‘He’s done what?’
Honestly, if I wasn’t about to go on the trip of a goddamn lifetime, I could tear the printouts Dee’s just given me in half and storm off the plane right now.
Annabel pokes her head through the space between my seat and Dee’s.
‘What’s happened?’
She works hard, despite her inexperience, and she’s meticulous, but her jumpiness is getting a little much.
‘Bloody Will,’ I say, passing the paperwork to her. ‘Another last-minute change of contestant.’
‘Oh, that,’ Annabel says.
‘You knew?’
‘Of course she knew,’ Dee replies. She stows a plastic bag containing her bottle of duty-free rum under her seat, then starts studying the safety leaflet. ‘She knows everything about everything. Knew my shoe size without even asking me. She’s a fucking encyclopaedia.’
‘For the snowshoes,’ Annabel says, colouring. ‘To be fair, I did kind of guess—’
I hold my hand up. ‘I don’t care! Did Will already tell you about dropping the yoga woman?’
She winces. ‘I think he’s really doing his best, but …’
‘And it’s a big but,’ Dee says, tucking the sheet away. She meets my eye. ‘What? We all know he’s been winging it right from the start. That’s what posh boys do. But we’re here now, for better or worse. Let’s get on with it. Oh, look,’ she says flatly, jerking her chin towards the cockpit where two flight attendants are giggling, wide-eyed, as they welcome the most recent passenger. ‘One of yours.’
Coming down the aisle, clad in box-fresh outdoor gear, hair studiously dishevelled, cloud-grey eyes wonder-struck, like he’s never been on a plane before, is Wolf Ambrose: television and YouTube survivalist, influencer, model and ex-boyfriend of yours truly. He’s holding a small camcorder in front of him on a selfie-stick, talking as he goes, as if to an audience.
‘ … finding my seat,’ he says. ‘Oh, and here’s everyone else!’ He turns the camera towards us. ‘This is the team; say hello, team!’
I raise a hand and grin before I can stop myself – an involuntary response to the camera. But once Wolf clicks it off, I drop the smile.
‘What the hell’s that?’
‘For my channel,’ he says, flopping back into his seat across the aisle, eyes closed, like filming himself is such hard work. He unclips the completely unnecessary mic he’s got hooked onto his lapel.
‘Why don’t you just use your phone?’
He rolls his eyes like I’m an amateur, then reaches across to shake Dee’s hand.
‘Good to see you,’ he says without enthusiasm.
‘Wolf,’ Dee says with a slight nod. There’s no love lost between these two.
He leans forward, craning his neck to find me. ‘And like the sunshine behind the cloud …’ He reaches for my hand, as if he thinks I’m going to let him kiss it.
‘Nope,’ I say, slapping his arm away.
‘I think you have to be nice to him,’ Annabel advises in a whisper from behind the headrests.
‘Annabel, love, would you mind—’ I start, but Dee gets there more quickly.
‘ … backing off? For one minute?’
Annabel recedes, hurt. I give Dee a look.
‘She’s got a point, though,’ Wolf says. ‘I am the talent, after all.’
I turn to see Annabel digging in her little backpack, face flushed.
‘Bit star-struck,’ Wolf mock-whispers. ‘Don’t worry, sweetie, I get that a lot.’
‘I’m not,’ she says weakly.
Wolf flashes me a grin, like we’re back to sharing in-jokes. He laughs that throaty, million-follower laugh of his and settles back into his seat. ‘Shame you couldn’t stretch to business class,’ he says.
‘Shame you’re not quite charming enough to be offered it for free,’ Dee replies.
He winks at her, then, to me, ‘Is she going to be like this the whole time?’
I narrow my eyes at him. ‘Don’t make me wish we hadn’t cast you.’
‘Sweetheart, this show wouldn’t even have been funded without me.’
Dee is about to retaliate when someone in the aisle blocks Wolf from view. He’s broad-shouldered, scruffy in an outdoorsy kind of way. Wide-set eyes, reptilian almost. He checks his boarding pass against the seat that Wolf’s in and calls back to the flight attendant.
‘Sorry, I think there’s a mistake.’ A soft Scots burr. Then he looks over and recognises me. ‘Oh,’ he says, his face clearing. ‘It’s you. Tori Matsuka.’ He puts out a hand.
I’m about to reply when Annabel jumps up. ‘John! So good to meet you in person. Wolf, this is John Grandage,’ she explains. ‘He’s a community worker, does a lot of outdoor-pursuits stuff. Proper woodsman! You should get on.’
Wolf raises an eyebrow. ‘Proper? Meaning what?’
Dee sighs. ‘Don’t be a prick, Wolf.’ Then, to John, ‘Welcome. What happened to the beard?’
John touches his chin self-consciously. ‘I thought it better to look smart?’
Wolf, bestubbled as per his wild-man brand, rolls his eyes, never missing an opportunity to take something personally.
Annabel sorts out the seating issue – Wolf was allocated the window, but refuses to move from the aisle.
‘I’m nae bothered,’ John says convivially, stowing his battered backpack overhead.
‘Good man.’ Wolf moves aside fractionally to allow John to sit next to him, then closes his eyes.
Dee glances behind us and gestures down the aisle. ‘Think that must be Gaia – the late booking,’ she says. ‘Back there. Crew-cut.’
I get up. The last of the contestants are finding their seats a couple of rows behind us, but right towards the rear is a skinny, shaven-headed woman sliding a case into the locker and taking her seat.
I go straight down, ignoring the couple of gasps of recognition from other passengers. Crouching to her level, I put out a hand, look cheerful. First impressions count. ‘Gaia? I’m Tori. I’m working on the show.’
She’s late thirties, max, but life doesn’t appear to have been kind to her. She nods her hello – as brief as it can be without being rude. Or, if I was being less generous, maybe a little bit over that line.
‘Look,’ I say, undeterred, ‘we’re all sitting up there. We could see if there’s a spare seat a bit nearer, if you want to come and—’
‘No,’ she says, her voice tight. ‘Thank you. I’ll be fine back here.’
A flight attendant darts over, telling me that I need to return to my seat.
‘Wait a moment,’ I tell her, and then, to Gaia, ‘We’re not filming yet, just having a chat—’
‘I’m happy here, thank you,’ she says, firmly this time, eyes on mine. Green and vivid and determined.
I stand, taken aback. ‘Sure. No problem. We’ll have a chat when we’re on the connection then.’
She gives a stiff nod, pushes earbuds into her ears and closes her eyes.
‘Madam—’ the flight attendant begins.
‘Yes, fine,’ I snap, instantly regretting it. I follow her back to my seat and she waits as I dutifully click my belt closed. ‘Sorry,’ I tell her. ‘Nervous flyer.’
‘No problem,’ the flight attendant says tightly, moving off.
Watching the exchange, Wolf gives me an amused half-smile. This is a man who once, quite seriously, considered getting never apologise, never explain tattooed on himself. His disdain for my concern about other people’s opinions evidently hasn’t waned.
Go fuck yourself, I don’t tell him. Because much as I resented Will even suggesting that we bring Wolf on board, I know his boast about boosting the viewing figures is absolutely correct. We’ll owe half our audience to the relentless curiosity of the glossy mags about what they call our will-they-won’t-they relationship. Although, spoiler alert: no, they won’t. That ship has sailed, caught fire and sunk.
We start to taxi. Next to me, Dee shakes two pills out of a bottle and swallows them down with some water.
I glance over at Wolf, who’s reviewing his footage without headphones, the volume right up. I sigh heavily.
Dee catches my eye. ‘And we’re not even in the air yet,’ she says, pulling a sleep mask down over her eyes.