‘Keep going, we can do this,’ yells Tom.
I’m smirking now. The rear left of their raft is below the water line and they’ve all had to shuffle forward. Some of the poles making up the base of the raft are starting to drift apart and the Sharks are trying to hang on to them at the same time as paddle.
We glide level with them, our raft still perfectly intact.
It’s panic stations on the Sharks’ raft. Everyone is shouting at each other, countermanding themselves as the poles start to detach from the main body of the raft. One of the team falls in.
‘Get back on!’ screams one of the women. But as the man struggles to board, another few sections of the raft separate, taking another float with them.
We’re ahead of them now. Tansy has taken her foot off the gas and we’re paddling in quite a leisurely manner as Tom’s team all end up in the water. I give him a wave as we cruise towards the island. Victory has never tasted quite so sweet.
Tansy raises a glass of wine. ‘Cheers to our team leader.’
‘Thanks.’ I grin and take a sip. It’s actually been a fun day, although it helped that we won the morning’s challenge. After that we had lunch and then went on a long hike with a couple of the Mannerdale Hall staff, which was supposed to be very amicable. However, the slightly scary, heavily musclebound staff members moved from group to group. With short buzz cuts and sharp observant eyes, they’re the type that don’t miss a thing and I’m horribly aware that we were being judged in some way. Tansy and I fell into conversation and spent most of the hike together, although Rory and Verity joined in frequently while Alastair and Richard good-naturedly took the piss when I struggled to get to the top of a rocky outcrop with a shove from behind from Richard. Our team has definitely cemented.
Dinner has a slightly gala-like feel because we’re all dressed up (by order) but it’s also very tense because everyone knows that in a little while we’ll find out if we’ve made the grade. The other two groups of contestants are also here, bringing home the fact that I have a one in six chance of going through. I wonder for how many of the people here the money is so important. A make-up artist has been buzzing about dabbing powder on a couple of shinier faces and for the first time there’s a cameraman quietly filming us. Following a debrief about the task this morning. I’m feeling a slight hopeful glow, having been commended for my leadership skills and managing my team so well that our raft won a special prize for being the best one ever built at the centre. Surely that’s a promising sign.
Somehow they got hold of Alastair’s drawing, put it in a cheap plastic frame and presented it to me. I’m rather touched and more than a little bit pleased with myself. Not, of course, that I show it. Tom seems to have taken failure very personally and has barely said a word to anyone all day. I would feel a bit sorry for him but he’s so bloody competitive that I can’t bring myself to be magnanimous and talk to him.
‘Very well done, Lydia,’ says Verity.
‘I think your champion knot-tying had a lot to do with our victory,’ says Alastair, with a warm, admiring look at Verity. ‘Although credit to Lydia, for bringing your light out from under the bushel.’
Verity blushes.
After dinner, we all move to a room, set up with rows of chairs and one of the scary guys stands up and asks us all to close our eyes. Once we do, he announces that anyone tapped on the shoulder is to get up and leave the room. The staff members all exchange serious, doom-laden looks, which is ever so slightly worrying. If you have to leave does that mean you haven’t gone through, or does it mean you have? No one asks. We just look at each other, the tension vibrating in the room palpable as one by one we close our eyes.
I swallow and wipe my damp hands down the length of my skirt. This is it, make or break. Tomorrow I could be going home.
Chapter Five LYDIA
When we’re instructed to open our eyes a few minutes later, Mark, of the giant shoulders, and Jordan, the ninja man, have been joined by four equally fearsome-looking guys at the front of the room, where they stand, all in black, hands behind their backs, projecting SAS vibes. Their thin jersey tops emphasise their compact, well-sculpted bodies.
The room has thinned out and I take in the now empty seats I can see. We still have no idea if we’ve gone through to the next stage or not. Tom is still here, so if I’ve failed, so has he, which brings some small amount of consolation. (Yes, I know I’m petty.)
‘Oh lord, it’s the A team,’ murmurs Tansy, who sits next to me and fans herself. ‘If I accidentally twist an ankle, do you think one of them would sweep me up in his arms and carry me?’
‘Ha! Fireman’s lift, if you’re lucky,’ I tell her.
‘You’re no fun, Lydie.’ She pouts then grins. ‘Spoiling my He-man fantasies. Although Sharky boy had a fit upper half. Did you notice?’
‘No,’ I say, perhaps a bit too quickly.
She studies me. ‘No love lost there then.’
‘None,’ I say. There’s a prickle between my shoulder blades. I am so totally aware of Tom, sitting at the back of the room three rows behind us. Where he’s concerned, I seemed to have developed my very own Spidey sense. I always know where he is. It’s bloody irritating.
‘First, the good news, you have all qualified,’ Mark calls from the front of the room.
There’s a cheer and we all applaud. Thank fuck for that. My shoulders sink back to their natural position.
‘Tomorrow morning at O eight hundred hours, you’ll be fleeing for your lives,’ says the black-clad giant at the front of the room. The way that he emphasises the words makes them sound terrifying. I’m clearly not the only one who thinks so because there’s an audible intake of breath behind me and Tansy shoots me a nervous glance.
‘Do you think it’s too late to change our minds?’ she whispers.
Mark holds up his hand. ‘It’s TV, guys. Don’t worry. No one’s really gonna die.’ He pauses and then adds with a laugh, ‘Well, we hope not. We can’t afford the insurance!
‘Now, in a minute we’ll announce the teams and tomorrow you’re going on the run.’ He pauses again, with just the right amount of drama, to let this sink in.
‘What the sweet mother of Mary Jane does that mean?’ Tansy asks, sounding panicked. ‘I thought it would be like a jailbreak or something and we had to escape. Not go on the run.’
There’s another brief hum of chatter as we respond in varying degrees to this news.
After waiting a few seconds, in which the cameraman homes in on the SAS guys’ menacing faces before swinging round to film us, Mark continues. ‘No phones, twenty quid a head and you, your partner and your wits. You’ll get a basic set of supplies including a tent, compass, map, enough food for a couple of nights and a half hour head start.’
‘A tent!’ says Tansy, appalled. ‘I only do camping by Marriott.’
I have never camped in my life. I’m not sure I’ve even been within three feet of a tent. The thought of sleeping outside where anyone could happen upon you unnerves me. I remember nights curled up against the door of my bedroom wrapped in my duvet so that no one could walk in to doss down for the night.
‘Any questions?’ asks Marcus as everyone starts talking at once.
‘Yes. Can I go home now?’ mutters Tansy. I’d like to go with her but once again I remind myself about the money.
‘Each team has to get as far away from here as possible and make its way to London without being caught by our crack tracking and surveillance team. Meet our elite hunters, Midge, Jonno, Scott and Teasedale, who’ll be on your trail. All of them have served with the SAS and have considerable expertise in hunting down the enemy.
‘The first team to reach Trafalgar Square wins the grand prize of a hundred thousand pounds each –’ he pauses to let this sum sink in ‘– however if only one of you makes it, that figure is reduced to twenty thousand pounds. You have five days. The deadline is 8pm on Saturday. Today is Monday. If no one makes it to London, the team that gets furthest from here in five days without being caught gets the second prize of twenty grand. If you’re caught, you’re immediately disqualified.’
