‘No point looking at your phone,’ said Will cheerily. ‘There’s no signal out here, otherwise it would defeat the point of the exercise, wouldn’t it? Can’t have you all ringing your mates to navigate your way out or ordering yourselves a Domino’s pizza when you feel peckish.’
As soon as he mentioned pizza, Sarah felt ravenous. She’d thrown up her breakfast shortly after eating it far too quickly on her own in the hotel restaurant and now she was hungry again in that early pregnancy way where your body feels like a black hole sucking food into it without enjoyment. They weren’t going to be eating again until they’d found their way to base camp, aka the minibus in which Will had driven them halfway here and to which he would presently be returning. The idea was that he would then drive it to a new location marked with a cross on the Ordnance Survey map they’d been given. Then it would be up to them to navigate their way to it – once they’d worked out where they were. They’d already been walking at least forty minutes through these woods and, before that, across a few fields. They’d even crossed a couple of sizeable streams by stepping from one strategically placed rock to another. ‘Watch out, the water is much faster-moving than it looks,’ Will had warned them. Sarah hated it all. Despite a fear of confined spaces that extended way back into childhood, she’d never felt comfortable in the countryside either. The idea of being cut off from everything left her feeling exposed and vulnerable. She was someone who needed human contact to an almost embarrassing degree. Her unease wasn’t helped by being grossly overdressed. As it was November, she’d come prepared for Arctic conditions in a down jacket of Oliver’s that was like wearing a maximum-tog duvet at all times. But the weather was damp and sluggish rather than cold and she was hot and clammy inside the coat.
‘Kinda creepy here, isn’t it?’ Will said. ‘Apparently, until recently the locals used to avoid coming here. There are lots of really wild stories about this place being haunted and stuff – which is a good thing because you won’t want to hang around, which means you’ll be first back to the van . . . and the champagne is all yours!’
The sales and marketing team were being taken to a different spot that was equidistant to theirs, from where they’d be making their way to the same end point. Whichever team arrived first would win a magnum of champagne. It was supposed to make each team work together so they came back bonded and thinking as one well-oiled machine. Sarah looked around at her markedly subdued co-workers. It was hard to think of a group of people who less resembled a well-oiled machine.
Ewan was striding ahead through the half-light of the wood, his hands thrust into his pockets, head down. He’d been plastered last night, so his head must be pounding – but he could at least make some effort to be sociable, she thought. And he wasn’t the only one. Charlie, who’d been glued to his phone all the way in the minibus until the signal abruptly stopped, was now making very sparse conversation with Paula and Rachel. Amira was walking slightly apart from everyone, not surprising after what she’d said last night. Sarah had been so shocked. There had been a few seconds’ gap between Amira speaking and her words actually sinking in, when time had stood still. Poor Paula, she’d looked so stunned. Sarah knew Amira was mortified; she had apologized time and again, but the damage was well and truly done by then. Even Chloe, who could usually be relied on for a bit of light chatter, was silent, bringing up the rear, looking as if she was being led out to the gallows. She wore her North Face jacket zipped right up so it covered the bottom part of her face. At least Mark Hamilton was tagging along with the other team this morning so they didn’t have to be on best behaviour for him.
It seemed almost incredible to recall it now, but a few short weeks ago, work had been just another part of Sarah’s life. Now it was as if the office was her whole life. It was the first thing she thought of when she woke up and the last thing on her mind before she went to sleep. The sick feeling never left her, that churning sense of imminent confrontation, of being always at fault and one step away from being caught out. It had got so that Oliver and Sam and Joe were like bit players in her life, secondary to her co-workers and, more particularly, Rachel. ‘Get her out of here,’ Oliver had taken to saying, tapping the side of her head when he saw her gazing anxiously at nothing, knowing she was consumed with thoughts of her new boss. Sarah had always struggled with authority and Rachel’s abrasive managerial style left her nerves permanently shredded.