Chapter 5

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.'

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.'

‘There is that. Not sure Rory is preferable though.'

‘You really are a miserable bastard, aren't you?'

He chokes on his pint and then starts to laugh.

‘No one can ever accuse you of pulling any punches, can they, Lydia?'

‘Do you know, I think that's the first time you've ever used my name.'

‘Is it?' he says with blasé dismissal, which tells me he's fully, fully aware of that fact.

I tilt my head and study him. Has he been adopting the same tactic as me? My mental labelling him with his full name has been a deliberate way of separating him from the passionate, sexy and, yes, caring, man that I had amazing sex with. Has he been doing the same in reverse? Trying to block memories of me from his mind? And if so, why?

‘Hey, roomie.' Tansy drapes an arm around my neck.

‘Hey, Tansy.'

‘Bad luck on the challenge today,' she says to Tom.

He gives her some sort of grimace, which I think is supposed to be a facsimile of a smile, but for once there's a hint of real emotion in those steely grey eyes of his. I can't quite fathom what it is. Hurt? Resignation? Angst? Fear? And then it's gone, as fleeting as the phosphorus blaze of a match.

‘Tom's teamed up with Rory,' I say helpfully.

‘Oh, you mean dodgy-back-trips-over-his-own-feet Rory? What a shame,' says Tansy with a grin. ‘He's lovely though.'

Tom glowers at both of us.

‘Thanks for filling me with confidence,' says Tom, his mouth firming in resignation, which once again draws my attention to it. Something – possibly my heart – flutters beneath my ribs. He can do wonderful things with that mouth.

‘Never mind.' Tansy wrinkles her face in false sympathy. Can she not feel the charge of electricity that hovers above my skin at his very proximity? Is this all in my imagination? All I can say is thank Christ I won't be seeing him for a while. I am starting to fear for my sanity.