the illicit alcohol.
“Ooh, whisky,” I say, remembering its pleasant warmth sliding down my throat last night. It was surprisingly good, at least to me, a whisky rookie. “Anyone want one?” I offer.
“Nah, I’m driving,” Rachel says. “Plus, after four days in Scotland with my family, I think I need a break from whisky.”
“Better not,” Christian says. “Ollie’s already going to be pissed about us drinking half a bottle last night.”
