From England, With Love

'Tis The Season

Snow has arrived in southern England. How do I know? Well, the ground is a blinding white and I am fucking freezing. At school it's even worse – half the radiators don't work and the ones that do expel nothing more than a weak blow of warmish air.

Thankfully the teachers allow us to keep our coats on in class, which made one girl who couldn't feel her fingers very happy to say the least.

In a way, it's a fun thing; snowball fights and building horribly disproportionate snowmen is now possible for me, and I have been determined to make the most of it.

In fact, I am currently hiding behind an icy bench on the outskirts of the school field, the top of my woolly hat peeking over the wood, an arsenal of compact snowballs by my side and accompanied by my current partner in... crime? Jack is an excellent snowball fighter and together we are attempting to take down the enemy: Brandon and Ben.

I thought I wouldn't see much of them after DofE, but they seem to have made a blood oath to stay present in my daily life.

Pete is still in class, but he told me he would come and find me as soon as the bell rings, which it is due to do in about five minutes.

"You ready to fire?" Jack says, lowly, and I nod dramatically, handing him a snowball.

We stand up-

Alas, Ben was much faster than me and I am sorry to say that there is now snow in my mouth. Jack kept much better time, and successfully lands a snowball on Brandon's head. Brandon, on brand with his theatrics, drops to the ground and plays dead as Ben pretends to mourn over his friend.

"If you'd hit Ae properly then we would have won!" The dead man speaks, sitting up and dusting the snow off his head.

"How was I supposed to know he was going to eat it?" Ben retorts, standing up and walking towards me. "You eat snow often?" He asks jokingly.

I grin. "Not as often as you," quickly I scoop up another snowball and shove it in his face, laughing as he grimaces and desperately wipes it off his face.

"Ae!" I suddenly hear my name from behind me. I turn to see Pete stood a few metres away, a steaming disposable cup in his hand.

I instantly leave Ben and the others, making my way toward the cold bitten but smiling face I know and love. Pete is bundled up in a thick coat, scarf and beanie, and somewhat resembles an elf. A very cute elf.

"Hey," I say, a glee smile on my face, "how was class?" My arm instinctively reaches round his waist, drawing him closer to me.

He looks down, his cheeks going redder either from embarrassment or the cold. "It was fine," he holds the steaming cup out to me, "I bought you this from the canteen."

A little surprised, I take the cup. I chuckle. "Who told you to do that, huh?" Glancing around quickly to check no one is watching us, I place a brief, discreet kiss on Pete's cheek. He steps away suddenly, holding his cheek and frantically looking around.

"Ae!" He whispers angrily. "What if someone saw?"

I shuffle slightly awkwardly from foot to foot. "Well, they didn't, did they? And I couldn't stop myself."

Pete, pouting, doesn't speak but slowly start to head towards the Sixth Form centre. I follow him, cradling the cup of what I can smell is hot chocolate. The hallways are busy, but we're used to the chaos now. Although I did have to dodge, by mere inches, a flying football. That's the circle of life, I guess.

We reach the common room finally, silently thanking the radiators here are yet to give up the ghost and settle into some empty seats, perhaps closer to each other than most would.

"Ae, have you seen that?" Pete asks, nodding in the direction of the notice board. I follow his eyes and read the newly written message.

"SCHOOL CHRISTMAS BALL IN LONDON, 23RD OF DECEMBER. PLEASE TAKE A FORM AND RETURN TO THE OFFICE WITH PAYMENT."

"Oh that sounds really fun!" I say excitedly. I hand Pete my cup to hold and grab some letters to further investigate.

"This year, in partnership with school alumni, we have organised a Christmas Ball for all Sixth Form Students. It will be a chance to celebrate the end of the term, and allow students to be rewarded for their hard work. The Ball will take place at The Royal Cross in Soho, London on December 23rd from 7pm to 2am. A hotel has been arranged for that night to avoid students travelling at night."

I read the further information to Pete, who's eyes have started shining like an excited child's.

"Can we go?" He asks, grabbing my arm.

"You don't have to ask me for permission, and like hell I'm missing it!"

The next day we both bring in completed forms (stating details such as family doctor, emergency contacts and other such highly useless information). If either of us gets into an accident they can have fun waiting for a plane from Thailand to arrive before they can deal with it. With us we also bring our ticket payment of £40 and pile into the office with a crowd of other excited Sixth Formers.

In the clamour I hear one student ask the Head of Sixth Form, "is it black tie, sir?"

I listen out carefully for the answer, which is, "why yes, Samantha, that's why it's called a ball!"

Pete suddenly gasps. "I need to go shopping!"

I frown, managing to get both our forms safely into the allocated tray and escaping the manic atmosphere of the office.

"Don't you mean 'we'?" I ask.

"No, I don't." He responds, shortly.

"Oh, okay..." I trail off, unsure what to think.

Seeing my expression, he starts waving his shaking his head in a panicked frenzy.

"No, no, no, I didn't mean it like that, it's just that I want what I wear to be a surprise!"

I let out a relieved breath.

"Of course you do," I roll my eyes sarcastically. "Just don't go spending stupid money on a school ball."

He pouts, "I promise I won't."

The rest of the day, Pete spends in mostly thoughtful silence, and I can only imagine the complicated, tangled mind-map he's created in his mind's eye. I'm glad he's excited by it, I know I definitely am.

That weekend I join Brandon and Ben on a "lad's expedition" (they refused to call it 'shopping trip') to find suits. Being typical males, we walked into the first store we saw that would likely sell suits, tried a couple on, made fun of each other as we took it in turns to try on different styles and colours, and then all settled on the first one that fit and didn't make us look like "tories" or "nonces".

It was a simple operation, and frankly I wouldn't have it any other way.

Pete, however, is likely hopping from store to store, ripping his soft hair out over not finding perfection. I just wish he knew that he could turn up in a literal bin bag and I would still find him attractive.

Soon enough, the weekend of the 23rd came around. Not accustomed to the ways, delays and fares-too-high-to-pay of British railway services, we jumped on the tailgates of Tabitha and her best friend, Milo. Tabitha, who assured us she was a veteran of the London Underground, persuaded us to come with her rather than the boys. While the school offered directions to the venue and hotel, it was up to us to get there (I imagine the health and safety risks of taking us themselves were far too risky).

So, the four of us are now crammed onto the Bakerloo Line during peak times, close to fainting despite the freezing temperatures outside and wishing we were anywhere else but here.

In the fashion of Londoners, we keep quiet, our heads down and desperately avoid eye contact with anything that moves or breathes. Then, like lost ducklings we stick to Tabitha's heels whenever she tells us to "go, quickly" and makes swift exits off one tube and onto another.

I won't lie, I have no idea where in London we are at this point, what line we're on, or whether I'll breathe fresh air ever again.

But it'll all be worth it, right?