Let's Catch: Snowdon: Let's Catch, #3

1

O h god, I’m going to be sick. Charlie clapped a hand to his mouth.

Tom whipped his head around, but the bus lurched forward at the same time. He rubbed his neck. Why? Are you okay?

It’s too loud. Charlie screwed up his face. Why is everyone singing? I can smell Tesco-brand Wotsits—they’re giving me a headache. Charlie looked at his watch and groaned. And it’s only seven a.m. Red capillaries stood out in his almond-shaped eyes.

Tom sighed. The school group had been driving all night to get to Wales for their Duke of Edinburgh hike—one of a few components that would ultimately result in … well, I dunno, but everyone does it. And it meant Tom actually had something to do in the break instead of killing time in London.

Most students were in Tom’s year at school, and he already knew a few from class. His best friend, Charlie, was the only person he really liked. Steve, Tom’s enemy-turned-second-best-friend, had just started a new job in a sports store in London—perfect for muscly, sporty Steve. Plus, he was going to put in a good word for Tom. As Tom’s dad put it, it was time for him to start earning his own money.

Tom put his hand on Charlie’s arm. It’s okay. We’re almost there, I think. He stood and raised his voice. Sir, how long to go?

Mr Broad, the PE teacher in charge of the trip, sat a few rows in front of Tom. He pulled back the long sleeve of his blue polo to reveal an orange sports watch against tanned, freckled skin. About thirty minutes to the campsite. It’s going to get a bit hilly now as we drive through the mountains. He looked at Charlie. Will he be okay? You know, an athlete’s body is extremely susceptible to illness.

Tom shrugged. Even though Charlie was a decent runner, it was a bit much for Mr Broad to call him an ‘athlete’. He looked back to his friend and grimaced; was Charlie actually okay? Tom tapped his shoulder with the cap of a water bottle. Here, have some water. And look outside; it’s nice.

‘Nice’ is an understatement. Tom second-guessed his own words. The mountains surrounded them, their folds covered by a magical layer of emerald grass. Cascades of flint-coloured rock tumbled down through the greenery, flocks of sheep grazed or relaxed stretched out on the ground. Above the peaks, deep blue stretched into infinity, peppered by white clouds. Tom exhaled, letting himself relax.

Charlie slouched and leaned his head against the window. As they rounded a corner, a glimmering lake appeared before them. Gasps escaped those who were paying attention, the noise temporarily competing with the loud chatter of the other students.

Tom gazed through the window, soaking in the beautiful Welsh scenery. After his trip to Cornwall with Charlie’s family, he’d caught the country-escape bug and couldn’t wait to explore a different part of the UK—hopefully without the drama of a murder this time.

When Tom found out about this school trip to Snowdonia, he’d somehow managed to pin his dad down for long enough to agree that he could go, as long as Tom paid. Lucky for him, the school had subsidised some of the cost, and combined with Tom’s scrounged savings, he had pulled together enough money. Just.

The driver swore as the bus lurched to a stop. Tom’s mind snapped back to the present. Charlie’s eyes scrunched tight under his fringe, which was pushed back with sweat.

Tom glared outside. They were in the middle of an intersection.

A white four-wheel drive swerved in front of the bus. It honked a few times before roaring around the corner of the impending intersection. Tom sighed. Thought we’d escaped the crazy London drivers.

The bus rolled forward again and the blinkers tick-tocked. A road sign indicated they were en route to Snowdon—the largest mountain in Wales. It also showed they were heading towards a campsite. According to Mr Broad, it was the only site close to the summit tracks, meaning it was popular with hikers and other tourists. Tom wrinkled his nose; hopefully it wasn’t full of rowdy holidaymakers.

The sign had been extended, and this section directed visitors to a new adventure park—Mountain Land—which boasted ten thrill rides. Tom felt slightly sick at the thought. Why would you destroy this beautiful landscape to install an artificial theme park? He took a peek at Charlie; his eyes were still closed and he’d crossed his arms over his stomach.

One of the students, Freddie, yelled out to Mr Broad, Sir, why do we have to go on a stupid hike? Can’t we go to the theme park instead? He reminded Tom of Augustus Gloop—more due to his spoilt demeanour than his physical features, though the similarities there did add to the imagery.

His outburst was met with cheers of agreement. Tom wondered why Freddie had bothered to come on this trip if he didn’t like hiking. His parents probably wanted to get him out of the house for the school break.

Mr Thompson piped up. Come on, Freddie, aren’t you excited to spend some time in the great outdoors? The teacher’s green eyes widened, showing a mix of excitement and incredulity.

What do you know, Thompson? You never step outside the science lab, innit? Freddie flicked his fair hair with a jerk of his head, glancing around at the other students as he stood.

Tom pursed his lips at his classmate’s clumsy use of local slang. Poor kid.

Mr Thompson frowned. Well, it is my first time on this trip, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing. Miss Raffat and Mr Broad wouldn’t have invited me if they thought I’d be a complete disaster. He smiled and his glasses moved up on his nose and ruffled the chestnut hair above his ears.

Freddie sat, and Mr Thompson puffed his chest forward slightly, the reflective strips on his hiking jacket catching the sunlight. He nodded at Mr Broad.

Miss Raffat’s white teeth shone against her deep, tawny skin as she smiled at Mr Thompson. She murmured, It’s nice to have someone else here, besides this jock. She winked and poked her thumb at Mr Broad. I’m glad you came.

Mr Thompson laughed and adjusted his glasses. "No risk of jockishness here, you know, being the King of Science and all."

Tom shook his head at Mr Thompson’s self-imposed nickname. Mr Thompson was definitely more at home in the lab than outside, but Tom liked him that way. It was refreshing to have a teacher who appreciated Tom for his interest in science, rather than assume his dark, lean physique was only adept on the sports field.

Tom slouched in his seat and pulled out his phone. He opened WalesOnline, the local news website. What actually happens on this side of the UK?

As his phone’s signal waned, he scrolled down the page, taking in key words and headlines.

Best bars in Cardiff

Tom didn’t think the teachers would let them wander that far. Or hit a bar, come to think of it.

NHS issues, Brexit updates—still—and a bleak weather forecast with rain all week. He zoned out, only taking in some of the remaining headlines as he scrolled.

Sports ‘R’ Us defends illegal working practices

Huh. That was where Steve worked. Besides the long hours, he seemed to like it. Tom kept scrolling.

Fifteen-year-old diver could be first Welshman to compete at Commonwealth Games in twenty years

The London papers would likely claim the poor kid as their own if he was successful. Or Mr Broad might try to get him to transfer to their school, though Tom couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to go there.

Hiker in fatal Snowdon fall

Tom clicked on the headline. Words jumped out at him from the first paragraph: strenuous, dangerous, dead, fit, and family. Was it that risky? Tom swallowed, wondering if their upcoming hiking trip might be a big mistake.

Tom leaned forward and tapped Mr Broad on the shoulder. Sir, did you know that someone had an accident on the mountain this week? That they … died? His voice crept to a whisper; he didn’t want to scare the other kids, who were susceptible to rowdiness upon the slightest encouragement.

Mr Broad turned in his seat. He narrowed his eyes at Tom and glanced down at the phone. Uh, I think so. He looked sideways at Miss Raffat. Don’t worry about it.

Tom peered up at his teacher. I mean, I’m excited to be here. But is it safe for us to be doing this? He glanced at the top of his screen, where the forecast showed dark storm clouds. He showed Mr Broad the report. Plus, the weather doesn’t look very good.

Of course. It’ll be fine. Miss Raffat and I do this every year. He turned back to the front of the bus and glanced out the window. And look, the weather’s great. The sun shone over the beautiful countryside, but if WalesOnline could be trusted, it was about to take a turn for the worse.

His facial expression must have given his thoughts away, because Miss Raffat leaned over to Tom from across the aisle. It will be okay. Mr Broad knows what he’s doing. Her lips curved into a smile. She pushed a lock of dark hair into her headscarf as she glanced back at Mr Thompson.

Tom nodded at her. Thanks, miss. It’s okay.

Beside him, Charlie’s eyes were still closed. Tom opened his mouth to say something but thought better of disturbing his friend when he was sick.

The group behind Tom chatted loudly, discussing the contents of their packs. They had been under strict instructions to keep them under twelve kilograms because the following year they’d be carrying their belongings and camping overnight, so they needed to practice packing frugally. A large proportion of students claimed to have filled their packs with lollies. Tom frowned at them as he wondered what they had planned to wear for a week.

Mr Broad whistled, and the students fell silent.

The teacher smiled. We’re here, everyone. Let’s set up camp.

An immense lake lay to the left, flanked by mountains on both sides. Sunlight glistened off ripples on the water. Immediately before them, a gravel driveway led down a steep hill and to a grassy field adorned with a smattering of tents. Good, not too busy. Dusty roads split up the field and provided access to the sites. A stone hall lay to the right of the fields, ringed by a verandah and topped by a dark grey shingle roof. Tom imagined that meals and wet-weather activities—of which there would probably be many, judging by the forecast—would take place inside.

The bus driver called Mr Broad and waved his hand at the driveway in front of them. I’m not driving down that. You guys are going to have to get off here.

Mr Broad peered down at the steep drop. He grimaced. Yeah, no way you’re getting down there. In a louder voice, he said, Come on, everyone. We need to get out now.

The driver opened the doors and helped everyone collect their bags from the big compartments under the bus. Students wandered down the hill; the campsite, lake, and mountains were captivating.

Stay up here, Miss Raffat called. Nobody seemed to hear her, or more likely chose not to. She shrugged and glanced at the other teachers.

Mr Broad eyed Miss Raffat with the corner of his mouth raised. He lugged a huge bag down the hill, dust clouding around him as he descended. He called out, Everyone, we’ll be camping in the middle section. Don’t go anywhere else, or we might lose you. He gestured to the small field to the left of the road running through the campsite. Grab a tent from me, and let’s get set up! he called as he continued to drag the bag along the gravel road. Mr Thompson took the second handle and helped lug the bag across the field.

Tom and Charlie collected their backpacks and followed the teachers. The grass was dewy and springy under Tom’s feet, and he could feel the cold water soaking through his trainers. The field was a patchwork of grass that was squashed and pale in places, with shoots regrowing towards the light, and luscious sections that Tom wanted to lie down on beneath the radiant sun.

Across another road, there was a section of campsite edged by a bubbling river.