Dead Famous

DAY THIRTY. 10.30 a.m.

Some commentators had predicted that such unprecedented international interest in House Arrest could not be sustained, but they were wrong. Night after night viewers watched while the seven housemate suspects attempted to coexist in an atmosphere of shock, grief and deep, deep suspicion of each other.

Peeping Tom had announced that, until the police made an arrest, the game would continue as if nothing had happened. Nominations would take place as usual and the inmates would be given a task to learn and perform together in order to earn their weekly shopping budget. In the week following the murder, the task they were given was to present a synchronized water ballet in the swimming pool.

Geraldine had pinched the idea from the Australian version of the show, but in this new context it could not have been more perfect. Geraldine had also been acutely aware of the problem of maintaining the high level of excitement generated by the murder episode and its aftermath, and the idea of subjecting the seven housemates to a water ballet was hailed by many critics as a stroke of genius. The sight of these tired, nervous, desperate people, one of whom was a murderer, all rehearsing classical dance moves together while wearing high-cut Speedo swimwear, ensured that viewing figures for House Arrest went up. The sound of Mantovani’s most soothing string selections wafting through the house lent an even more sinister and surreal note to the exercises and the bickering.

“You’re supposed to raise your right fookin’ leg, Gazzer!” Moon shouted as Garry attempted to execute a movement known as the Swan.

“Well, I’ve done my fahkin’ groin in, haven’t I? I’m not a fahkin’ contortionist.”

“Point your toes, girl,” Jazz admonished Sally. “It says we’ll be judged on elegance and fucking grace.”

“I’m a bouncer, Jazz, I don’t do fucking grace.”

Even an innocent comment like this caused many a worried look between the housemates and much discussion on the outside. Sally had only been replying to Jazz, but to be reminded that she had more than a casual acquaintance with violence… Well, it did make you think.

Sometimes they confronted the ever-present agenda head on.

“This fahkin’ swimming suit’s riding right up my bum,” said Gazzer. “If I could get hold of the bloke whose idea this was I’d stick a fahkin’ knife in his head!” It was meant to be a joke, a dark and courageous joke, but nobody laughed when it was replayed ad nauseam in the House Arrest trailers, and Gazzer briefly climbed a notch or two in the “whodunit” polls of the popular press.