The Last Resort(11)

‘What’s bright green?’ Amelia walks briskly over to Tiggy, stares in the same direction. ‘I can’t see it.’

‘“Name – Giles Horner,”’ James starts reading aloud. ‘“Age – twenty-eight. Nationality – British.”’

Scott takes over. ‘“Current residence – Chelsea, London, UK. Marital status—”’

‘“In a relationship,”’ says Tiggy. She turns to Amelia. ‘You really can’t see this?’ She pauses, her eyes widening. ‘Woah. Now I can see it on your face.’

Amelia grabs her shoulder. ‘See what? I don’t understand!’ Tiggy takes a small step back, and Amelia lets go of her. She jabs at her watch, her face pinched in annoyance.

Lucy takes a step towards her. ‘There’s writing,’ she says. ‘Green writing. It’s written like a list of vital stats – like the kind of thing that pops up on a video game.’

‘“Job – games designer, YouTuber, influencer,”’ Giles reads. He’s grinning. ‘This is really cool. “Why you’re here – to critically assess the components of the game.”’ He pauses, uses both hands to smooth his hair up to his bun. ‘See, I told you guys it was some sort of game.’

Lucy keeps watching as the cursor blinks . . . waiting.

‘This is so cool,’ Tiggy says. ‘Isn’t it amazing that it’s coming from our trackers? It’s like some weird sci-fi thing. Or like that series, what’s it called . . . ?’

‘Black Mirror,’ James says. ‘Right? Although I can’t believe it’s coming from our trackers. It’s some kind of trick. Has to be . . .’

‘Amelia can’t see it, though, can she?’ Scott says, turning to face Amelia, who is silent now, her mouth etched into a tight line. She shakes her head, and Lucy thinks she can see her eyes start to fill with tears.

‘This is because my stupid tracker doesn’t work, isn’t it?’

‘Did you try tapping your watch? Maybe it just has to get transmitted a different way,’ Lucy says.

‘You saw me try that,’ Amelia says, pressing on her watch again.

The cursor stops blinking at the base of Giles’s list, and more green type appears.

YOUR GREATEST FEAR: GROWING OLD

YOUR LAST LIE: YOU TOLD TIGGY YOU WERE AT CAMERON HEALY’S 30TH BIRTHDAY PARTY LAST SATURDAY WHEN IN FACT YOU WERE WITH JULIA HUGHSON IN THE HILTON ON PARK LANE. ROOM 415. ROOM SERVICE CHAMPAGNE AND A BOWL OF CHIPS AT 23:47. CLASSY.

The cursor blinks again.

There’s a smattering of awkward laughter, then Tiggy pulls her knees up to her chest and buries her face, wrapping her arms around her legs. Her hair falls down, concealing her face, but from the gentle shuddering of her shoulders it’s obvious she is crying.

It’s also obvious that this isn’t the first time something like this has been revealed.

Amelia looks from Giles to Tiggy, confusion on her face. ‘What does it say?’

Giles ignores her and turns to Tiggy. Lets out a bark of nervous laughter. ‘This is nonsense, Tigs.’ He raises his palms and glances around the room. ‘You know it is. It’s just a stupid game.’ He turns to Amelia. ‘Just some made-up bullshit.’

‘Pretty specific though . . .’ James mutters.

Giles’s face flushes pink. ‘What’s this “fear” nonsense anyway?’ His earlier bravado is long gone. ‘Growing old? As if I’d say that.’ He sits down beside Tiggy, whispers something Lucy can’t hear.

Lucy watches him with interest. This is the kind of information she likes to dredge up for her column – and it’s not that hard to find people to spill the beans, even on their friends. But she’s never been there when someone’s been directly affected. She knows Giles’s type. He’s definitely a boy-man who craves adoration and doesn’t know when to say no. Tiggy probably just puts up with it because she likes to be associated with him. It’s pathetic, but it’s also a bit seedy, seeing it like this. It’s at times like this she’s glad her column anonymity is airtight. She’s made sure of it.

No one knows that she is the voice behind Real Celebrity Gossip UK.

Not one person, other than herself.





Amelia

Scott breaks the awkward silence. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘this is obviously all part of the game. I suggest we carry on. Get whatever it is they’ve got on us out into the open. The psychology here is clear enough. They’re trying to rattle us, see how we react. It feels more like a corporate team-building event than something I thought was meant to be luxury . . . and fun . . . but I guess we need to get it going, then see where it takes us.’ He scans the room. ‘Who’s in?’

There is a flurry of reluctant yeses, and Amelia feels like she has no choice but to join in, even though she can’t read what is appearing to the others. Not that she has anything to hide, and she’s actually quite interested in what ‘fear’ is going to come up for her. If someone was to ask her right now, she wouldn’t be able to choose one for herself.

‘Can you read it all out to me, please?’ she says. ‘Take it in turns, or whatever. I feel like I’m really missing out now without the proper tracker.’