The Hating Game (13 page)

He considered his tired puffy reflection, wondering for the millionth time if Kira had actually seen anything in him except money and a chance to move to London. Probably not: fat and floppy, he was more Johnny Vegas than Hugh Grant. Kira, on the other hand, was like a life-sized Barbie. Despite the fact she had to keep asking him the entry code to the flat they shared (1,2,3,4!) and had a tendency to pinch anything that wasn’t securely locked up, one look at her and he felt like the luckiest man on Earth.

It had
been a stroke of luck meeting her – or so he’d thought. An old uni mate had invited Nate beyond the boundaries of Wood Green, all the way to a stag party in deepest Essex. With nothing better to do that night than plough through his large vindaloo curry, Nate had turned up to the local primary school, where half the village – and their offspring – had come out to watch the
Barbie Babes
bump and grind to
The Cheeky Girls’
Greatest Hits
.

Kira had been the fourth
bumping Barbie from the left, and Nate hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. She’d winked and when their set was over, she made a beeline for him. They’d squeezed into the same chair and swigged beer from a paper cup. Kira asked him where he lived, and when he said London, that was it: they went back to his flat in Wood Green that night. She was ready to give up the touring rigours of the
Barbie Babes
and settle down, she told him.

Nate hadn’t realised ‘settling down’ meant taking his credit ca
rds, running up a load of debt and spending half the night out at ‘auditions’ as she tried to break into the world of musical theatre. It wasn’t long before he ran out of cash, and he came home one day to find his flat empty and Kira gone. All she’d left him – apart from his battered futon and saggy sofa – was a note in childish handwriting that said
Laters!
with a wonky happy face beside it.

Nate
had stared at that happy face, confusion swirling around his mind. He thought he’d been exactly what she had wanted. He’d provided a home for her, made her happy and catered to her every whim. But nice guys came last, didn’t they? What had happened just a few minutes ago more than proved that.

Well, he wouldn’t be Mr Nice Guy any more
, personally or professionally. Bounding up the stairs for the post-show meeting with Silver, he threw back his shoulders then opened the door to the control room.

‘
Hello,’ he said to Silver and Baz in a deep voice, selecting a chair purposefully and pulling it into the space between them.

‘
Glad you could make it.’ Silver fingered a cocktail sausage, then bit off the tip and laid it down on the plate beside her. ‘So who changed those questions?’

Nate’s mind worked frantically. If he said Matt
ie, he’d look like he had no control. But if he said it was him then Silver would bite off
his
head, just like that cocktail sausage.

‘
Must have been Nate,’ Baz said, holding his hands up.

Nate jerked towards him. Baz knew Nate had no more to do with it th
an Silver’s headless sausage! But tossing the blame in someone else’s direction was a good tactic to avoid it himself. Nate filed that away for future use.

‘
Well, I liked it. Ramped up the tension and played out well.’ Silver devoured the remainder of the sausage with satisfaction, while Nate sagged with relief. He couldn’t help smirking at Baz’s defeated expression.

‘
Just don’t do it again, Nate. I need to know
everything
that’s happening. You might be EP, but I’m the one paying you. Remember that.’

Nate nodded. ‘
Sure thing, Silver. Of course.’

‘
Initial ratings for the live show are good so far. Now we have to keep it up!’ She popped another sausage, this time whole, into her mouth. ‘So we’ve got the gay guy tomorrow, right?’

Nate’s mouth dropped open. Charlie
, gay? Nate had thought he was just one of those floppy-haired posh blokes. ‘Sorry, Silver, I–‘

‘
I don’t care if he’s an al
ien as long as you make him interesting. Vengeful love-sick puppy, whatever.’ Silver turned to Baz. ‘What do you have planned?’

‘
Well, Mattie and Charlie both went to secondary school together. So we’re going to take them back there,’ Baz said. ‘I’ve got a dance instructor all lined up who’ll give the two of them lessons in the gym.’ He leaned back in his chair.

Nate stared. When had all this been organised?

Silver nodded. ‘Good, good. Just make sure to get him out of running. The last thing we want is a gay man stuck with Mattie for two weeks. Jesus, imagine the ratings.’

‘
Oh, don’t worry.’ Baz gave her a long, slow smile. ‘I’ve got it all worked out.’

Nate opened his mouth to ask if it was really necessary to
push out poor Charlie so soon but he snapped it closed just in time. No more Mr Nice Guy, he reminded himself.

Silver pushed her short hair back behind her ears and stood up. ‘I’ll see you both here tomorrow. And remember, boys, ratings!’

Nate bobbed his head
. Ratings, he repeated to himself. Just remember: ratings.

*

‘
Faster, faster!’ Adam muttered as his legs churned over Waterloo Bridge after the show. A group of babbling tourists nearly fell over the side of the iconic structure as he shoved to get past them but he wasn’t about to slow down. He’d only been able to get in ninety minutes of weights this morning instead of the prescribed two-hour workout, and he had to make up for lost time. Chucking those Jaffa Cakes would not be in vain.

Not that Mattie would
know how good he looked quite yet. Adam increased his pace to a jog, new shoes pinching his feet. Stupid bloody pods! He’d spent hours getting ready to face Mattie for the first time after all those years. Then that fat slob of a producer had herded him into a stuffy pod where he’d sat and sweated for a good two hours.

Afterwards,
the producer rushed him through the studio and onto the street like some kind of criminal. He hadn’t impressed Mattie, he hadn’t impressed the audience and he hadn’t even been able to check out his competition – although given their lame answers they weren’t likely to put up much of a fight.

But
maybe the pods were a good thing, after all. Given extra time, he could shed even more weight; boost the biceps a little more. His protein-shake diet and killer workouts would all pay off. Adam touched his face. So would that chemical peel and three hundred quid haircut.

Mattie would se
e him soon, and when she did, he’d do everything possible to make sure she fell in love.

*

‘
Here’s
to two hundred thousand pounds!’ Mattie raised her glass of whisky and clinked it against Jess’s daiquiri as they settled onto a brightly patterned sofa in the nearby bar at the British Film Institute. Her head was still throbbing from the dazzling onstage lights, but she wasn’t anywhere near ready to head home.

It
was past ten on a Sunday night but the bar still buzzed with media types who’d barely given her a second glance, even though she’d just made her screen debut. They’d all beat down her door for recruitment soon enough, though, once she was properly back in business. All the palaver of the show would be worth it. Anyway, it couldn’t get worse than what they’d pulled with Charlie.

She waited until Jess had sipped her drink. ‘So tell me
everything
. What the fuck is
The Hating Game
?’

Jess lowered her eyes, dragging
her straw through the frozen drink. ‘Well, um . . .’

‘
For God’s sake
!’ Mattie snapped, rubbing her head. It felt like someone was poking behind her right eye with a knife. ‘It can’t be that bad. Just tell me.’

Jess sighed and raised her eyes to meet Mattie’s. ‘Well, all the men . . .’ She took a deep breath. ‘They’re your exes.’

Mattie shook her head. ‘What?’ It was too loud in her
e to have a normal conversation, especially with that group of pin-striped idiots braying next to them.

‘
Shut up!’ she barked in their direction, then swung her eyes back to Jess. She must have misheard. Jess couldn’t have said they were all her exes, could she?

‘
They’re your ex-boyfriends. That’s what
Seamus said.’ Jess crossed arms over chest to protect herself from Mattie’s coming eruption.

‘
Not just Charlie? The other three are my exes, too?
’ Mattie couldn’t believe her ears – or the absolute
nerve
of Nate and Spaz. She’d thought it was perfectly clear she wouldn’t stand for any more surprises and they hadn’t thought it relevant to fill her in on this little bit of news? Cowards!

‘
O
h my God,’ Mattie blurted as a thought entered her mind. ‘You don’t think Kyle would be there, do you?’ The jabbing behind her eye intensified. She wouldn’t be surprised; he was an expert at making her life hell. Why not go the whole hog and torture her on live telly, too? She could deal with it, of course. She’d just rather not have to.

But Jess was shaking her head. ‘I don’t think he’d want to make things any more difficult for you.’

Mattie sighed
. Jess would believe Hitler if he said he wasn’t a bigot. ‘How the hell did they manage to track down my exes, anyway?’

Jess shrugged.
‘I don’t know, but it’s television, right? I’m sure they have a whole team of people checking into your background.’

Mattie
rubbed her head. Between the whisky and the headache, she was beginning to feel nauseated. It wasn’t really that shocking – they’d managed to find out about her father, after all. And the loser men she’d dumped were probably frothing at the mouth to get their ugly mugs on TV, like all pathetic people with nothing else better to do.

She rummaged through her purse to buy another shot of whis
ky and her fingers touched a wilted flower. ‘Oh yeah.’ She drew it out and plopped it on the table. ‘Do you know what this is? It’s from the bunch Charlie gave me. One of the producers acted like it was poisoned or something. He wouldn’t even touch it!’

Jess squinted at the purple blossom. ‘Looks like deadly nightshade. It
is
poisonous – but only if you eat it.’ She stared at Mattie. ‘I can’t believe Charlie gave you poisonous flowers!’

Mattie snorted. ‘I reckon
Charlie had nothing to do with it. It’s such a stupid gimmick, that idiot Baz the Spaz must be behind it.’ She fingered the limp flower on the table. ‘At least it’s not poison ivy. All I need is a Herpes-style rash on live TV.’

Jess patted her shoulder gently. ‘Are you sur
e you want to continue with the show?’

‘
Absolutely.’ Two hundred thousand pounds, Mattie repeated to herself, crushing the flower on the table.

She’d shown those exes the door once already.

She could do it again.

*

It was
three in the morning, but Jess couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, Adam’s face floated into view. She hoped he knew better than to go on
The Hating Game,
but she guessed he’d jump at the chance to see Mattie again. Poor Adam. Even though he was a big-shot businessman now, he’d never really got over what had happened back in secondary school.

Jess would
never forget the look on Adam’s face after Mattie dumped him. He’d run out of the school and she’d followed, finding him shaking with sobs behind the school skip. She’d tried to hug him but he’d roughly pushed her away. Made sense; she was the one who’d encouraged him to ask out Mattie. Mattie was between boyfriends at the time and Jess had thought dating Mattie might help Adam come out of his shell. Instead, the break-up had driven him to binge eating and reclusiveness.

Even now, whenever they met up for coffee or dinner, he spent at least half the time asking about Mattie. It was so sad, and Jess’s heart ached for what she’d done to him.

Jess slid off the sofa and tiptoed to where she’d left her mobile on Mattie’s glass coffee table. After the bar, they’d come back to Mattie’s where they’d downed a bottle of Pinot Grigio and watched the show on playback. Mattie had asked her to stay over before collapsing in a drunken stupor. After much coaxing and dragging she had managed to tuck Mattie in bed. Since then, Jess must have tried Adam at least fifty times, to no avail.

Jess sighed as she checked for
messages and missed calls. Still nothing. Why didn’t he reply? Could he really have been one of the men in those pods? Was he desperate enough, after everything he’d been through, to go back for more?

Jess dialled Adam’s number one more time, hanging up when
it clicked through to voice mail. She crept back to the sofa and shoved a pillow under her head, trying to sleep as the tinny beat of
I Want You Back
rang in her head. She’d try him again tomorrow.