I raise my hand to knock on her cabin door at the exact moment it swings open. It’s not Tori on the other side, though, but Wolf, a look of pure rage on his chiselled face, the smell of booze hanging like a fog.
He flinches in surprise, then storms past me, knocking me into the doorframe.
‘Jesus!’ I shout, rubbing my arm. He doesn’t apologise, of course, doesn’t even slow down. ‘Maybe brush your teeth before you go back to the bar, mate?’
He doesn’t take my advice, striding straight past his own cabin and giving me the finger, before disappearing through the door at the end of the passage.
‘Leave him,’ Tori says from inside.
‘What happened?’ I ask as I go in. I take in the rumpled duvet and put a hand to my eyes. ‘Tell me you didn’t—’
‘You are not even asking me that. Of course I didn’t. He’s a bloody barnyard animal.’ She keeps her head angled away from me.
‘Tor. You good?’
She pulls her hair over one side of her face and grabs the make-up bag from the desk.
‘Couldn’t be better. Just give me a few minutes to do my face?’ she says, ducking into the bathroom, despite the fact that there’s a perfectly good mirror right there on the table.
The lock clicks inside the en suite, and Tori tells me to go ahead.
I touch my fingers to the door, frowning. ‘You sure you’re all right?’
‘I said I’m fine. Get some atmos without me. I’ll be there in ten.’
I go ahead of her into the saloon so that I can shoot a few bits before her entrance. Craig and the contestants are already there, the conversation bubbling with nervous energy. Every one of them wears neat, practical clothes.
It takes a moment to set up a shot, keeping the wall of faded, dog-eared maps behind me. It’s more sixth-form common room than private members’ club, which is fine – it’s not meant to be opulent – but I wasn’t expecting it to be so basic. Shabby. Everything built to last, by people who assumed it wouldn’t last as long as it did.
I beckon Annabel over to check what she’s shooting, but I can immediately see it’s wrong. ‘Your white balance is off,’ I say, giving her camera back.
‘White … balance. Okay.’
‘You know how to do that, right?’
She flips open the side screen and opens the settings menu. ‘Of course!’
I wait a few seconds.
‘Do you, though?’
‘I … I’m not used to this model, it’s different from the ones we used at uni.’
‘Fine, whatever.’ I quickly show her how to point the camera at something white – in this case the centre of the map of Greenland on the wall – and then set the colour temperature from there. I hand it back. ‘Just be honest, all right?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘If you don’t know something, say.’
‘Oh. Got it. I will. Sorry.’
I wave her away with an instruction to get some wides of the room, without me in them.
As I pick up shots, everyone makes a huge effort to appear cheery and upbeat. Below the surface, though, if you listen to the actual words, they’re already wrestling for the top of the hierarchy. Nish appears to be good-humouredly joining in a conversation between Marco and Wolf about rugby.
‘Wasn’t that the ’09 tour?’ Wolf says.
Marco sizes him up. ‘Yeah. You watch it?’
‘I was there, mate. Ellis Park game.’ He laughs, but not kindly. ‘I mean, not your greatest day, admittedly.’
I take a quick swig of water from the bottle by my feet and reframe, as Marco’s face falls. John, standing close to me, leans in. ‘And now, after mere hours in the new environment,’ he whispers, in a perfect Attenborough drawl, ‘one of the alphas must establish control.’
It’s all I can do not to spit out my water.
I move away to get a bit of Helen regaling Craig with a story about the Trans-Siberian Railway. More smiles and laughter in the few minutes I’ve been shooting them than I’d ordinarily expend in a solid week, but that’s the magic of a couple of glasses of wine and a 100-grand prize, I suppose. We might be talking about the show in terms of leadership qualities, but we all know it’s really a glorified popularity contest, especially at the start.
Though I do wonder if Gaia, currently loitering alone like a dateless wonder at a school disco, has realised that yet.
I’ve got enough footage for now. While I’m watching it back, Helen comes over. I nod to her, but she’s making a beeline for Gaia, who is standing a few paces off from where I am and is carrying two glasses of champagne.
‘Thirsty?’ Helen says.
‘I don’t drink. They’re supposed to know that.’
The annoyance in Gaia’s voice, and the fact that Tori and I are the source of it, sparks my attention. I don’t turn, but I don’t exactly make an effort not to eavesdrop.
‘Right, good for you,’ Helen says uncomfortably.
I keep them in the periphery of my vision, wanting to hear how the conversation pans out. From the corner of my eye I see Helen lift the glass to her own lips. She swallows and then leans in to mock-whisper, ‘Got to say I’m not much of a one for parties, these days. Prefer my own company, if you know what I mean.’
‘God, me too,’ Gaia says.
Helen cocks her head. ‘Kind of begs the question why either of us is here then?’ She laughs at herself, puts a hand on her chest. ‘Me, I wanted an adventure. All very well running businesses, but there’s nothing like a new experience.’ She pauses, but when it comes to the art of conversation, it’s clear that Gaia’s not on the same canvas. ‘So what about you,’ she asks patiently, ‘why are you here?’
Gaia takes so long to reply that I wonder if she’s heard. I snatch a proper glance and see her staring off across the room. I try to follow her eyeline – out towards where John stands, talking to Nish and Marco – but then she shakes herself and looks at her feet.
‘Same, I suppose,’ she says and then, as if she’s realised how strange it sounds, she adds, ‘I wanted to … get some exposure for the charity I work for. That’s where the money will go, if I win.’
Helen nods, but something in her expression says she doesn’t think this is the whole story. Then she glances over at me and, feeling rumbled, I pick up the camera again and scan the room for another shot.
Getting good material out of Gaia is going to be a challenge – no wonder Will was worried about Tori’s reaction to bringing her in.
Over by the window I find Nish, now showing Marco and John her phone. I stay a couple of paces back, and once I frame up, I take my eye from the viewfinder and act casual – it tends to fool people into thinking the camera’s not rolling and makes them less shy.
‘We did two ceremonies actually,’ she says, flicking through photos with the screen angled towards the two men. ‘The Quaker one, look, and then the Hindu one, though we couldn’t have it at the actual temple unfortunately, because, you know, they don’t recognise it.’
‘There’s a long way still to go,’ John says, shaking his head.
Nish passes Marco the phone. It takes a moment for the knot of confusion on his face to unravel, but I can already guess what’s happening.
‘Oh!’ he says, flustered. ‘Right, got you. That’s your … your girlfriend.’
‘My wife, yes,’ she says patiently. ‘Sheena.’
He’s nodding far too fast now. ‘Sorry, love,’ he says. ‘I don’t know many, um—’
Nish puts her hand gently on his, a delicate sparkle of mischief in her eyes. ‘It’s all right, Marco. You can say “lesbians”.’
He stops nodding, blows out a breath and laughs at himself. ‘Lesbians. Okay!’ And the two of them clink glasses and giggle together, an unlikely bond somehow sealed.
I can’t help but laugh, then I see Tori, hovering in the doorway. I nod to her and she goes back out, giving me the usual ten seconds while I set the shot ready for her entrance. We have a shorthand, she and I. More often than not, she’ll know if a take needs another pass, or if a piece to camera isn’t hitting the spot, before I even open my mouth.
I frame up, then call out, ‘At speed.’
There’s a hush as she enters with Craig, Eino trailing behind with all the charisma of a plank of wood.
‘Everyone,’ she says, ‘welcome to Frozen Out!’ She opens her arms like she’s offering a hug that we’re all invited to. ‘This trip is one I’ve wanted to make ever since I was a little girl, even though I’ll have to admit that I may have thought there were penguins up here, at the time.’
That tiny snip of self-deprecation – I’ve seen her deploy it so many times, and the outcome is always the same. It’s bullshit about the penguins, of course. But between the lines, it’s a statement: I’m not clever. I’m not better than you. I’m not a threat. Straight away, along with the laughs, shoulders drop and Tori’s golden glow spills across the room.
What I wouldn’t do for half an ounce of what she’s got.
‘Now, we’re here to work, to show the world what we know about leadership. But more importantly, we’re going to learn about ourselves. Craig won’t be telling you what the challenges are yet, but rest assured they’re going to push you to your limits.’
‘Right to the limits of my insurance,’ he says, deadpan, raising snorts of mirth.
From under a table, Tori brings out a box. Curious glances are exchanged. ‘Now, the first thing we need to do is take away your safety blankets. And for a lot of you, that includes your normal support networks. Real-life and virtual. As you already know, the remote parts of Greenland aren’t great for internet access, but as a little extra challenge,’ she says, passing the box to John, who’s standing closest, ‘I’m going to need to take your phones.’
John makes a good-humoured show of reluctance, but any viewer paying attention will see straight away that giving up his ancient Nokia doesn’t pose him any difficulty. The box is passed around to an affable chorus of outrage. Tori gives it a gentle shake for effect as it arrives back with her, then closes the lid and puts it on the table.
Then she transitions to serious mode. ‘Not all of you are going to enjoy these challenges. Not all of you are even going to complete them. But what we all know, as leaders, is that without a strong sense of a team, there can be no true leadership. We have to know each other, to support each other, if we’re going to get through this in one piece.
‘Right now, we’re all the way up in the Arctic Circle. Our captain, Eino,’ she says, extending a hand, ‘is going to sail us south tonight towards – where was it, Eino?’
He comes forward, emotional as a robot. ‘Towards the islands of Kangaatsiak, where we make first stop tomorrow. It will be cold.’
Craig snorts. ‘Don’t ruin the surprise for them!’
There is a smattering of nervous laughter, and Eino seems to thaw the slightest bit. ‘We make our way down the coast slowly, taking eleven days unless we are impeded by the predicted bad weather, in which case we have provisions for two months.’
There are gasps, then looks exchanged.
‘Is that for real?’ Marco says, alarmed. ‘My kids …’
‘Course not,’ Gaia tells him, standing close. ‘He’s kidding,’ Even I can hear she’s not sure.
‘Well,’ Tori laughs, ‘good to know!’
He stonewalls her cheeriness, allows her a small nod, then sits down.
‘The format of our competition, as you know, will be of five different challenges. After each one, you’ll all get a chance to vote for the best leader among you, and for the person you think is the weakest. And remember, part of leadership is honesty: we’re trusting you not to play the system here!’ She scrunches up her face and points accusingly around the room, joking but meaning it. ‘No voting for the person you think is your own biggest threat, all right?’
There’s a ripple of chuckling, and John clutches imaginary pearls in faux-horror at the very idea. Only Nish looks genuinely confused, as if the thought of any such thing would never have occurred to her – giving me the distinct sense that the opposite is true.
Tori beams at them. ‘Whoever you vote out can no longer win, but they’ll still be a part of the show. They’ll be demoted to deckhand – the rest of you will be able to give them jobs, delegate to them. But the deckhands still get to vote: it’s about teamwork, all the way through, and every member of that team needs to know they’re valued. Once it’s all over and we’re home in the UK, we’ll come to do some follow-ups with you, to see what you end up putting into action from the experience. And you never know, maybe some of you will already be arranging your own meet-ups!’
She pauses as they all look politely around at each other, as if assessing the likelihood of that.
‘But that’s for later,’ she continues. ‘At the end of the challenges we’ll sail back into Nuuk, and the final vote will decide the winner of the hundred-thousand-pound prize. Pretty good, huh?’ she says, to murmurings of agreement.
She fills her glass now and gestures for everyone to do the same.
‘By the end of our time on board we’re going to be a machine. We’re going to know each other better than some of the friends we’ve had back home for years. And it’ll be warts and all – we’ll be showcasing our best features, and weeding out our greatest failings. We’re here tonight as a group of strangers. But whoever wins the prize at the end, we’re going to go home as a team: strong, compassionate and fearless.’ She thrusts her glass high. ‘To adventure!’
‘To adventure!’ they all call back. And just like that, under the auspices of our worshipful leader, the mood is set.
With the show’s emphasis on the toughness of the challenge, we wait until the cameras are off before we bring out the luxury, but when the food comes, it is exquisite. A seafood stew bejewelled with olives and served with fresh bread, then a chocolate cake, dense and silky. The wine keeps flowing, and within half an hour someone’s put music on and there’s a genuine party atmosphere.
I go over to where Helen is topping up glasses for Craig and Wolf. John is there too, but his glass is as full as it was when he joined the toast and I don’t think I’ve seen him take a mouthful.
‘I think Stefan’s the First Mate,’ John is saying. ‘But maybe also the mechanic.’
‘Small crews, these ships,’ Wolf says authoritatively. ‘Everyone doubles up. Not like the Navy!’ He waits for John to ask him about that, then tells him anyway. ‘I spent a month embedded with the Navy for a show, while back. Tough gig, that one,’ he says, shaking his head at the memory of it. Then he empties his glass and refills it. ‘So what’s your background then? What have you done?’
‘Ha, well, nothing as interesting as you!’ John says, eager to change the subject. ‘I hear you’ve got a book out, is that right?’
‘I do actually, yes. Lot of work, that was. A lot.’
Marco, sidling over, nods with interest. ‘I remember that, yeah. I did one of them, a few years back.’
A smile plays on Wolf’s lips.
‘What?’ Marco says.
Wolf chuckles, glancing around at the others. ‘I mean, I did write mine, so.’
Beneath his deep Mediterranean colouring, you can see Marco blush. ‘Did a lot of mine too actually, mate.’
Sensing escalation, I tap Marco on the shoulder, lead him a few steps away. We’re out of earshot, but I keep my voice low. ‘You mentioned your kids.’
‘Yeah and?’ His nostrils are still flaring.
I make the slightest nod towards Wolf. ‘He wants to wind you up. So be the better man.’
Marco holds my gaze for a moment, before his shoulders drop. ‘It’s cos of them I’m here. Wanted to show ’em I’ve got uses, you know?’
‘I’m sure you’ve got lots of uses.’
He jerks his chin. ‘Yeah, well. Ex-wife wouldn’t agree.’ He sighs, suddenly beaten, and drops his voice. ‘Judge says if I can stay out of trouble for six months, we can go back to unsupervised, but …’ He shrugs, rubs his face. Grins. ‘Anyway. Don’t know why I’m telling you that.’
Possibly the booze is what I don’t say. ‘Wolf tries that again, walk away, yeah?’ I tell him. But I know Wolf, and the ways he has of making it impossible to ignore him. It’s clear even now that Marco’s not going to come off well, if he has to spar with someone like that.
As another half-hour passes, the atmosphere sharpens a little. I pass behind where Wolf is telling John his theories on the armed forces.
‘But it stays the same, the military, doesn’t it? Same training from one decade to the next, same culture.’ Anyone would think he’d done service himself. ‘I mean, apart from the madness of letting gay men serve alongside normal soldiers. God knows how the British still get taken seriously.’
He glances right in my direction, then at Tori, who gives him a very slow shake of the head that he chooses to disobey.
‘Problem?’ Wolf says, holding her with a glare that could burn a hole in the eight-inch hull.
‘I don’t have a problem with gay men doing whatever they like,’ Tori says lightly.
His jaw tightens, but she doesn’t flinch. His eyes meet mine, but I don’t react. It’s his secret, not mine, not hers, and it’s his choice if he wants to tell the world one day or die with it.
Nish, who’s standing nearby, turns slowly. ‘I’m not sure I’d agree.’
‘Really?’ Wolf says. ‘Think about it. You’ve got a battalion full of buff, sweaty blokes. All cut off from their wives and girlfriends, living in a state of constant adrenaline in the middle of the desert. And then you throw into the mix a whole load of very highly sexed individuals, who are only there for the pecs and biceps? I mean, yes, of course rights are important. But honestly. No bloody wonder the Taliban won.’
Tori looks away.
Wolf pauses for the smattering of awkward laughter, but Marco takes his chance. ‘We can do without that, mate. We got a lovely lady here who’s married to a girl,’ he says, nodding to Nish. ‘So less of the homophilia, all right?’
Tori’s hand flies to her mouth, but it’s not quick enough to hide the laugh.
Marco wheels round, but she corrects it immediately, waving her hand in apology. Wolf, however, is not one to let a good opportunity go to waste.
‘I think you might mean homophobia, my friend.’ He levels an amused look at the bigger man and swallows a mouthful of wine. Then he goes in for the kill. ‘It is a bit of a long word, though, for someone who struggles with them.’
Marco crosses the space between them in one step. ‘Fuck’s that mean?’
‘Now, now,’ Wolf says. ‘I was just interested in this book of yours. Given how much of a challenge that release form was.’
John clears his throat. ‘Let’s not start shaming people.’
This, from Marco’s expression, is very much the wrong thing to say. ‘Shaming me about what? Huh? You want to give me some grief as well, yeah?’
John puts his hands up, appalled. ‘Not at all, not in the slightest.’
‘Boys, boys,’ Tori says. ‘Let’s play nicely.’
‘Back off, Matsuka,’ Wolf snaps.
‘Whoa, don’t talk to her like that!’ Marco tells him.
‘I’ll talk to her any damn way I please.’ Wolf sets his drink down, sloshing it onto the table as he does so. He always was unfamiliar with his limits, but this time I’d missed it happening.
Annabel, who’s been helping Ulla tidy up, comes over. ‘Tell you what, how about I make everyone a mug of—’
‘You can fucking back off, too,’ Wolf tells her. It’s a snarl, this time.
‘Wolf.’ Tori’s trying to be diplomatic, her hand on his back to communicate a warning, but it’s a mistake. He moves away, but his centre of gravity is drunkenly off and he stumbles straight into her, knocking her to the ground.
John rushes over, offers her a hand up. She ignores it and gets up, not taking her eyes from Wolf.
‘What the hell do you think you’re—’ Tori hisses, but before she’s had a chance to ask her question, Marco finishes the conversation. His fist ploughs into Wolf’s face with a wet crunch and sends him sprawling.
The room goes silent. Wolf gets to his feet, an acid grin on his face, and touches his fingers to his split lip. He looks from the blood to Marco, then to Tori.
‘Let’s get some fresh air, shall we?’ John suggests in a paternal undertone, stepping between them.
‘Fuck you, old man,’ Wolf says, violence in every syllable.
John holds his gaze. He takes a long breath through his nose, and for a minute I think he’s found his limit, too, but then he shakes his head. ‘You know what? That’s me done. I’m going to bed,’ he says. His voice is lit with a quiet fury. ‘Goodnight, all.’
No one stops him as he leaves; no one replies. All eyes are still on what’s happening in the middle of the room, the tension of it tendon-tight.
Wolf barely notices. He points a thick blood-smeared finger right into Tori’s face. ‘You brought him here,’ he spits at her. ‘You fucking muzzle him.’ He feints a lunge at Marco, then follows John out.
It takes about a second for Tori to deal with her instinctive reaction and revert to type. By the time she’s turned to face the frozen group, the wide smile is already in place.
‘Well! It’s been a long day. Probably best we all get some sleep,’ she says.
Straight away, drinks are drained and goodnights are offered. Within a couple of minutes the room is almost empty. I tell Annabel to call it a night, and she doesn’t need telling twice.
‘You better get some sleep, too,’ I tell Tori, who’s staring out of the window. ‘Early start.’
She nods slowly, makes as if to leave, then thinks better of it. ‘I think I’m going to get some air.’
‘Sure,’ I say. She sighs and I squeeze her shoulder. ‘It’ll be all forgotten tomorrow.’
‘Will it?’
‘Promise. Off you go.’
‘All right. Night.’ Tori leaves, but pauses at the door, lifting my yellow parka from the hook. ‘Do you mind?’ she asks, pulling it on. ‘Left mine behind, and my cabin’s miles away.’
‘Sure. See you in the morning.’
I pour a last glass of water from the jug, swallow it down. Behind me, someone clears their throat, making me jump: I’d thought the room was empty.
It’s Gaia. Pale, and unable to meet my eye.
‘I don’t think I can do this.’ It’s the first unguarded thing she’s said the whole day.
I try not to sag, but the last thing I need is a late-night counselling session. ‘He’ll be fine,’ I tell her, as softly as I can manage.
‘Really? Because it looked like – I don’t know. Both of them looked like wild animals.’
I wrinkle my nose. ‘Nah. They’ll settle down. First-night nerves. And look, I know Wolf – we go way back.’
Except I remember those outbursts that frightened Tori when they were dating. Some of them bad enough for her to turn up at mine late at night, in tears, determined to end it with him.
Gaia still looks unconvinced.
‘Honestly, don’t worry,’ I say with a smile. ‘He’s a pussycat most of the time.’ I say it with a smile, before leaving the room.
It doesn’t matter that it’s a lie. All that matters is that we get to the end of the trip without anyone finding out.