She doesn’t need to know there are another two packets in my case. I’m the human equivalent of a squirrel, saving now in case of lean times. It’s a compulsion that I’ve had since I was a kid. My friends Eleanor and Olivia still tease me about the full carton of canned beans under my bed at university. But when you live in chaos, you try to bring order and prepare for any eventuality.
Why else would I have brought a dozen condoms, two packets of digestive biscuits, a pack of disposable razors, hairdressing and nail scissors, two sachets of CupaSoup, six packets of instant pasta, a full pack of Tampax even though I’m not due for another three weeks, a sewing kit, umpteen sachets of coffee, three travel bars of soap, a roll of Sellotape and various other items that I might need?
In addition I’d bought a couple of things specifically for the trip, like a waterproof and woolly hat, as we’d been sent a suggested kit list for the course. We’d also been advised that any specialist items would be supplied but I like to be over-prepared. Always.
‘Here you go, chin, chin,’ said Tansy handing me a mug.
‘Cheers,’ I reply, chinking my mug against hers.
With a companion like Tansy, things are already looking up.
Chapter Four LYDIA
Man, who knew how hard it is to get into a wet suit? I never thought I’d relate to being swallowed whole by a boa constrictor. Thank God there isn’t a camera in sight. Although, hello, people, it’s no surprise that Tom is looking like the poster boy for outdoor adventure, bare-chested with the top of his wet suit hanging around his hips. Fuck, he looks good. Another heat-searing flashback nudges my hormones. For fuck’s sake.
Why can’t they accept I’m still fuming with the bastard for refusing to even acknowledge that night?
‘Well, hello,’ drawls Tansy, standing next to me. ‘You lucky bitch, working with that.’
‘Mm.’ I’m not committing to a word about him.
Having met everyone yesterday during the afternoon, today we’re congregated on the sandy shore of the lake, twelve of us in total, and we’re up against two other groups of twelve that have been sent out on other activities, no doubt to see how camera-worthy they are. Another burly instructor, Jordan, dressed all in black like a ninja warrior, surveys us in grim silence. Any second now I expect him to lunge into some sort of Matrix-style moves.
Of the twelve contestants in our cohort, six are all from one company, GreatCorp – where Harcourt is an exec director, surprise, surprise. Judging from the catcalls and comments, they know each other well. The remaining six are made up of Tom, Tansy, two women who look as if they’d rather be having a root canal than be here, a very earnest guy, Rory, who has insisted on asking us all our names and shaking our hands, and me.
‘This morning we’re going to divide you into two teams and with the equipment available –’ Jordan gestures towards a pile of ropes, wooden poles, large plastic drums and several oars as well as a dozen life vests ‘– you’re going to build a raft and cross to the island under your own steam.’
‘Of course we are,’ says Tansy, shooting me a look of rueful resignation.
‘The first team to reach the island wins.’
Everyone looks at one another with varying degrees of enthusiasm, horror and resignation. Tansy elbows me. ‘Glad I didn’t blow dry my hair this morning.’
And then we’re back at school as he begins calling out our names and dividing us into two teams. It’s not quite as bad as being on the school sports field – this lot don’t know my real name and my trainer soles aren’t flapping, tripping me up.
I’m in a team with Tansy – thank you, God – Rory, one of the two timid women and two men from GreatCorp. And not Tom. Thank you even more, God.
‘You lot are the Sharks,’ Jordan says to the other team. ‘You,’ to us, ‘are the Jets. When I blow the whistle, you have three hours to build your raft and reach the island.’
I squint at the island. It looks a hell of a long way away over the grey flat water. The trees, which come right down to the shore of the island, are reflected in the surface of the water. It’s all a bit closer to Swallows and Amazons than I ever thought I’d be and suddenly my childhood longings for freedom and escape don’t seem quite as wonderful to me. Maybe I can be ground crew and shout encouragingly, ‘Pull, pull’ or whatever those little people do at the back of the boat in a boat race.
‘The whole team has to get to the island, and everyone has to be transported on top of the raft.’
There’s a pause as we all absorb this.
‘Lydia!’ He shouts my name and I think I’m going to be told off for daydreaming.
‘Yes.’
‘You’ll be team captain of the Jets.’ Everyone turns to look at me. I smile weakly. Marvellous. Great. Wonderful. Thrust into the limelight. Just what I love.
‘Team captain of the Sharks … will be Tom.’
You couldn’t bloody make it up. Me and Tom eye each other. I can see the minute he decides, game on. A slow smirk that signifies he’s going to pound my team’s sorry arse into the ground and enjoy every minute of it. Over my dead body. I can’t believe someone like him needs the money. I only have to remember his sharp suit and hand-made brogues. What? He needs more designer gear? I need to get through to the next stage. I need to win that money. Gran’s house is a whole lot more than bricks and mortar to me.
After looking over our supplies, which seem to include an awful lot of blue nylon rope (all the better to tie someone up and drop them into the bottom of the lake), we separate into our teams on opposite sides of the little bay, the wooden jetty equidistant between us. Our team gather around a wooden picnic bench. The two GreatCorp men, Richard and Alastair, have already assumed control and are discussing what they think are the best tactics, while behind them Tansy is taking the piss out of their mansplaining with a lot of eye-rolling and under-her-breath comments. Timid Verity, if ever a name was suitable, keeps very quiet and keeps looking anxiously at the water as if the Loch Ness Monster might emerge at any moment.
‘Right, let’s sit down and make a plan,’ I say. I’m not wasting the advantage of being team leader. It’s an opportunity to shine even if I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing.
‘It’s obvious what we need to do. Lash the poles together and attach the floats.’ Richard thumps his hand on the table to emphasise he knows best.
Alastair nods in agreement, rising to his feet.
‘Obvious,’ drawls Tansy with impatient sarcasm.
I hold up a hand. ‘That’s great and it is probably exactly what we need to do.’
Everyone laughs.
‘However, as we’ve got to act like a team,’ I emphasise the word with spangly jazz hands to defuse the male egos, ‘it might be useful to see if anyone else has any ideas. And also, we might want to think about who does what.’ I give a self-deprecating laugh. ‘Anyone any good at tying knots? I can tell you now, I’m crap. Never a Brownie or a Girl Guide.’
Richard looks at me with the enthusiasm of a toddler being told he can’t have ketchup on his chips.
‘I was a Boy Scout,’ says Rory. ‘Not a very good one. I’ve got problems with spatial awareness, dyspraxia and a dodgy back but I do have a Swiss Army penknife.’
Alastair folds his arms in silent disgust, which immediately makes me feel sorry for Rory. I’m always a sucker for the underdog.
There’s a silence and then Verity speaks, her voice louder than expected as if she’s forced herself to project it beyond its usual limit. ‘I crochet, so I’m quite good at knotting things.’
