The Hating Game (29 page)

‘
No! There’s something wrong!’ Giovanni got up off his stool. ‘It shouldda have been
me
!’ He swung his cowboy-booted foot back and kicked the flimsy metal chair, sending it flying off-stage and into the crowd. Two burly security men grabbed him and dragged him into the wings as he accused the production team of a ‘stitchha up’.

‘
Adam, come o
n over.’ Seamus waved his arm.

Adam got off his stool, his muscles looking even more defined underneath his fitted white shirt. He was grinning but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He put his hand on Mattie’s
shoulder and squeezed. ‘I can’t wait to spend those two weeks alone with you, to get to know you better. To see if we can rekindle what we had all those years ago.’

‘
Um, yeah,’ Mattie said
, trying to ignore the fact that his hand felt like a pincer. Was he for real? Rekindle
what
? Him pasting her head on a Page Three model like he’d done back in secondary school? That was about as close as they’d got to a relationship.

Seamus
turned to the camera and smiled. ‘Tune in tomorrow at eight when we’ll reveal the secret location of the next two weeks and see if Mattie and Adam can heal past rifts on . . .’

‘
The Hating Game
!’ the audience roared.

‘
And we’re out! Good show, everyone,’ the floor manager yelled.

Ad
am gave her shoulder another squeeze. ‘So I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said, still staring into her eyes. Mattie repressed a shudder.

‘
Yup, see you then!’ she said flippantly. She watched Adam walk off the stage, then turned slowly towards the men’s stools. Knowing Kyle, he’d be waiting there, wanting to say good-bye so they left things on a good note.

The stool was
empty.

Mattie
took a deep breath. His loss.

Well, that was it, then.
Soon she’d be far, far away from here and all of this would be behind her.

Tomorrow
couldn’t come soon enough.

*

Nate, Silver a
nd Baz sat in the control room as the monitor faded away to black.

‘
That’s it, boys.’ Silver swung around in her chair. ‘The network will be happy Adam’s won. Very happy indeed.’ She cracked open a bottle of vodka resting at her side and poured them each a large neat shot.

‘
Cheers
!’ She downed hers and Nate and Baz followed suit, Nate grimacing as the liquid slid down his throat. He’d always been more of a beer bloke. Still, he deserved a little celebratory drink, right? The show’s ratings were through the roof and the network was happy. And he, as EP, had a big hit on his hands! His future looked exceedingly bright.

‘
Why did X-ACT want Adam?’ Nate wondered, holding out his glass for more. ‘Yeah, he had a good date with Mattie, but only because we didn’t make anything happen. Wouldn’t it have been better to have someone Mattie actually connects with? I mean, I know it’s
The Hating Game
and all, but still . . .’ His voice trailed off as he realised in horror he was spewing his thoughts aloud. That vodka was going straight to his head.

Baz just rolled his eyes
but Silver actually snorted.

‘
Nate, Nate.’ She took another shot, licked her lips, and did another. ‘How many times do I need to say it? It’s not about romance; it’s about ratings – and getting the maximum with minimal output.’

Nate darted a look at Baz to see if Baz was confused, too. But Baz was nodding along as if he understood.

‘
What do you mean
, minimal output?’ Nate asked with numb lips. His head was fuzzy and everything was taking on a second outline.

‘
T
he network doesn’t want to shell out the two hundred thousand pound prize money. They promised us all a bonus – and first rights refusal to produce the next reality-show concept –
if
Mattie drops out before the end.’ Silver’s eyes gleamed.

Nate stared at Silver’s two heads. ‘But that’s fraud,’ he slurred.
Not pay the prize money? He couldn’t believe even Silver would go that far.

‘
No, it’s not. They only pay if Mattie makes it to the end; it’s all in her contract. And I can guarantee you, with Adam and what we’re going to pull, there’s
no way
she will.’ Silver unearthed a cocktail sausage from her suit pocket and bit into it. ‘Timing is everything, though: X-ACT only has space in its schedule to broadcast one week max of Relationship Repair. They’ve already sold the advertising slots for the first five days, so we need to think strategically. The network can lose out on their advertising revenue if Mattie goes too soon.’

‘
What do you mean, with Adam and what we’re going to pull?’ Nate rubbed his eyes but his double-vision remained. He blinked, trying to focus on Silver’s words.

Silver shrugg
ed. ‘One thing at a time, Nate. Let’s just make sure we’re set for tomorrow first, hmm?’ She turned to Baz. ‘Got the cars all ready? Everything sorted at the site?’

Baz nodded. ‘Of course. And we have Nate’s
relationship activities all lined up, one for each of the five days.’ He smirked.

Nate lurched unsteadily to his feet. ‘But wait. Mattie’s not going to get anything?’

Silver made an impatient noise. ‘Sit down, Nate. I told you, it’s in all our best interests –
your
best interest if you want to continue here – to get her out before the end.’ She fixed her laser eyes on him. ‘If you can’t help us do that, there’s the door.’

Nate stared at her blurry two-headed form as visions of the pas
t week waved through his head. He’d thought that had been bad enough – he’d manipulated and lied, and destroyed any chance of a future for Mattie and Kyle. But he’d done it thinking that would be all; that the next two weeks would be a breeze – enjoyable, even. And now Silver wanted to push Mattie out? How would they accomplish that?

Nate swayed back a
nd forth in the doorway as the faces of Baz and Silver swam beneath him. He collapsed heavily into a chair.

There was no choice, was there?

He’d come this far.

He wasn’t about to back out now.

*

Jess sat on her
sofa, frozen. She put her hands to her ears to block out the eerie theme tune as
The Hating Game
credits rolled across the screen. So that was it, then. Mattie and Adam would be off together somewhere, while she was stuck here in London. Alone.

A rare flash of anger shot
through her. She’d always been there for them, listening to Mattie’s tirades and answering Adam’s endless questions about her best friend. And now they were ignoring her calls and messages – she was no longer any use to either of them. Yes, she’d messed up with that wedding dress fiasco, but surely she deserved a chance to explain instead of being completely blanked?

And what about
Adam? All she’d ever done was provide a shoulder to cry on; his only friend when the world rejected him.

Jess switched off the telly. She’d had it with
The Hating Game
and Mattie and Adam. The two of them could do whatever they wanted in their secret location – she wouldn’t watch any longer.

T
he time had come to do something for herself.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Three in five take beach holidays to help mend
broken hearts.

Of those, thirty-
three per cent get their hearts broken again on holiday.

THE NEXT MORNING THE NOISE OF BIG
fat raindrops splattering across the window woke Mattie from a troubled sleep. Thank God she’d be out of London soon. Last night the BBC had declared that today the UK would see its biggest rainstorm in years. Lying in bed trying to block out the never-ending loop of Kyle asking her for another chance, Mattie had mentally packed her suitcase at least fifty times: green bikini; white linen trousers; little Monsoon sundress . . . Thank God she no longer had to sport stripper gear.

Crawling
out of the covers, she started removing those items from her wardrobe now. Not that Tweedledee or Tweedledum had given her any indication of where she and Adam might be going, but she was familiar enough with these lame shows to know the formula dictated somewhere hot and humid. Despite a thorough grilling, Nate refused to provide any clues, simply telling her the car would be there at eight.

Mattie threw on
jeans and a thin baby-blue linen shirt, shoving her feet in the one pair of flat sandals she owned. She hoped the ensemble was a good Britain-meets-the-tropics compromise. Soon she’d be miles away from all of this, lounging in the sun with a cocktail. Two weeks later she’d be back, two hundred thousand in hand, ready to rebuild her life. A life blissfully free of men.

A horn hooted from below. Peering out the window t
hrough the translucent grey slant of rain, she could only just see the ominous black car from the studio. Throwing a few more items into her rather empty case she ran downstairs and launched herself into the car, finding herself sitting in Adam’s lap.

‘
Sorry!
’ she said, moving quickly away. Dressed in an Englishman Abroad outfit of white cotton trousers, crisp white collarless shirt and tan boat shoes, Adam obviously assumed they’d be heading somewhere tropical, too.

‘
Morning, Mattie,’ Adam said in his flat voice.
Reaching out his arm robotically, he lowered it onto her knee. Mattie stared then calmly placed it back on his own leg, ignoring the angry look that flashed across his face. As if!

‘
Hey, Ram.’ She
dodged the camera shoved in her face, knowing the cameraman hated it when people talked to him during shooting. He grunted in response.

‘
So any idea where we’re off to?’ she said to Adam.

He shook his head. ‘No.
I asked Nate last night but he wouldn’t tell me anything.’

‘
Yeah, he didn’t tell me, either.’ Mattie
leaned forward and knocked on the shadowed glass partition. ‘Hello! Anybody home? Where are we going?’ You’d think it was a national secret or something.

And like
the lame producers they were, of course there was no answer.

The car
wound its way through the city and Mattie watched as the West London suburbs flashed by. They must be on their way to Heathrow, naturally. It would feel so good to relax, to chill out on the white sand . . . when was the last time she’d taken a proper vacation, anyway?

The partition lowered and Nate’s potato head appeared.

‘
Here, guys. Can you put these on?
’ He handed them two blindfolds.

H
e sounded even whinier than usual, Mattie thought. And looked more wretched, too. Big circles ringed his bloodshot eyes and his ‘fro would have Bob Marley looking for the nearest barber in horror. Plus, the usually smooth baby-face was littered with gingery stubble.

‘
What happened to you?’ Mattie asked. ‘You look like shit.’

‘
Yeah, just a bit too much t
o drink,’ Nate mumbled, not meeting her eyes. ‘Can you please just put on the blindfold?’

‘
You’re
joking,’ Mattie said, eyeing the black velvet band. ‘Blindfolds?’ Actually, a blindfold might not be a bad idea – at least she wouldn’t have to look at Adam and she could get some sleep – but she wasn’t about to follow orders from a man who couldn’t even comb his hair properly. Or from a man, full stop.

‘
It was Baz’s idea,’ Nate muttered. ‘It’s just until we get to our departure point.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Should be another hour and a bit. Please, just put it on. Please?’

Ugh, she’d do anything to block out his
baleful, blobby face. ‘You’re lucky I want to sleep,’ Mattie said, fitting the blindfold over her eyes and savouring the darkness. So they weren’t going to Heathrow, after all. What departure point was only an hour or so away? Was it a private airport?

Leaning
back against the seat, the exhaustion of the past weeks overwhelmed her, and Mattie fell into a deep slumber.

‘
We’re here!’

M
attie’s eyes flew open as the car came to a halt. Everything was black and she clawed at the blindfold.

‘
Just leave it on for
five more minutes, okay?’ Nate said. ‘We’ll grab your luggage and lead you onto the next stage of transportation. Ram, if you could film this . . .’

Mattie listened as the car door
s opened and slammed shut again. Then someone took her arm and led her out of the car. She inhaled, expecting to smell the petrol of an airfield. Instead, it smelled like – she sniffed again – dead sea creatures? Where the hell were they? At least the rain had stopped, although the air was heavy and damp.