‘Do you think it’s bad that we seem to be making an enemy of one of the most powerful women in British television?’ I ask. ‘Genuinely.’
‘Yeah, maybe. Genuinely. Maybe we should play nice now.’
Our food – heated-up leftovers from lunchtime – arrives very quickly. It is, of course, the least popular dishes.
And – one mouthful in – we both know what Sonja has done instead of spitting in our food.
‘My goodness,’ I croak, when my eyes have stopped watering from the immense amount of chilli that has been added to the fish stew. ‘Pure bloody evil.’
‘She’s like a cartoon character.’ Jake lays his cutlery down and reaches for a slice of the bread that was thankfully left on the table when the fondue was taken away. Then he takes anothertwo slices. ‘Quick, take a few of these so you won’t go hungry before she realises we have it and confiscates it.’
‘Before I went on her show,’ I muse as I take bread, ‘I genuinely bought into the whole Sonja-is-lovely thing. I’m massively re-evaluating now.’
‘Next thing, we’ll discover that reality TV isheavilyedited to make viewers think certain things,’ says Jake, deadpan.
‘Yes, and on that point,weare now reality TV,’ I say.
‘Yep. We need to bereallynice to Sonja until we can extricate ourselves. Neither of us wants our reputation to be trashed, and obviously she’s capable of that.’
‘Er, rich from the man who seemed to be trying to trash my entire career the first time we met,’ I point out.
Jake winces. ‘Yes. Sorry.’
‘Oh my goodness.’ I swivel my eyes to the right, signalling. ‘There’s the woman herself. Heading towards us.’
One of the serving staff pulls a chair over for Sonja and places it under her exactly as she sits down.
‘That was great choreography,’ I say. ‘The chair.’
‘Thank you.’ Sonja is not smiling. ‘I thought it would be good for us to chat now. The three of us.’ She waves the camera away, pointing at the far end of the tent. ‘So. I think we all have the same aim.’
I nod pathetically, feeling as though we’ve strayed into a medieval court where our monarch has absolute power and might at any moment decide to send us to the Tower. On the other side of the table, Jake is also nodding.
‘Our aim.’ Sonja jabs the table with her finger. ‘Our aim is to makegreatnational television and enhanceallour reputations.’ She looks – glares – at each of us in turn. ‘Yes?’
‘Yes,’ we both say. I can’t actually believe this is happening. She is honestly terrifying.
‘So. What wewant is great footage of you two arguing. Ormaking up, if you know what I mean.’ She does an enormous and quite terrifying boob shimmy.
I sneak a look at Jake. He has his lips clamped tightly together like he’s scared that if he opens them at all he’s going to laugh and laugh.
‘Orone or both of you finally admit that you were wrong. But, basically, we – the nation – just like seeing the two of you interact.’
Jake still has his mouth clamped shut and isn’t speaking.
‘Okay,’ I say on behalf of both of us.
‘So we need a plan,’ Sonja continues. ‘This evening we’ve decided that we’re going to have a salsa dancing lesson for all of you. You will obviously both join in, fully.’
We both nod.
‘And tomorrow we have our treetop adventure. I am aware that you aren’t particularly fond of heights, Freya, but I expect you to join in. Jake can help you the way he did on the assault course. Which made excellent footage, by the way. Can you confirm that you will join in? Remember: we’veinvestedin you two.’
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘Excellent. Then I won’t spit in your desserts.’ She pushes her chair back and smiles at us, crocodile-like, as she stands up. We both smile back.
When she’s out of earshot, I whisper, ‘Spit in our desserts? Did she actually justspitin our stew? As in her spit is actual chilli-hot venom?’
