Frances
‘That’s for Joni, you toerag,’ Frances muttered as the trapdoor opened under Nick’s feet and he disappeared before her eyes.
Where the chutes led had been a source of serious discussion on Endurance Island. Frances had always figured they led to the helipad they all knew was somewhere on the island. Joni suggested they led straight to hell.
Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred quid.
Nick, with his left-brain thinking, had suggested they were probably linked to a cave system somewhere on the island that most likely terminated at the headland.
Kazuki and Takahiro were convinced that, wherever they led, it would be populated with snakes or scorpions.
Maybe both.
And, in a startling twist, Kandy and Misty had contributed a geothermal theory, based on Googling maps of the island prior to their arrival.
But as Cheryl’s distant ‘Faaaaaarrrrkkkkk’ echoed from the metallic mouth, Frances hoped Nick was right, and that it jettisoned his arse into the ocean and he banged his head on the way.
His gaze had sought hers as they’d waited for Darryl to stop pretending he was sodding Julius Caesar and announce the verdict. Despite his betrayal, she hadn’t been able to look away. Their gazes had locked. His gaze was empathetic, with a hint of reproach. Hers was wounded, with a whole lot of fuck you.
He hadn’t tried to talk to her since the beach, to justify it. Neither of them had. And she’d been glad. But she could feel his eyes on her as she’d moved through the following days. They’d radiated his disappointment. Telegraphed the accusation You know me better than that.
And it was doing her head in.
Because he had two things going against him. First, she didn’t know him better than that. In fact, apart from a couple of weeks in this artificial environment in which even Denis Thatcher would have looked good, an astronomy lesson and one horny snog, she barely knew him.
And, second, she knew Joni. All too well.
Joni, who had coveted everything Frances had ever had. And taken it too. Like some bloody bower bird attracted to anything pretty and shiny, especially if it belonged to someone else.
Clothes. Shoes. Jewellery. Perfume. Make-up.
Men.
She was conscious of her sister beside her, as the hard wooden log bit into the bones of her backside. Of a skinny thigh brushing against hers. Of the fading bruise that somehow looked fresh and livid in the glow of the firelight. Of the blur of green, like blooming bacteria, frothing around her head.
Joni sat slumped as if even she knew that, finally, she’d gone too far.
‘When we get off the island, I never want to see your face again,’ Frances said.
It was a few moments before Joni answered, ‘And that will be different how?’
Frances hardened her heart against the defeat in her sister’s voice. ‘Let’s just get through these next two weeks the best we can, okay?’
Joni stood. ‘Sure. Whatever.’ And then she turned away.
Day 22
They managed to get through the week leading up to the next challenge without mishap. With seven years’ practice at shutting each other out, a week had been chickenfeed. They did what had to be done: worked together when required and stayed the hell away from each other when it wasn’t.
Nighttimes were the worst. The paltry gap between their beds felt more fraught than the DMZ. Stick-and-grass walls were never meant to contain things that were too hard to speak about and too enormous to resolve. By the time Friday rocked around, Frances was ready for a challenge. Any challenge.
After a breakfast of boiled rice in a Vegemite broth that, alarmingly, Frances had actually grown to like, Sally rounded them all up with her usual cheery disposition. ‘Right, you fookers, get your arses to the fireplace, pronto.’
Like trained monkeys, the remaining three couples complied with unquestioning promptness, and Sally favoured them with an evil grin. Frances half expected her to pet the nearest of them and say, ‘My precious.’
Lex and Darryl stood beside her like reluctant henchmen.
‘Today is our fourth immunity challenge and we’ve upped the stakes even higher. Winner gets immunity and one more week on Endurance Island.’
Joni and Frances looked at each other. To fulfil the dictates of G’s will and inherit a cool mil each, they only had to make it to the finals. Be one of the last two couples standing.
So, today was a must-win for them.
‘Today’s challenge is a treasure hunt. Very soon, on the altar behind me …’ a dramatic pause and theatrical handsweep indicating the faux stone structure that had been used in several of their challenges, ‘… six silver domes will be placed.’
Six pairs of eyes that had been glued to The Stapler suddenly refocused a metre behind her as a metallic snick heralded the opening of a trailer door. Six of the crew, all dressed like chefs, complete with those silly high hats, marched out one after the other, each carrying a plate topped with a silver dome.
The contestants watched as each plate was placed on the altar. Frances heard Takahiro whispering something to Kazuki in Japanese, already strategising. For a moment, she was envious of their seriously screwy relationship. At least, in their own messed-up way, they had a connection. Her first instinct, to turn to Joni and whisper, ‘Food challenge?’ didn’t even make it out of the starter gate.
But the thought stayed with Frances, as everyone watched and waited, shuffling their feet. What, in the name of all that was holy, was under that silverware? What in hell were they going to have to eat? It didn’t take even two functioning brain cells to figure out it wasn’t going to be chocolate.
‘Each of you was contacted individually before the show started and asked to bring your most valued personal possession but told that it was to be kept a secret. At the beginning of the competition, you were each asked to surrender your items to me.’
Sally gave them all another evil smile. ‘Today, we all get to see what pathetic trinkets you losers can’t do without and then we’re going to hide them from you.’
Frances bit back a protest. The relief she felt at not being made to eat a raw goat’s testicle – or a cooked one, for that matter – was tempered by the fact that within minutes everyone on the island and at home would know what a sad, superficial loser she actually was.
No-one was supposed to know.
They’d been told their treasure would be kept safe and its identity a secret.
Frankly, with everything that had gone on in the past weeks, Frances had completely forgotten about the treasure. Getting enough to eat, winning the challenges and surviving the trapdoor had wiped it from her mind.
And this certainly wasn’t how she’d thought it would play out. Having watched all nine seasons, Frances knew this request was a first for Endurance Island. But she’d figured their personal items would be used at the last minute, to blackmail them into doing something they didn’t want to do, like betray their partner or steal the money.
This she hadn’t expected.
Two cameramen moved into position at each end of the faux stone altar and any hope that their possessions wouldn’t be the main focus of the challenge died an instant death.
Frances cringed at the thought of what lay beneath her silver dome. She also noticed Joni shifting nervously from side to side, and petting Desmond with quick, agitated strokes.
‘As Darryl calls your names, you will each come up to the altar. The plate with your treasure is marked. Lift the lid, pick it up, turn to show everyone else and then be prepared to answer his questions.’
‘Oh goody,’ Kandy murmured in her high Marilyn Monroe voice. ‘I hope we go first. I can’t wait to see it again.’
Even Takahiro and Kazuki were muttering quite animatedly about the forthcoming reveal. It seemed like everyone was excited but them. Frances slid a sidelong glance at her sister. Joni, her fingers still frantically working Des’s coat, looked about as excited as she did.
Chuffing Nora. What the hell had she brought?
Jesus, why didn’t The Stapler just line them all up and perform root canal on them without a local instead?
‘Rightio then.’ Darryl’s voice caught everyone’s attention. ‘Takahiro. You’re up first.’
For a little guy, he could certainly leap high. In fact, he practically levitated all the way to the altar. He quickly located his lid and whipped it off. ‘Ahhhhhhhh,’ he sighed and picked the item up.
‘What is it?’ Joni hissed, craning her neck to try to see around him.
Takahiro turned, holding his treasure aloft. Frances rolled her eyes, as he slowly withdrew a dagger from a heavily jewelled scabbard, the metal snicker foreign amid the wild pulse of the jungle.
‘He is a sick fucker,’ Joni muttered.
Darryl asked his first question. ‘Tell us, Takahiro, the significance of your item.’
‘This belong to my father. He brave warrior for honourable Emperor Showa during war.’
Darryl continued. ‘And why did you choose it as your treasure item?’
‘It is home of my father’s spirit. I was two-year-old last time I see him. It reminds me to have honour.’
Frances felt his beady little eyes come to rest on her and understood the threat she saw in them. But she also saw something else. The pain and loss of a little boy trying to find a reason why his father had gone away, never to return. Trying to live up to something he’d never really understood.
Up until now, she’d dismissed him as an irritation, like one of the many species of insects on this bug-infested island. A caricature of a man whom she towered over as he continually yapped at her heels. But standing there with the dagger in his hand, honour glittering in his gaze, she could finally understand the crazy in his eyes.
In Takahiro’s head he wasn’t a five-foot-two middle management drone, but a samurai warrior dressed in full armour. Honouring his father.
His battlefield? Television game shows.
‘Next! Kazuki.’
Kazuki whooped and scurried towards the altar. His plate was next to his boss’s and he removed the dome eagerly. He grasped the object in his hands, grinning, and turned to face the assembled group, beaming like a madman.
‘Can you tell us the significance of your treasure?’ Darryl asked.
‘This is trophy for being good employee. Miyagi-san gave to me after working for company ten months.’
Takahiro vigorously nodded his approval and Frances wanted to nut him. Poor beleaguered Kazuki’s most prized possession was a tacky twenty-centimetre-square piece of wood with a fake brass face? It looked like it had been bought at Poundland. And Takahiro had pocketed change.
‘And why did you choose it as your treasure item?’
‘It make me work harder, longer. Be better worker. Make better life for my wife and children.’
‘Hai!’ Takahiro beamed.
In the face of Kazuki’s zeal, Frances’s dislike for Takahiro hit a new high. She might be starting to understand him more, but it didn’t mean she had to like the man. All Kazuki wanted was to make a good life for his family. Surely he didn’t deserve this kind of cheap exploitation?
‘Okay. Thank you,’ Darryl said, flipping a page over.
Frances tensed, waiting for the next victim to be called.
‘Kandy, you’re up next.’
Joni sighed audibly and Frances looked at her sharply. ‘What did you bring?’ she whispered.
Joni looked down at Des. ‘What’d you bring?’
Oh God. It really was that bad!
There was a scrape as Kandy lifted the lid on her treasure. She turned abruptly, holding an object that caught the morning sunlight. Everyone squinted and lifted their hands to shield their retinas from enough bling to power a small city.
‘Kandy, turn that fooker off,’ Sally demanded, her face averted.
‘Ooops.’ Kandy placed the crown on her head. ‘Sorry, I just love how it sparkles.’
Frances blinked as her vision slowly returned. Kandy stood before the papier-mâché altar, her Pammy-esque breasts falling out of her bikini top.
‘Are those … real diamonds?’ Joni asked.
Good question. What the fuck was she doing here, playing for a paltry hundred thou, when she owned a crown that the Queen would kill for?
‘No, silly. They’re just diamantés. Pretty real-looking though, huh?’ Kandy said.
Everyone nodded and stared for a while longer.
‘So, Kandy,’ Darryl said, donning his sunglasses, ‘can you tell us the significance of your treasure?’
Kandy beamed. ‘I won this crown in the Miss Teen USA pageant, way back in 2007.’
Frances blinked. She supposed four years ago was ‘way back’ when you’d only been alive for nineteen of them. Add another eleven, and Frances’s way back included a Jennifer Aniston do, New Labour and ‘I’m Too Sexy’.
‘It’s not my first crown – I have twenty-two in total – but this is my favourite. Winning this was the best thing that has ever happened to me,’ Kandy gushed. ‘Apart from this, of course.’
‘Of course.’ Darryl gave a tight smile. ‘Why did you choose it as your treasure item?’
Kandy looked at him. ‘Because it was the proudest moment of my life.’
Frances supposed it wasn’t Kandy’s fault she didn’t have a mother like theirs. One who thought beauty pageants were plots by the patriarchy to keep women as dumb sex objects and mere ornaments for men. One who thought girls with photographic memories should have been more than beauty queens.
Darryl gave one of his best cheesy smiles and Frances wondered what thoughts were running through his sleazy little mind as he ogled a twinkling Kandy. ‘Thank you, Kandy,’ he beamed. ‘Misty, you’re next.’
Misty made her way up to the altar and removed the lid on her treasure. She clutched her item to her chest briefly, before turning around to reveal some sort of rolled-up paper.
‘Remove the rubber band,’ Darryl intoned.
Misty did as she was asked, and slowly unravelled the paper to reveal a large glossy print of Dolly Parton dressed in a fringed and sequined cowgirl shirt that sat low – real low – on her impressive cleavage. It was signed by the woman herself with:
To Misty,
Follow Your Dreams.
Love, Dolly
‘Can you tell us the significance of your treasure?’
Misty nodded. ‘Dolly is my idol.’ She flapped the poster, as though willing everyone to understand. ‘I waited in line for three hours to get her to sign this.’
Everyone stared silently for a moment, their gazes inevitably drawn to those two famous appendages.
Misty went on, unperturbed. ‘She’s so beautiful but she grew up dirt poor, just like me, and had to work so hard for everything. And she never forgot where she came from, or the people who helped her along the way. Just like me and Kandy. It’s not just about her perfect figure, it’s about her. Dolly inspires me to be a better person.’
Frances saw the slight curl in The Stapler’s top lip and felt protective of the younger woman. Surely treasure was in the eye of the beholder? At least Misty’s motivations were a hell of a lot nobler than her own.
Another sleazy smile from Darryl, then his ‘Next!’ heralded their turn.
Joni started beside her and Frances tensed. Now everyone else could judge her and her choice.
Please call Joni first. Please call Joni first.
‘Frankie. You’re up!’
Frances’s heart boomed like a tropical thunderclap, then beat hard and fast, the pounding in her chest mimicking the torrential rain they’d endured nearly every night of their stay.
She took her first step towards the fake stone monolith. How could she make them understand?
There were two silver domes left, rising like pregnant metal bellies, when Frances’s tremulous legs finally made it to the altar. Her name was printed on a white card next to the plate closest to her. She hesitated, staring at her reflection in the highly polished silverware.
Marcia was going to have an apoplexy when she saw the state of her split ends.
‘We’re waiting.’
Frances stiffened as Darryl’s prompt came from somewhere behind her.
Sod off, nob.
She lifted her hand and watched as its reflection grew bigger in the silver until she could almost make out the whorls of her fingerprints. The handle was cool to touch and she shut her eyes as she lifted the lid.
Sadly, her item hadn’t, through willpower alone, morphed into something more sentimental. It hadn’t turned into the cross-country trophy she’d won when she was twelve or a piece of hallowed turf from Greenham Common. It wasn’t the teddy bear she’d had when she was a child or her dog-eared copy of Wuthering Heights.
No, sadly, it was still her credit card that stared back up at her.
‘Well?’ Darryl demanded.
Frances bit the inside of her cheek and turned around. As much as she’d scoffed, at least a little, at each of her competitors’ treasures, at least they’d all had some … heart. This cold piece of plastic just seemed so superficial. She heard Joni gasp as she realised what it was and her humiliation was complete.
Darryl raised a weave at her. ‘That is your treasure? A credit card?’
Frances nodded, avoiding her sister’s shocked gaze.
‘I do believe we defined treasure as the only thing you would run back into a burning house to save. Isn’t that right?’
Frances nodded again.
‘A credit card? You’d run back into a burning house to save a credit card?’
Frances felt heat bloom in her face. Okay, so it wasn’t a family heirloom or an autographed poster of her idol, but Darryl had no idea – none of them did – what this represented to her. The raised letters spelling Frances Tripton, not Frances Sutcliffe, stood out against the gold background and she ran her finger over their perfection.
Hers. Not Edwards. Hers.
Frances lifted her head and pinned Darryl with her best fuck-you stare. ‘Aren’t you moving off the script a bit?’
Darryl turned his pages around. ‘Nope, following it to the letter.’
Frances could just make out some red pen scrawled across the black print and shot a look at Sally. Was this apparent departure from the script her doing? She doubted Darryl was actually literate enough to pull it off by himself.
‘Okay, Frankie,’ he said. ‘Tell us the significance of your credit card.’
Frances dragged her gaze from Sally’s and looked down at the item in question. So small and benign looking and, yet, it meant more to her than all the ugly, expensive shite in her house that Edward had collected over the years.
The one consolation was that Nick wasn’t here to see her humiliation. Would he have understood her making a choice that seemed so cold and mercenary? What had his most treasured possession been, she wondered? Maybe the deeds to his property? A letter of gratitude to him and Cheryl from a mother of a disabled child?
She shrugged. ‘It’s mine. All mine. It represents my financial independence from my husband.’
Joni gasped again and Frances flicked her gaze back to her sister, who was clutching Des to her chest. If anyone were to understand financial freedom, it should be Joni. G’s money would, after all, buy back her knobby kneecaps.
‘And why did you choose your credit card as your most valuable treasure?’
Frances ignored the sarcasm, while wondering if The Stapler had underlined that part in the script so that Darryl knew to put the right emphasis on it. ‘If I can do that – get my own credit card – then I can do anything.’
‘People get their own credit cards every day, Frankie.’
Darryl spoke to her as if she were simple and Frances fleetingly fantasised about slitting his throat with the pointy edge of the card. She didn’t need him stating the bleeding obvious. Hell, Joni, whose credit rating was worse than Zimbabwe’s, had a credit card from every bank and other lending institution in England.
It was what Frances’s credit card represented. Edward had always controlled the finances. Even the charity had been founded with his backing, with him looking after the money side of things.
Which is why it’s all in such a bloody big mess.
Frances lifted her chin and looked Darryl in the eye. ‘It’s symbolic.’
He paused for a moment. ‘Thank you, Frankie. Next! Joni.’
Frances replaced the card and walked back to her place, her legs like wet noodles now she’d unburdened. She passed her sister, expecting to see a look of superiority in her eyes.
But all she saw was dread.
Joni handed Des to her and Frances watched her walk as if to her doom. Had she been forced to guess, Frances would have said Joni’s treasure would be round and made of vinyl. Some ancient record from the early British punk scene, maybe the Clash or the Sex Pistols.
But the look in her sister’s eyes told her maybe not. Joni obviously didn’t like the idea of having her treasure revealed to the whole group either.
That didn’t bode well.
Frances watched as Joni lifted the lid on the one remaining plate, and waited with bated breath as she slowly reached for whatever it was and picked it up. It was another few seconds before Joni turned around to reveal her treasure.
It took several more seconds for Frances to register what it was. Seconds for her world to go from can’t-get-any-worse to flung-back-to-that-shitty-night-seven-years-ago worse.
Worse on so many levels.
Dangling from Joni’s finger, swinging slightly from the sea breeze to her rear, was a silver chain sporting an oval locket.
Her chain.
Her locket.
Given to her by G on her thirteenth birthday, and never taken off until it was, seemingly, lost forever on that fateful night seven years ago.
Frances wasn’t sure if she’d gurgled audibly or not, but she felt The Stapler’s raptor-like gaze fan over her.
Darryl smiled at Joni. ‘Tell us the significance of your treasure item.’
Joni shuffled her feet. ‘My first boyfriend gave it to me, as a one-month-anniversary gift.’
Frances, still conscious of The Stapler watching her closely, stifled her gasp. Joni’s first boyfriend had been fourteen years old, and spent every last penny he earned at Tesco on cigarettes, guitar strings and condoms. He’d certainly got Joni’s virginity for free.
Even now, the ease with which her sister lied surprised her.
There was a pause while Darryl and Sally conferred. ‘Really?’ he pressed. ‘It seems to me your locket is important to Frankie too. Frances?’
The other contestants’ eyes swivelled to Frances, who forced herself to shrug. She looked at her sister. ‘It’s just a dumb locket.’
Joni’s eyes widened and Frances hoped it had hurt her to hear it as much as it had hurt her to say it.
Darryl’s gaze cut back to Joni. ‘Is there a photo in it?’
Joni shook her head. ‘No.’
It was on the tip of Frances’s tongue to dispute this but she had no desire to incur The Stapler’s gaze again. There had been a photo of her and Joni as kids, their arms around each other’s necks, at Greenham Common. Frances wanted to demand that Joni open it but she held her tongue.
Darryl waggled his weaves, clueless to the sudden tension between the sisters. ‘What happened to the boyfriend?’
He’d dumped her the day after their anniversary. Frances had lain with Joni for three nights as she had cried herself to sleep.
‘He dumped me the next day.’
And that’s why Joni was such an accomplished liar. She kept everything as close to the truth as possible.
‘So, why did you choose it as your treasure?’ Darryl continued.
Joni stared directly at her sister. ‘To remind me you can’t count on anyone in life. Ever. Only yourself.’
Frances was stunned.
She wanted to run up and slap Joni in the face. Hard.
How many times before the estrangement had she been there for her sister? How many times had she been Joni’s safety net?
How many times had she loaned Joni money, called in favours, covered for her? How many interviews had she set up? How many calls at all times of the day and night had she responded to? Calls that had taken her to all kinds of unsavoury places.
Including the local lockup. Twice.
What about the intervention she and G had set up? The drug and alcohol counselling she’d arranged? The strings she’d pulled to get her a place in London’s top rehab centre?
How often had she tried to help?
Too many bloody times to count.
And for what? For this woe-is-me spiel? Was nothing sacred to Joni? Was it not enough that her sister’s atrocious actions seven years ago had torn them apart? Did she now have to act like she was the injured party?
Had Joni forgotten that she’d been the straw? That her actions had broken the camel’s back?
Darryl looked directly down the camera. ‘That doesn’t bode well for your team spirit,’ he said dramatically.
Joni nailed him with a look of contempt. ‘We’re still here, aren’t we?’
Darryl shot her a silly grin. ‘You may rejoin your fellow contestants.’
Joni dropped the necklace back on the plate, and Frances watched as she made her way back, green curls bouncing. Joni held her hands out for Desmond, careful not to make eye contact. Frances turned away, refusing to hand him over. If she didn’t have something to do with her hands, she might just put them around her sister’s scrawny neck and strangle her in front of five rolling cameras.
‘Right,’ Sally announced, moving forward now that Darryl had done his bit to brief the contestants on the rules. ‘The treasure will be taken away and buried. You have four mini challenges to complete. At the end of each challenge, you get a clue. You have five hours to complete the challenge and find your treasure. The winner earns immunity. The other two will face the trapdoor. As an added incentive, the losing team’s treasure will be brought back to the fire pit, where it will be destroyed.’
Sally paused for the shocked gasps and the obligatory dram-cam shots.
‘First challenge is down on the beach. See you all there in ten minutes.’
Sally walked off and the contestants made their way back to their shelters, to strategise and prepare. Joni again reached for Des once they were in the privacy of their shelter but Frances dodged her effectively.
‘You have my locket?’ she hissed, muffling the mike pack.
‘Give him back to me,’ Joni insisted.
‘You. Have. My. Locket.’ Frances felt each word come from the very depth of her soul.
Joni’s arms fell to her sides. ‘Yes.’
‘You’d better hope we get it back or this little guy,’ Frances said, dumping a twitchy-nosed Des in her sister’s arms, ‘is going to be on the menu. I’ve seen Takahiro eyeing him off this last week. I bet that sick bastard knows a couple of good recipes for ferret.’
Joni gave her a horrified look and covered Des’s ears but Frances was so furious she could barely see straight. ‘Let’s go.’