Page 9 of A Game of Lies

‘So strange to see someone you know on the telly,’ Ffion says, asCeri Jonescomes into shot. Elen half expects to see Ceri in her usual postal worker shorts, but she’s wearing the camp uniform, the bright orange top making her pale skin look sallow.

‘More strange to want to be on it,’ replies Elen, who sees no appeal in becoming a performing monkey in front of a public vote. She’s surprised to see Ceri – who was bullied dreadfully when she was a teenager – putting herself through something like this, when she’s usually so private. Elen has always found it ironic that they know so little about Ceri Jones, when the postwoman knows so much of everyone else’s business.

The people of Cwm Coed had discovered Ceri was going to be onExposurethe same way the rest of the nation did: in a splashy online story about the ‘hot’ new reality TV show. The story was accompanied by a sidebar headed ‘Five Facts about North Wales’, three of which were incorrect. ‘I gather you’re going to be famous,’ Elen had said the next morning, as she took her post.

Ceri had reddened. ‘I wasn’t allowed to say anything. Not till the announcement.’

‘What made you apply?’

‘Dunno, really. Bit of fun, isn’t it?’ Ceri had said, but the flush was darkening, and she hadn’t hung around to ask after Seren, or for Elen to fish for what Ceri and Ffion had got up to when they went to Liverpool the other weekend.

‘Don’t you think it’s a bit out of character for her?’ Elen says now, as they watch Ceri join the other contestants. ‘Doing this, I mean?’

‘She thinks she can win.’ Ffion shrugs. ‘And if she does, she’s quids in.’

Seren slides on to the floor to join Caleb, who has shuffled closer to the television. ‘I thought she had a Sugar Momma?’

‘Seren!’ Elen chastises, even though Seren is almost eighteen and will soon be leaving home.

‘They broke up.’ Ffion nods towards the screen. ‘Can we actually watch this now, please?’

‘That’s Ryan,’ Caleb says, a split second before the man’s name and occupation appears at the bottom of the screen.Ryan Francis, software engineer.

‘He doesn’t look like he’ll present much competition.’ Ryan is walking with Ceri, picking his way gingerly across the rocky terrain. He has the look of a man who spends too much time indoors, Elen concludes. His features are rounded, and long lashes frame soft blue eyes. When he catches his foot in a rabbit hole and stumbles, Ceri snorts with laughter. The camera zooms in on Ryan, blinking away tears.

‘That’s not like Ceri,’ Ffion says.

But Ceri’s not usually playing for a hundred grand, thinks Elen, and money does strange things to people.

Ryan scrubs at his face.

‘Twitter’s going to destroy him.’ Seren speaks with the resigned insight of her generation. ‘I might have to give him a pity vote.’

‘For one pound twenty plus network rates? You can use your own phone if you do.’ Elen won’t be casting a vote, although, if she did, it would be for the head teacher, who is a woman after Elen’s own heart. No sooner have the contestants arrived in camp than Pam Butler is swiftly organising their chores.

‘Henry and Jason, you get a fire going; Aliyah, sweetheart, are you okay to make the beds up with Lucas?’ She plants both hands on her ample hips and surveys their surroundings. ‘See that cupboard marked “food”, Ryan? Go and see what we might be able to rustle up for lunch.’

‘Notice she’s getting everyone else to do the work,’ Ffion says archly. ‘Typical teacher.’

A loud scream makes everyone jump – both on screen and in Elen’s lounge. Aliyah comes haring out of the women’s tent and throws herself at the nearest man: the accountant, Henry Moore.

‘There’s a massive spider!’ She shudders, brushing herself down as though she were teeming with bugs. ‘Get it out, please! I can’t sleep in that tent if there are going to be spiders there.’

Seren snorts. ‘She’s not going to last long.’

Henry puts an arm around Aliyah and gives her a squeeze. ‘I’ll sort it.’

The camera cuts to an interior shot, as Henry enters the women’s tent and looks around. Three beds are positioned in a fan shape, their pillows almost touching the canvas walls. A wooden locker sits at the foot of each bed, and in the centre of the tent is a pile of giant bean bags.

‘Shows like this would normally have dozens of editors,’ says Caleb, with the experience of a fortnight in the industry. ‘But the way Miles has done it is really clever. He and another editor spent weeks on the template for the show, so Miles can drop footage in as quickly as possible. Storyboarding, it’s called. Miles works insane hours. He goes for a run every morning, but otherwise he’s at his desk from like six a.m. till after the show goes out.’

On screen, Henry is shaking out bedding. He stoops and cups something in his hands.

‘People say Miles is a control freak, but I think he’s a genius. And he’s sound, too, you know? Like, giving me my first TV credit – that’s huge. It’s really going to open doors.’

Back in camp, Henry has disposed of the spider and received a hero’s hug from Aliyah.

‘I know it’s pathetic,’ she says. ‘But it’s the way their legs are all …’ She lets out a squeal at the thought of it.

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