From England, With Love

Stranded

Three weeks have passed since the events in that hospital ward. Pete rested at home for a week and a half and I visited him almost every day. His apartment is much bigger than my own, and I frequently found myself wondering if he was lonely, surrounded only by the white walls. However, it was a question I forbade myself from asking; I'm here, why would he be lonely?

His recovery was, to both our reliefs, remarkably unproblematic, and soon he was back at school and able to properly establish himself with his classmates. He was liked by many, even if he was shy. Though I loath to admit it I'm sure it's down to his good looks... I'm hardly in a position to deny he's attractive, I'm his damn boyfriend.

As far as that status goes, we decided to keep it on the down-low. We thought it best to build some stronger friendships first before thinking about telling people we're together. While England is largely accepting of 'alternative lifestyles', you never know who you could run in to...

As of now, there is a god-forsakenly heavy rucksack next to me on the grass and I'm sat in the middle of a field somewhere in rural Berkshire.

Confused? That's valid.

Last week, during assembly, a teacher that I had seen around school once or twice delivered a presentation on a programme designed to boost your employability. Centred around four categories; volunteering, skills, physical and expedition, the idea is to take part in things that make you look good. Basically, you do some stuff that gets signed off by an observer and then get a shiny

certificate at the end signed by the Duke of Edinburgh. Easy, right?

That's what I thought.

Arguably the most important part of the programme is the 'expedition', which I'm beginning to suspect is Old English for 'death by walking'. The objective is, simply, to navigate, using only a map, the way to a campsite where we must stay the night.

It was about half an hour into our walk that I realised I had made a grave mistake by signing up to this stupid programme. In my bag, stuffed with not much love, is a day's supply of food, snacks and water, a sleeping bag, a pan and gas canister, a first aid kit, a rain coat and a change of clothes. To the bottom of the bag is attached a faded blue roll mat that was presented to me from the school cupboard which I'm pretty sure has stains on it left by the previous user. All in all, it's heavy.

What concerns me, however, is that Pete signed up for this as well, and he's not in my team. I have no way of checking on him as the only phone we have between the six of us is sealed in an envelope and intended solely for emergencies. Besides, the phone belongs to Brandon, our self-ordained group leader, who would more than likely question why I want to contact someone we'll be seeing in a few hours.

My team is comprised of the following people; Paige and Tabitha, the only girls in our year group to take part in this torture, Aurel, an Albanian boy who seems content to walk within his own bubble and Brandon and Ben. The two are best friends, and more than enthusiastic to be walking through fields and small villages without the nagging of teachers. They walk fast and I can definitely match their pace, but I am constantly aware of the permanent (and large) gap between us and the girls. We were reminded on multiple occasions in the days running up the expedition to 'walk at the pace of the slowest walkers' but that message has clearly missed these two.

After walking for around two hours, Paige halted in the middle of an empty road and screamed at us to stop. Thinking it was an emergency, myself, Brandon and Ben had briskly walked back over to them only to be met with;

"Just because you lot are some psycho gym lads doesn't mean you have to walk at a million miles an hour. I'm fucking tired and want a fucking break, okay?" Paige said in a highly passive aggressive tone. I looked to Tabitha who merely nodded in agreement, her cheeks bright red with exertion.