I feel slightly sick.
‘You’ll need a combination of wits, guile and team-working. And expect the unexpected,’ is the final helpful sign-off.
Marvellous. I am so not good with unexpected. I’ve rebuilt my life since leaving home by imposing order and control on everything. That night with Tom was the first time I’d ever given in to instinct and let myself go – maybe that’s why it hurts so much that it meant so little to him.
‘What if we decide not to take part?’ asks Rory.
Mark shrugs. ‘You lose the first payment. Today, just by turning up, you can earn 10K. Easy money.’
He has a point and it’s better than going home empty-handed.
‘We’ll be filming but you’ll also each be issued with a GoPro camera and spare SD cards. You need to record footage every day of yourself in action and some talking to camera about how you’re feeling. There’s guidance in the packs.’ He indicates a plastic wallet on the table behind him. ‘Remember, we want drama, folks.’
Yet again I remind myself. Money. It’s all about the money.
Then the pairings are read out. Oh dear God, please no. I have a horrible feeing I know what’s coming. My neck and shoulders are so tense as they work through the names, I’m worried my head might pop off, squeezed out from the pressure exerted by my shoulder blades.
‘Lydia…’ I look up, my pelvic floor and stomach muscles clenched tight. My Pilates teacher would be proper proud. ‘You’ll be with… T…’ I close my eyes. ‘Tansy.’
I open them and turn to her as she raises a hand for a high five. Result. I allow myself a relieved breath. That is good news.
‘You do know we are going to be crap at this,’ she whispers and starts giggling. ‘Do you think they’ll let me pack my gin? You can carry the tonic.’
‘It’s a deal,’ I say, with a smile that hides my apprehension. Oh dear God, the two of us in a tent. I’m not sure I’ve got the motivation to carry Tansy through. We’ll have a laugh but is she as desperate as me for the money?
The rest of the session is spent picking up our rucksacks and supplies, and divvying them up with our partners.
Tansy will carry the tent, the map and compass (and the gin). I will take the groundsheet, sleeping bags, food, enamel mugs, plates and cutlery (and the tonic). We’ll be allowed to add to the rucksack our clothes and whatever else we can carry.
Verity asks if she can take her crochet hook – is she planning to crochet herself a hammock? Rory wants to know if it’s okay if he takes his Swiss penknife. Personally I would not have owned up to that one in case they said no. Apparently we can take any personal items we feel will be useful.
‘What happens to our stuff we leave behind?’ asks Richard. ‘Our phones, wallets and I brought an iPad and a laptop.’
‘I can guarantee that a percentage of you won’t get very far.’ Mark grins with malicious glee. ‘It’s highly likely you’ll be back here within a day or so. Should any of you get further or even get to London, everything will be returned to you.’
‘Do you anticipate many people getting to London?’ asks a voice I know well.
Mark looks at Tom, his eyes narrowing in contemplation. ‘No.’ He looks back at the wall of black-clad men behind him and grins. ‘But you can try.’
‘What if there’s an emergency?’ someone asks.
‘Good point,’ replies Mark. ‘Each team gets one of these.’ He holds up a basic Nokia phone, about as unsmart as you can get. ‘I advise you to keep it switched off unless absolutely necessary to preserve the battery.’
There are lots more questions, but I tune out. None of the answers fill me with optimism.
‘Enjoy your last night of civilisation, folks. From tomorrow you’re going to be in the wild and on your own.’ With that we’re told that breakfast is at O seven hundred hours and to be ready to leave and in the foyer at O eight hundred hours sharp the next morning. Then we’re dismissed, free to commiserate with those that didn’t make the grade.
‘I need a drink,’ says Tansy. She’s not the only one and we all end up in the bar.
I find myself next to Tom. ‘You’ll be leaving most of the contents of your suitcase behind, I’m thinking. Regret bringing all those shoes now?’
‘Very funny,’ I say although inside my heart is beating double time. I’m going to have a tough time leaving anything. I’m already worrying about leaving behind something I might need. ‘Who are you paired with?’ I ask, as if I don’t know. I was listening avidly for his name when the teams were read out.
‘Rory.’ He scowls. ‘Why have they paired me with him? We’re like chalk and cheese.’
‘I think that’s the whole point,’ I say sweetly, happily pointing out the bleeding obvious. ‘He’s a nice person.’ Tom scowls at the inference. ‘It makes better television.’ Although to be fair, gentle and sweet as he was, Rory was quite hopeless apart from his Swiss Army knife.
Tom sighs. ‘I’m sure he is but he doesn’t strike me as the outdoors, physical type. I suspect I’ll be carrying him.’
Even though knowing Rory’s propensity to trip over his own feet, I can’t resist saying, ‘Cocky, much?’
For some crazy, crazy, complete brain aberration reason I look down at his crotch.
He blinks and catches my eye. We stare at each other for what feels like a full minute. And then he swallows, an urgent gulp, the tendons in his neck hard and proud.
I can’t help myself. I glance down again. He turns away quickly to hide a burgeoning erection and presses himself against the bar. Apparently those neck tendons are not the only thing that’s hard.
‘Do you want a drink?’ he asks, his voice gruff.
I’m a bit nonplussed. What the hell’s the etiquette in this situation? A dozen questions rocket through my mind. Do I want a drink? What am I saying to him if I say yes?
‘It’s not fucking Mastermind,’ he snaps. ‘Yes or no?’
‘Er, yes. White wine. Please.’
He orders the drinks and hands me the glass of white wine, taking care to keep me at arm’s length.
‘Well, the good news,’ I say, ‘is that you don’t have to spend any more time with me after this evening.’
