It's You [H.S.]

6.1 | Back to you

24th September 2016

The universe is conspiring against her. It has to be. It's the only explanation.

Eloise had left Harry's house in LA at 6pm, braving rush hour traffic.  After delays at the gate and again on the runway, her flight had eventually taken off at midnight, two and half hours late.

Finally landing at Heathrow just before 7pm the next day, she'd been forced to endure Britain's favourite past-time just about ever since.

Queuing. Waiting. Wishing. Ever so impatiently.

She'd queued to get off the plane. At passport control. In the baggage hall.

And with her battery draining fast after all her mindless scrolling, she couldn't even call anyone to bitch and complain about it. Besides, she'd come too far to ruin the surprise for her nearest and dearest now.

Finally, furiously, making it to the front of the queue at the lost luggage desk, it was only when she turned to gesture to the empty carousel that she'd spotted it - appearing dejectedly through the plastic partition to begin its lonely journey back to her. Better late, than never... How apt, she figured.

Swearing like a sailor, she'd stomped over and hauled her suitcase off the belt, smacking her shin as she distractedly took in it's battered corners, scuffs and gouges. Fucking fabulous.

Emerging through customs and prowling around the arrivals hall with her drunkenly rolling suitcase and carry-on bag slipping off her shoulder, she eventually found her driver, snoozing in an armchair in the corner of Costa.

Grabbing them a couple of strong coffees and some food to stave off her hanger, she'd woken him up and had to dig deep to give him more than surly one word answers as they trekked to the car park. It was quite the performance, even if she says so herself.

>

Blinking from the hypnotising glare of the oncoming headlights, she works out her fifteen hour journey, door to door, is now into its twenty first hour.

And she's still on the sodding M4. Roadworks and traffic, naturally.

For a few calming deep breaths, she stares at the soppy, tired smile and tangled bed head of her lock screen, remembering what she's heading home to, before resting her head back and closing her eyes, willing time to move faster.

Suffice to say; longest journey, ever.

It's been torturous progress, but she feels her mood gradually start to lift with each minute and each mile closer. She'd do it all over again, anytime, if it gets her back to him; home.

>

Jarred awake as a tyre clips the pothole on the bend, Eloise's quick reflexes kick in just in time to avoid cracking her temple against the window. She mutters "Every damn time" to herself and lays a cautious hand on her cricked neck with a wince.

Stretching out her long limbs against the supple leather seat of the Mercedes, she catches the apologetic glance in the rearview mirror.

Waking up the phone in her lap, she clocks it's 11.45pm with a grimace. She's cutting it mighty fine and now can't help but wish time would slow down for her.

Spotting a few cars parked along the road up ahead, she clears her throat. "Just up alongside the gates will be fine, thanks Ken. Sorry again it's such a late one".

"As you wish, Miss. Don't think of it. You must be exhausted after that long delay. Hope you manage to get some rest before the big day".

With a soft smile and quiet "Hmm" in the affirmative, she gathers her leather tote and suitcase as the car pulls to a stop.  With a final "Thanks", she slides out the door and into the late night.