I finish the shots of the meal while Annabel gets started taking the contestants out into the passage one at a time to get some soundbite clips of how they plan to vote. She deals with Wolf, Marco and Gaia, then I swap with her and get some material with the others.
Nish is still simmering with anger about Wolf’s treatment, but it’s clear that won’t be enough to get him a sympathy vote. She refuses to say who she’s voting out. Helen’s got an unapologetic air of confidence about her performance, even stating aloud that she’d vote for herself if she could. For her, it’s a clear thumb across the throat for Wolf.
‘I mean, no one wants to see a man humiliated,’ she says, with the air of a woman describing her favourite thing, ‘but he didn’t exactly rise to the challenge, did he? And all that posturing, too. I think we really saw what he was made of.’
When we’re done, I go in and check that Annabel’s collected all the voting forms, then tap Tori on the shoulder to tell her we can get on with the announcement.
We make a plan for the shots, then Annabel hurries over with the results envelope and hands it to Tori.
‘They definitely all voted?’ Tori asks, taking it.
‘Except John,’ Annabel says. ‘Should I go down and—’
‘No,’ Tori and I tell her as one.
‘We’ll edit around it,’ I add, though how I’m going to do that now is anyone’s guess.
Annabel lowers her voice, her eyes darting over to where Wolf sits with his back to us. ‘Wolf, um, did offer me some work when we get home.’
Tori brings her chin in. ‘What does that mean?’
‘What do you think it means?’ I say, polishing the lens. ‘He’s trying to bribe her to throw the vote. He knows he’s fucked.’ Then, to Annabel, ‘I mean, he is fucked, right?’
‘I’d certainly think so, after that performance in the hole,’ Tori says. ‘Ah, here’s Craig. We ready?’
Tori waits for me to shoulder the camera, then faces the room and claps her hands.
‘Can I have your attention, please?’
It’s no surprise to anyone that the contestant with the greatest number of votes is Helen. Sincere-sounding congratulations echo all round the room. She gets up to accept the air-kisses from Tori. It’ll edit together beautifully, not least because it’s a hell of a transformation: only a few hours ago she was a mottled blue and shivering in a towel and a foil blanket, and here she is now, hair blow-dried and immaculately made up.
Annabel is on second camera, picking up close-ups and cutaways to blend into my wides. Once the applause has died down, Helen takes her seat again, and Tori lifts her chin and beams at the group, a small gesture that magically silences them. That power she has. That silent force of manipulation. Does she even think about it? Does she even realise what she’s got – this ability to hold a roomful of people in the palm of her hand?
‘But as you all know,’ she says, head tilted in sympathy, ‘sadly, when there’s a winner, there also has to be a loser. The good news is that whoever receives the most votes for the least-strong performance,’ she says, over-diplomatically avoiding using the word weak, ‘doesn’t actually have to leave us, because, well, we’re not that many degrees south of the Pole and the only way to get to civilisation right now is by hitching a lift on an iceberg.’ She pauses to beam into the mild ripple of nervous laughter.
‘But the Frozen Out rules say that whoever’s the least-popular leader among you is out of the competition. And in here, I have the name of that person.’
She taps the envelope. I look up briefly to indicate to Annabel to switch to the wide shot, then I go close on Wolf.
Tori clears her throat. ‘So, without further ado, I have the unfortunate task now of announcing that our first leader relegated to deckhand is …’
She makes a big show of anticipation. I go for a medium close-up, shoulders to crown, Wolf’s once-chiselled jaw now softened by the first pull of age. For a moment his eyelids flutter shut and then he looks up at her, a canine pleading across his forehead. And I see in his concern the faintest shadow of weakness, of the fear of exposure. He knows how badly the challenge went. He knows how much of a fool he was made to look. And now he sees the reckoning coming, and all he wants is to stop it, to make Tori say someone else’s name, to cover his shame. In that short moment between not knowing and knowing – even though, deep down, I know he’s little more than a beautiful bully, charming and cruel – I feel sorry for him.
‘Wolf.’
The moment she says his name, he puts his hands up to concede, polite resignation on his face. The rest of them gather around to commiserate, and I zoom out and cover the reaction shot of the group, who make out like they’re devastated for him.
It takes a good few minutes to die down. I get some words of reaction from the winner and the loser, nice and tight, with the movement of the rest of them in soft focus in the background. The shots are great, everyone smiling; Wolf does a good line in gracious defeat.
But the moment I hit Stop and call it a wrap for the night, he changes. Crossing the room, he’s in Tori’s face like a shot.
‘Tell me you’re fucking joking!’
For the briefest of moments it’s clear Tori is thinking, or hoping, that his fury is a wind-up.
It’s a misstep shared by Marco, standing close by, who snorts his amusement.
‘Something funny?’ Wolf says.
‘Oh, no, sorry, mate.’ I’ve never seen a man’s expression change so quickly.
‘Didn’t think so.’
‘Fucking prick,’ Marco mutters under his breath, but not low enough that Wolf doesn’t hear.
I quickly step in.
‘Wolf, look, it’s just a vote. One vote each, for the strongest and the weakest. It’s that simple. We can’t swing it.’
He glares at me, his eyes dangerous. ‘I’m not fucking going out on day one. No fucking way.’
‘It’s a democratic process,’ Tori tells him in a low voice.
He turns to the group. Gaia, expressionless, happens to meet his eye first.
‘You?’ he says to her. ‘You voted me out?’
‘I wasn’t convinced you gave the best performance, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘So that’s a yes, then.’
Gaia walks out of the room without a word. Helen delicately places her near-full wine glass on the table, smooths her hair and goes to follow her. She avoids Wolf’s gaze entirely, but as she passes, Tori puts out a beseeching hand for her to stay. ‘Helen, please.’
She dodges it, but pauses in the doorway. ‘It’s not all right for him to talk to her like that,’ she says. Then, from the door, she looks Wolf up and down. ‘The drinking and the anger are probably the same thing, you know.’
‘Oh yeah?’ he scoffs, curling his lip. ‘What the fuck’s that got to do with you?’
The sinews of his neck flex, his nostrils flaring like a silverback’s. In the pause, Helen nods once, as if an irrevocable decision has been made, then leaves the room, too.
‘Yeah, you run away. You frosty old witch.’
‘That’ll do,’ Tori tells him softly, touching his arm. It’s like she’s skipped anger and gone straight to damage limitation.
But he wrenches his arm away. ‘You tell me what to do one more fucking time and I swear to God, I’ll—’
‘You’ll what?’ Tori stays exactly where she is. She tilts her head. ‘Hmm?’
Wolf stalks from the room, slamming the door behind him.
Tori slumps into a chair. ‘Well, fuck,’ she says. It’s possibly the first time I’ve ever heard her swear in front of other people.
Clipping the camera into its bag, I can’t say I don’t share her sentiment. Drama is fine. Conflict is great. But once you get into the territory of a contestant making threats against the presenter, it crosses a line. You can’t go back from there.
One of the people whose safety we were responsible for is dead. Tori could have been killed. Wolf, the star contestant, has all but gone rogue.
And we’re only two days in.