Chapter 5

BACK IN THEicebox chill of our little cabin, the motion of the ship was somehow even more noticeable.

“That was fucking weird,” I said to Nico, who was hunched on his bunk with his phone, evidently making the most of his final hours plugged in.

“What was weird? Taking our phones? It’s a dick move, but I just did a search on the contract and it looks like Camille was right, it was in there. Ari obviously didn’t think to flag it up.”

“Not that,” I said, ignoring the question of Ari, though the fact that he hadn’t thought it worthwhile mentioning that we’d be cut off from humanity for potentially ten weeks, made me wonder what else he hadn’t brought up. “The whole thing with Baz and Conor. Didn’t you think it was strange?”

“What whole thing?” Nico looked up from the screen for the first time, frowning.

“Did you really not think something was off between them? It was like they knew each other.”

“So, maybe they do? Entertainment’s a pretty small world. Look, sorry, I have to call Mum. If I’m going to be off radar for ten weeks—”

The boat went over another wave, and I nodded hastily.

“Of course. Look, you call her, I’m going to head up and turn in my devices.”

“Don’t you want to call anyone?”

I shrugged. I’d already told Professor Bianchi and my parents that I’d be gone for two weeks, and I had absolutely no intention of staying longer than that.

“I’ve already set my out of office. I’ve sent Mum a WhatsApp saying I’ll be out of range and to call that number Camille gave if anything comes up, but I think they can cope.” I looked at my phone. “Besides, it’s seven p.m. there. She and Dad will be out at bridge.”

Nico nodded, and I picked up my laptop and made my way back up the stairs to the outdoor area where we’d had the drinks.

When I got there, I found I wasn’t the only person handing in their tech. Joel was in front of me, going through an impressive list of devices with Camille: his laptop, Romi’s iPad, her phone, his smartwatch…

It was clear they were going to be some time, so rather than hover over them, I picked up a copy of the one of the information brochures lying on the table and took it around the corner of the deck to a shady lounge chair, with the aim of trying to fix the names and descriptions of the other contestants more firmly in my memory.

The first couple listed was Conor (31) and Zana (22), and the age gap made me do a double take. Was it weird that a thirty-one-year-old was dating a twenty-two-year-old? Not that much weirder than my four-year age gap with Nico, I guessed. Conor (whose bio said he was a “YouTuber and NFT trader”) was grinning in his headshot, his cheeks crinkled in a wide, infectious smile that had me smiling back, almost in spite of myself. Zana, on the other hand, stared seriously out from under narrow, straight brows and described herself as a part-time model, which wasn’t hard to believe. She didn’t say what she did with the other part of her time.

Then there was the couple who had spoken first at the round circle—Bayer (28) and Angel (28). Bayer described himself as “a fitness instructor from North London,” Angel as a “Pilates coach and influencer—not necessarily in that order,” whatever that meant. Maybe she influenced people to do Pilates.

The next couple listed was Dan (25) and Santana (25). Dan’s picture showed him laughing and topless, flexing for the camera in a way that looked a tiny bit narcissistic for my taste. His bio described him as a “swimsuit model.” Santana was finger-combing her strawberry blonde hair, and her bio said that that she was a “champagne socialite.” Another term that left me at sea. Was socialite a typo for socialist? Or was it her idea of a joke? Perhaps it was a fancy way of saying she was unemployed—though she didn’t look it. In person she’d had the glowing, glossy look of someone with a lot of money.

Then there was Joel (33, “a teacher from south London,” and the only contestant older than me) and Romi (31, “beauty influencer”). Their headshots reinforced the impression I’d had at the meeting of an oddly mismatched couple. Joel grinned shyly at the camera through thick blocky glasses that gave him an endearingly geeky look. He was handsome, in a kind of nerdcore way, but he looked like he’d be totally at home in one of the labs I worked in—a sharp contrast to Romi, who was made up to the nines with thick foundation, platinum hair, and lashes I was sure couldn’t possibly be real. I tried to imagine her pipetting a tray of samples and failed—there was no way you’d be able to fit a pair of nitrile gloves over those nails, for a start.

Finally, I got to me and Nico. Nico (28, “actor and presenter”) and Lyla (32, “doctor”).

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I said aloud.

“Sorry… did I…?”

I looked up. Joel had come around the corner of the deck and was standing, looking a little anxious, at the foot of my lounger.

“Sorry, sorry, not you. I was just—I was reading the information pack and they’ve got my job wrong. I’m not a doctor—I mean, I am a doctor, I suppose, but not in the medical sense—I’m a PhD. I work on viruses. I bloody hope no one’s going to expect me to do a tracheotomy while we’re here.”

Joel laughed.

“Join the club. They’ve got me down as a teacher—I’m actually a lecturer in journalism at St. Clements. I already told them once, when they sent the pack around the first time, but clearly they didn’t bother correcting it.”

“A lecturer?” I sat up and pushed my sunglasses up my nose. “No way! I thought I recognized a fellow academic. How do you find St. Clements?”

“Honestly? Bloody shit. I don’t know about science, but my side it’s all zero hours contracts and no job security. I imagine research is probably a bit better?”

I snorted.

“I wish. Well, I mean to be fair, it’s not zero hours, but it’s all short-term contracts so you’re always budgeting from one twenty-four-month post-doc to another.”

“Tell me about it,” Joel said ruefully. Then he laughed, and for a moment we just sat there, or rather I sat and he stood, grinning at each other like idiots, savoring this weird moment of camaraderie in the middle of the Indian Ocean. It was Joel who broke the moment. “So… what brings a virologist on a reality TV show? Hoping to invest your prize money in cutting-edge Covid research?”

I laughed.

“I’m nothing as fashionable as Covid. I’m working on chikungunya at the moment.” When Joel looked politely blank, I added, “It’s a mosquito-borne disease, a bit like malaria, but not quite as deadly. There’s no cure and no treatment. It’s classed as a neglected tropical disease by the WHO, which basically means there’s also no funding. Anyway, as you can probably guess, I’m here for my boyfriend. He’s the one with the hopes of breaking out. It’s a weird format, isn’t it—I get the impression that’s how a fair number of us ended up here, dragged along by our more extroverted half.”

“Guilty,” Joel said, placing a hand on his chest and smiling again. He really had the most endearing smile. It crinkled his eyes at the corners and changed his rather solemn expression completely. “As you may have guessed, I was not the one who applied to go on this show. Romi—that’s my girlfriend—she’s the one with the dreams of the big time. If I’m honest though…” He paused, and then stopped.

“What?”

“Well… look, I’m conscious this probably sounds a bit snobbish, and I don’t mean it to be, but I watch a lot of these shows with Romi—she’s kind of a reality TV addict, Real TV’s ideal subscriber—and there’s a real type. They’re all influencers and YouTubers and so on. They’re only on it to make it big. I think it’s what made shows like Traitors so compelling, because it was the kind of people you’d never get on Love Island or Selling Sunset. Just normal, regular people. And I think at the end of the day, that’s what people want. Yes, they want the Real Housewives and the X Factors, but they also want normal people being normal—a bit like how Big Brother was when it first started, before people realized it could be a passport to fame. I think that’s why they’ve gone with this format. It’s quite canny actually.”

“Huh.” It was the first time I’d heard anyone offer a good explanation for what had seemed to me, ever since Nico explained it, a very strange setup—and Joel’s theory made sense. It also explained why Baz had been so excited about my authenticity. It was code for exactly what Joel was talking about—the fact that I was a million miles from your usual reality TV contestant. “You could be right.”

“And I guess there’s something pretty compelling about watching real couples being torn apart in front of your eyes,” Joel said, and now he wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked, if anything, a little resigned.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, shows like The Bachelor and Love Island, yes, they’re all hooking up, but it’s mostly strategic, they’ve only known each other for a few days. There’s no real emotional connection there. Whereas this show, if they succeed in breaking one of the couples up… yes, it’s going to be a lot harder to do that, but if they manage, it’s going to be car crash TV. A real long-term relationship ripping apart on-screen.”

“God.” A shiver ran through me now, realizing he was right. “Do you really think that’s what they’re going for?”

Joel shrugged.

“Honestly? I have no idea. But I don’t imagine they’d be upset if it happens. And for the entertainers, the stakes are pretty high. If someone starts to feel their partner’s weighing them down—” He stopped, raised one eyebrow. I felt a sickness that had nothing to do with the motion of the waves.

“Nico and I have a pact,” I said slowly. “I can’t take more than two weeks off work. I’m going to try to flunk one of the first few tasks, get eliminated. He’s going to try to make a strategic alliance with one of the other singletons. But we agreed it—I can’t see him really betraying me.”

Joel smiled again, but this time his smile was different, still sympathetic, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m sure you’re right,” he said.

“Setting up alliances already?” said a voice from behind Joel, and we both turned to see Conor standing there, arms folded. He was wearing swim shorts, and although he was smiling, I found it hard to keep my eyes on his face. Instead they kept straying to his torso, which was (a) impressively ripped, and (b) extensively tattooed, with what looked like two huge eagle wings spread across his abs.

Joel had evidently noticed the same thing, because he turned and said admiringly, “Nice ink, man.”

“Thanks,” Conor said. “You’re Joel, right?”

“That’s right. I know who you are of course.”

“Yeah?” Conor looked disarmed and a little flattered. “You a fan?”

“Um…” To my surprise, Joel looked a little awkward. “I mean… it’s more a professional interest I guess. I’m a lecturer in media. My girlfriend’s a YouTuber though—Romi Ellison?”

He offered the name up as if Conor might have heard of her, but Conor only nodded encouragingly without any sign of recognition.

“Always pleased to hear about female fans,” he said. “My audience has a rep for being very male, but I get a lot of correspondence from women.”

“The NFT stuff was news to me,” Joel said with a laugh. I had the slight, puzzling impression he was trying to change the subject, though I couldn’t say why.

Conor rolled his eyes.

“It was news to me too. I made one video about buying bitcoin, and they’ve obviously extrapolated out from there to make out I’m some kind of tech kingpin. I think they’ve decided I’m their key to drawing in the NFT bros. Either that or they’re trying to set me up as the douchebag. Every show needs a villain, right?”

The remark took me aback, but now he said it, I realized he was right. Every reality TV show did have a villain. Who was it going to be?

“I think you’ve got other qualities, mate,” Joel was saying, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Other qualities…?” Conor said. Joel jerked a thumb towards his bare torso, and he laughed, a little sheepishly.

“In my defense, I was sunbathing. I’m not planning on walking around topless for the whole series.”

“I think the production team’ll be confiscating your shirts now you’ve shown them the goods,” Joel said dryly.

Conor laughed properly at that, throwing back his head, and I decided I liked him. He wasn’t what I’d expected somehow. I don’t know why, but I’m always a little suspicious of extremely good-looking people. If they know it, it usually comes over as preening. If they seem like they don’t know it, I don’t believe them. No one can go through life being a ten to most people’s five or six and be unaware of the fact. Conor seemed like the right combination of self-aware about his looks, but not dickish about it. And he seemed articulate too, which should maybe have been less of a surprise. I didn’t really follow YouTubers, but I knew enough to figure out that it was hard to build up a successful following without having something interesting to say, and a fair amount of personal charm alongside.

“Sorry,” I said now, standing up and smiling at Conor, “I feel I should know this, but I don’t watch a lot of YouTube. What’s your channel about?”

Conor shrugged.

“Politics… current affairs… general chat. I guess it’s kind of like a talk show, except mostly I’m the only guest. I just talk about what I think people will be concerned about. Anything that’s current. I have other people on sometimes.”

“And you do all right?”

Joel laughed at that.

“You could say that. He’s got ten million subscribers—”

“I’m sorry, what?” I broke in, too surprised for politeness. “Did you say ten million subscribers?”

Conor grinned a little sheepishly.

“I think it’s about 10.4 now, but yeah, something in that region. And another five or so on TikTok.”

“What the fuck are you doing on this show, then?” I blurted out, and Joel laughed. Conor smiled.

“I guess… one, the production company came to me, and I was flattered. And Zana was keen. Two, if I’m being completely honest—” He stopped, and for a moment there was something surprisingly vulnerable in his expression. “I want what everyone wants: credibility. YouTube’s great, but there’s still a snobbishness there from mainstream media.”

“And you think this could send you mainstream?” Joel asked, a little skeptically. Conor shrugged again.

“Maybe, maybe not. At the end of the day, it’s win-win for me. Worst-case scenario, nothing happens and I’m back to my regular subscribers. Best-case scenario, the show really breaks out and I get a talk show.”

I nodded slowly. His logic made sense.

“What about you, then?” he asked. “What brings you to the island?”

“Oh, we’re just along for the ride.” I indicated Joel. “We’re both academics. It was our partners who wanted to come.”

“That’s right.” Conor looked like he was remembering something, “You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”

I groaned.

“No, I’m fucking not. I’ve got a PhD in virology, but I’m not a medical doctor. So please don’t be expecting me to fix any broken legs while we’re out there.”

“Gotcha,” Conor said. He grinned again, his teeth very white in the bright sunlight. “No broken legs.”

“Joel!” The voice was sharp, and we all turned our heads to see Romi stalking along the deck. She had changed into the world’s smallest white crochet bikini, a huge sunhat that was threatening to blow away in the stiff breeze, and teetering platform sandals that didn’t look like the best idea as the ship pitched and rolled. “Joel, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. You said you’d meet me at the hot tub.”

“I didn’t,” Joel said mildly, but with a touch of testiness in his voice. “You said you were going to the hot tub.”

“Well, whatever, I’ve been waiting for you for hours. I couldn’t even text you.”

I suppressed a smile at that. Joel had handed in his devices not ten minutes before, so it was hard to take her complaints too seriously. I tried to break the tension with a laugh.

“I guess we’ve got to get used to that, haven’t we?”

“Got to get used to what?” It was Nico, strolling along the deck wearing a pair of swimming shorts and a towel slung over his shoulder.

“Being without our phones,” I said, but Romi had already turned to Nico and was speaking over the top of me.

“Hey, you’re Nico, right? Did I see you on Holby City?”

It was the right question, and Nico instantly turned the full beam of his charming smile on Romi and regaled her with the details of his acting CV, while she gazed up at him, batting her lashes in a way that was frankly a little OTT. I wasn’t bothered—I could tell she was only doing it to punish Joel for chatting to me instead of meeting her at the hot tub—but it was a puzzling contrast to her hostility to Joel.

“Shall we talk about this at the hot tub?” she was asking. “I’d love to hear how you got into acting.”

“Of course,” Nico said earnestly. “Lyla, are you coming?”

I smiled and shook my head.

“Thanks, but I can’t think of anything worse in this heat.”

“Guys?” Nico turned to Conor and Joel.

“Maybe later; I need to find Zana,” Conor said. Nico nodded, and then he and Romi made their way up the deck. As they rounded the corner, I saw Romi put her hand on his arm, and then throw back her head and laugh at something he’d said.

“You’ve got a live one there, mate,” Conor said dryly, and Joel sighed.

“She’s pissed off at me. I’m not sure why. This whole Perfect Couple thing was her idea—but somehow nothing I do is right anymore. I don’t earn enough, I don’t compliment her enough, I don’t support her career enough… I don’t know what she wants anymore. I’m kind of worried—”

He stopped, seeming to think better of what he’d been about to say.

“Go on,” Conor said. His voice was… curious. Sympathetic. Joel looked down at the ground.

“I guess… it’s like… you know these things have a formula? All these preset types they’re casting for.”

I didn’t, but I nodded.

“And in terms of the blokes, there’s always the alpha males, the ones who’re duking it out for the prize, the joker, the jock, and you know, the cuck. The nice guy who’s there to be humiliated.” He swallowed. “I guess… I guess I’m just wondering which one is me.”

“Hey,” Conor said awkwardly, and I tried to think how to fill the silence. I couldn’t comment on how right he was about reality TV shows, because I hadn’t watched enough to have an opinion. But I couldn’t help thinking that in an American high school movie, Joel would have been cast as the geek. The guy who got his lunch tray smashed in his face. And that probably wasn’t a very fun part to play.

“Look,” I said at last, “the whole point about this, Baz’s entire pitch to me and Nico, was about how this show isn’t like all the others. It’s supposed to be breaking down all that bullshit.”

“Yeah,” Joel said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “I’m sure you’re right. Well… I’m going to go and get some food. See you later?”

“I’d better head too,” Conor said. He was looking at Joel and his face was… I couldn’t pin it down. Not concerned exactly. Thoughtful. “Zana’s waiting for me. Nice to meet you both. And, seriously Joel, mate, don’t worry. I think you’re overthinking this. She’s probably just tired and jet-lagged—we all are.”

“Yeah,” Joel said. He gave a smile that tried for some of Conor’s confidence and didn’t quite get there. “You’re probably right. Nice to meet you, Lyla.”

“Nice to meet you,” I echoed, and the two of them turned and walked away in opposite directions, leaving me holding my phone, and wondering.