using her middle three fingers.
Siobhan, meanwhile, was walking determinedly out of the building. ‘I will prevail,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘I will get back at them. All of them.’
And, earlier than expected, she had found her chance.
At Celebrity X-Treme, she was the producer in charge of following up possible storylines and, boy, was she going to manipulate them. After the names of the contestants had been finalized, and before a frame had been shot, she had taken Paul Martin out to dinner. She had Googled him. Thirty-seven years old. Columnist. Handsome with thick, sandy hair and blue eyes. Single. Rich enough. Obsessed with television and football.
One thing she had discovered during her career was that few men would turn down the offer of free sex from an attractive woman. Within a week, she was manoeuvring him just where she wanted him. ‘Could I call this being in the pole position?’ she asked, as she shimmied into the bedroom where he had been waiting.
She had made one fatal mistake. She had taken off her makeup before emerging from the bathroom. Her deep-set eyes receded, and her translucent skin became blue. Her pale lips looked like a snake’s.
Paul Martin was keen to make his mark on this game show. He wanted to get into television, and that meant staying in the contest as long as was feasibly possible. Preferably, he wanted to win. He knew what Siobhan’s role was, and how useful she could be. And it helped that she was a cracking-looking bird. Until that moment…
Still, if he had to have sex with a woman who, without makeup, looked like a gonk, then so be it. He could have done without the black satin sheets. He hadn’t thought they existed outside the pages of his porn stash. But here they were. It was enough to put you off your stroke. And what was it with the baby-doll nightie and the high-heeled fluffy mules, which were click-clacking on the back of her heels as she sauntered towards him with a sultry smile?
Generally, he went for exotic, dark-haired beauties like Keera Keethley from Hello Britain! who, he felt sure, would never have bought a carpet with flowers etched into it such as the one he was looking at. He took a deep breath. Right, he thought. Here we go. Concentrate. He closed his eyes and threw himself into the breach.
The next-door neighbours looked at each other over their glasses as they sat in bed, reading.
‘The cat’s out again,’ said Mrs Smith, wearily, as the miaowing grew to a crescendo from the other side of the shared wall.
Katie blew gently on her fingers as she listened to the morning briefing. Dog-sledding. Excellent. This was what she had worked towards all her life. The very pineapple of her career, as Mrs Malaprop said in The Rivals. Sheridan. Or Sheraton? No. That was a hotel chain. Concentrate. Concentrate. Which is a strange word when you come to think of it. Because it can mean undiluted orange juice. Why did the man sit looking at the carton of orange juice? Because it said concentrate. Is undiluted concentration a tautology?
Oh, no, she thought, now I’ve missed more. If I wasn’t so tired…It can’t be that difficult. Stand on the ruddy sled. Unhook snow anchor. Foot off snow brake. Collect items en route in return for treats for your team. Hardly rocket science. If my fingers haven’t dropped off from frostbite, that is. That would be vaguely amusing, handing over a trinket and a dead finger. She wondered if it would come away like a scab…a slight sucking noise, and then a bit of a pop?
‘Sorry?’ she said, as the trainer asked her a question.
‘I asked if you were OK. You appear to be sleeping standing up. Did you hear what I said?’
‘Yes, yes,’ she said hurriedly.
‘What was it?’
‘It was…It was…Actually. No. I didn’t hear. Sorry’
‘Right,’ said the trainer. ‘This really is important. I’m not here for my own benefit. I’m trying to make sure that you don’t injure yourselves. Or the dogs. So, to recap for those who have dozed off, make sure you keep your foot on the snow brake when you go downhill so that you don’t catch the dogs’ paws. Keep your feet on the brake when you bend down to release the snow anchor. And always have your snow anchor thus…’ He hooked it over the side of the wooden shopping-trolley-shaped sled ‘…so that you don’t take anybody’s head off if you go careering past them. Not that you should. Because we’ll be docking points for silly, stupid or dangerous riding. In the worst case, we’ll send you home. All the items to be picked up are heavily wrapped with two stiff handles sticking up to make it easier. The enterprise will be timed. But it’s more important that you do this safely. And since it will all be filmed we can even retrospectively ban anyone who has flouted those safety rules. The routes are clearly marked. Team A will follow the blue flags. Team B will follow the red flags. You nominate three members from your team. I’ll give you twenty minutes.’
Katie stamped her feet in her enormous Arctic boots. One of her toes had been dead when it went in and it wasn’t about to kick into life any time soon.
‘One hoof beat for yes, two for no. Good horse,’ said Paul, nodding at her feet as he went past.
‘Are you in my team today?’ she asked. ‘Only I get so confused with this Team A and B stuff. Why can’t we all be on the same team?’
‘They want competition. Frrrriction.’ He rolled the r, and made a suggestive face.
I just want to be voted off and get home so I can read a bit of friction at home in my comfortable bed,’ she replied.
I cannot believe you’re saying that already. It’s two weeks out of your life. Get over yourself. I’m going to nominate you to do the trial. Give you something to think about instead of dreaming of home. Aren’t you enjoying any of it?’
‘My favourite things so far are: the snoring of my female companions every night, the loud guffing coming from your room and the deadly stench coming into ours, the smell of the drop loos and the stalactites of poo in them, the cold, the hat hair–oh, and the pointlessness of most of it.’
‘Well, tell them you’re going home and give them back the money,’ he said caustically.
‘Ay, there’s the rub,’ she said ruefully, tripping over a rock.
‘Mind that rock,’ he said, deadpan.
‘Thanks. It’s because of my dead toe.’
‘Do you want me to give it the kiss of life?’
She barked a laugh. I think it needs more than a kiss.’
I give very good foot.’
‘And that means?’
‘Well, it’s like good head, only with feet.’
‘Saucy,’ she said appreciatively. ‘I hope they’re not tuned into our mikes.’
‘We’ll never know,’ he said, lying.
Siobhan had told him what they’d be looking for, and he knew that he and Katie would be heavily featured.
‘I wonder if they’re watching us at home, or if we’re the final nail in the “celebrity-”–he made quote marks in the air–‘reality-show coffin. Would you watch if you were at home?’
‘I suppose I would if I knew someone in it,’ she said, after thinking for a moment. ‘Or if I saw clips of it somewhere and it looked good. I was hooked on the ice dancing. And the dancing, for that matter. On the other hand, they did go on for ever and ever. I’d grown a beard by the time it was over.’
‘An interesting use of your time. Big beard?’
‘Full Captain Haddock.’
‘Nice.’ He nodded appreciatively as he held open