7th February 2019 (continued)
"Shit, H!", Jeff reaches quickly over to right the fallen tumbler, as Mitch attempts to mop the table with the already soggy little serviette from beneath his beer bottle.
"Still a clumsy sod, then!", Tom sits back and shakes his head, keeping a keen eye on Harry.
Sitting there stock still, he just gapes at his phone.
"H?", Mitch prompts, looking up from the table.
Mutely turning his phone, he reveals the notification.
He cuts his eyes to see Jeff's widen in surprise, mouth dropping open. Mitch offers up a wide-eyed, encouraging smile.
"Well, fucking hell, play it already!", Tom sasses, already reaching across the table to snatch it.
Despite his distraction, Harry effortlessly blocks him with a reflexive swipe of his forearm.
"Whoa, ouch! No need for the ninja moves, just fucking listen to it, you pussy!".
Harry flips him off smoothly, midway to running a hand through his hair.
With a subtle shove to Tom, Jeff lends some reassurance. "We're here for you, man, whatever happens".
Pressing play with a shaky finger, Harry then throws himself back on his chair with a groan, nervously hiding his face in the crook of his arm.
Watching on tenterhooks, they hold their breath when he gasps and his body goes rigid.
After hurling himself forward, Harry freezes - elbows on his knees, mouth agape, phone still to his ear.
"What? What did she say?", Mitch prompts.
"Umm...", Harry offers a sheepish grin. "I'm not sure I got anything after 'It's me...'. Fuck, it's good to hear her voice!".
Playing it again, his grin stretches wider.
It gives the boys hope.
"So?", Jeff asks eagerly.
Still staring moonily at his phone, Harry paraphrases. "It's done. He's already been extradited for sentencing in Sweden. And she knows... She's fucking furious, but she knows! And she's on her way, here. She told me not to dare move".
His relief is palpable, but his grin falters as he clocks their mixed reactions.
Totally out of character, Mitch claps gleefully, eyes looking suspiciously shiny.
Jeff is smiling, but has his thinking face on.
Tom's grimacing. "Well, when? You know, just so we can alert the authorities about Typhoon Eloise... So they can batten down the hatches and all", he jests.
That breaks Harry out of his daze, and he jumps to his feet, startling them. "Oh, God! She's coming here? Now?", he tugs at his hair. "Fuck! I think I'm going to be sick...".
He dashes to the toilets, already entirely overcome with nervous anticipation.
>
Gingerly re-emerging a few minutes later, he's a little more composed, but visibly rattled.
Sipping the water one of them had thoughtfully ordered for him, Harry picks up his discarded phone, juggling it between his hands distractedly as he starts voicing his jumbled thoughts. "Crispin or Ben must have squealed and told her everything... And where to find me".
"So, when is she arriving?", Jeff asks softly, trying to calm him down.
"She didn't say; just said she's on her way... It's a twelve hour flight from Heathrow, so, allowing some time at either end, she could make it in, what, seventeen or eighteen hours?".
Pulling up the British Airways app on his phone, Harry checks the flight times, before realising she could have caught any number of airlines.
"Could she have been in LA for the hearing?", Mitch asks. At Harry's shrug and puzzled frown in response, he adds, "But that's like the same flight time over the Pacific anyway, so it wouldn't make much difference".
"Could you call her Dad?", Jeff suggests. "To get her flight details and a heads-up on how she took it all?".
"I think I might be better off not knowing...". Harry pulls nervously at his lower lip, brow furrowed as he stares out the wall of windows at the bright lights of Tokyo spread out before them.
Checking the timestamp on the voicemail and her missed calls, the best he can figure is that she should arrive before tomorrow night.
And then he'll know, either way.
Fuck.
>
>
7th February 2019 (earlier that day, in London)
Eloise is playing her least favourite new game again; puzzling pictures out of the shadows dancing across her wardrobe doors, despite the near darkness of her bedroom.
The sinewy silver birch trees outside her window diffuse light from either side of the front porch below.
She'd begged her dad to switch the damn floodlights off at night, but he'd been insistent; another security measure.
Her curtains are a touch too narrow to block all the light out, but she still hasn't done anything about them just yet.
So, here she is: yet another game of shadow play, in the early hours.
She'd tossed and turned for a bit after heading up to bed early - keen to get away from all the antsy vibes brewing downstairs - but now hasn't slept a wink since midnight, eagerly awaiting news from the hearing in LA, which had been scheduled for a 4pm start. Time difference be damned.
An over-abundance of racing thoughts and the early hours are rarely kind. She'd know.
Despite him having never been far from her thoughts, it's in the early hours that her mind seems to want to really torment her.
As usual, her swirling thoughts flit through snatches of feelings and memories of the last four months.
The longest four of her life, without a shadow of a doubt.
She mulls it all over; again.
>
That morning of their anniversary, her initial excitement, at what Harry might have been planning, soon melted into worry and then concern.
Then, when her phone finally rang later that morning, after all those unanswered calls and texts to him, her initial sense of relief turned dramatically, drastically, to confusion and anger.
But not at him; not then.
Just more hurtful rumours, surely?
Until she'd seen the photos and headlines for herself.
Then shock and pain. What possible explanation? And where the fuck was he?
More unanswered calls; and a million questions brewing.
When she'd tried Ben, Jeff, and Mitch too, they either didn't know anything, or wouldn't tell her anything.
Actively fielding everyone but him, she frantically tried to defuse her brewing hurt and anger, willing herself to give him the benefit of the doubt. He'd never given her a reason to doubt him before; so she figured she owed him that much - the chance of explanation, at least.
But, in declining her calls and hiding out somewhere, he denied her even that.
Each playful scoff and 'Don't even bother...' at the beginning of his voicemail greeting felt like another stab in her heart, and further weakened her resolve and her faith in him.
Finally, hearing 'Mailbox full' instead, the red mist came a calling, and she'd hurled her phone against the wall.
When she'd opened the front door and seen the look on Mer and Adele's faces, she'd crumpled.
Confusion, hurt, rejection, embarrassment, fury, heartbreak... All the feels; but none of the good ones.
>
After staying with her for a night, Adele packed up some of her things and took a broken Eloise back home with her.
She'd been inexplicably angry with Ben, by extension, and had turned down Mer's offer to stay with them.
Aside from one embarrassing sojourn to Jeff and Glenne's, only to have had a meltdown on their doorstep, she'd bunkered down at Adele's for the best part of a week; riding out intrusive press, hurtful headlines, salacious gossip, wild accusations, and frenzied fans.
Then, none-the-wiser, but feeling resigned and all out of any remaining hope, she'd braved the gauntlet to LAX and headed home. Home home, to her parents.
There, it was like she devolved into her fifteen-year-old self again; surly, snippy, snarky.
Holed up in her bedroom, she ran over and over it all, again and again, desperately hunting for clues she must have missed. To not be able to understand or figure it out, was maddening.
If it wasn't for one thing, she was fairly certain she'd have written the whole episode off as some kind of farce or elaborate hoax... But, his silence spoke volumes.
God, that hurt most of all.
Then, after a second full week of moping, she'd left one final voicemail, then tried to convince herself to move on.
>
But, try as she might, Harry's evidently a hard man to hate.
Despite scoffing every time her dad advised her to be patient and give him the benefit of the doubt, she'd found herself inexplicably defending him whenever Lucas or Ollie started bashing him and raking his name through the mud again.
Two down - with Ben in LA, and her mum still in Stockholm with her poorly grandmother - she'd still felt smothered and hovered over by her worried family.
And not to mention her new shadow. She'd traded Eddie in LA for Barry in London - her new round-the-clock security detail.
Ironically, the looming threat of Magnus had barely crossed her mind of late. She'd been haunted by an emerald-eyed ghost instead.
Bored and stifled, she wiled away hours in their home gym, or else writing in her bedroom or in the den. Her mind barely registered what she was putting to paper, but at least going through the motions provided some distraction.
>
She'd quickly realised quite how many of her friendships are wrapped up in his. Of their inner circle, only Rosie and Adele feel like hers alone. It's lonely and isolating.
As a result, she felt torn over contacting any of their, his, friends. Not wanting to put them in an awkward position, she was equally un-keen to have to acknowledge the hurt and embarrassment she's still feeling.
So it meant all the more when people reached out to her.
Anne and Gemma both contacted her frequently, letting their confusion and disappointment of him be known.
Jeff and Glenne tried; Mitch and Sarah too.
Niall had been a total gem, and even offered her the keys to his West London penthouse whilst he was in LA with Hailee.
It had provided a fortuitously timed break; affording some welcome time out from under the thumb of her dad and brothers, before things boiled over.
However, convincing herself she'd caught sight of Magnus whilst out for a run in Hyde Park, terrified, she'd headed back home after just a couple of days.
But could it really have been him? Or was it just a figment of her imagination?
She started questioning her sanity.
The walls of their large home felt increasingly smaller; stifling.
Time started dragging; never more so than in the early house, when sleep proved elusive.
Her search history was truly pathetic. Feeling desperate, she'd torture herself watching footage of Harry's performances and interviews. Breaking her own heart all over again, she poured over all those times she knew he'd been making pointed comments to her from the stage or singing his heart out directly to her.
God, this would have all been so much easier if she could just manage to hate him.
>
But Harry permeated her every thought and feeling.
Eloise could only feel hollow and numb at the news of her Golden Globe nominations; because she only wanted to celebrate with him.
After a miserable Christmas and New Year, heading back to LA - the scene of the crime - she felt nothing but angst and agony, and hated every minute of her time back there.
Needing to keep under the radar, she'd at least been able to eschew all the industry schmoozing and events beforehand. So it came as all the more of a shock, to find herself dressed in couture Chanel and facing the press on the red carpet, albeit clinging on to her dad's arm, with a bodyguard hovering close.
Inevitably, they pressed about her and Harry's relationship and why he wasn't with her tonight.
She hasn't been able to face watching the footage back yet, but it's no lie to say she hadn't known what to say.
Much like with the nominations, she couldn't glean much happiness from winning both her awards either. Not when he wasn't with her.
God, it's pathetic. She's supposed to be a proud and independent woman, not pining pathetically after some arrogant coward who cheated on her and publicly humiliated her in the process.
Fuck.
Scurrying straight back home to London, after a sweet but awkward reunion with an insistent Mitch and Sarah over coffee, she'd felt even further removed from her recent past.
Her whole life with Harry - extraordinary and bizarre as it was - feels like something distant and foreign already.
And, well, the new rumours about him and some model called Kiko suggest he's forgotten about her entirely.
But she sounds like a fucking cartoon or puppy or something, so good fucking luck to them. And, yes, she's well aware of the sugary confection of some of her own nicknames, thank you very much.
>
As the trial approached and her anxiety reached new heights, she found herself increasingly reluctant to leave the comfort and security of her teenage bedroom.
Evidently she wasn't the only one struggling.
Ben was too. With things still oddly strained between them, her first clue had been when he'd rocked up unannounced on the doorstep, having taken time off work, for the first time in, well, forever.
Despite everything, she's felt nothing but relief to have him with her for the last few days. He's been with her through all this from day one - both with Magnus and Harry - and it means so much that he's here for her.
At least someone is.
>
Mentally exhausted and physically antsy, she grows bored of tossing and turning, and creeps downstairs just after 4am.
Bundled in her dressing gown - notably not lilac or hooded - she picks her way down the landing, picking up her feet to avoid scuffing along the carpet.
But, hearing something downstairs, she's immediately on edge, and, in her distraction, hits both the notoriously creaky steps. Fuck it.
Picking up her pace, she peeks around the corner and is surprised to find her dad pootling around the kitchen, brewing a pot of coffee.
He's a notoriously early riser, but this is ridiculous, even for him.
Padding over, she reaches up on to her tip toes to drop a kiss to his cheek, but he hooks an arm around her waist and pulls her into a tight hug.
Just a minute or so later, another set of arms wrap around her too, and, she knows, just from his squeeze, that it's Ben.
>
Sitting around the end of the kitchen table, they end up playing Scrabble.
It's the perfect passive distraction - even if she realises Scrabble green is remarkably like a certain pair of eyes, when they'd get all dark and intense and sexy. Fuck.
Squabbling intermittently over dubious words and dodgy tallying of scores, each lets their wandering thoughts rumble on in the back of their minds.
They enjoy the relative peace while it lasts.
Everything sure kicks off after the lawyers call with an update at 8am.
>
Then her entire world seems to shift on its axis.
After hugs and tears of relief and resolution all round, knowing she's finally now safe, Crispin finally tells her everything.
Just four months too late.
She's furious and heartbroken and humbled and impressed and so in love. Did she mention furious?
"We did it because we love you. And we couldn't risk anything happening to you".
"Wait, who's 'we'?".
"Just Harry, myself, and Ben... No one else that I know of. Not even Jeff; not any of the detail...".
"Who's idea was it?".
"Harry's".
"How fucking dare he?", she explodes.
"Don't!", he roars. "I won't hear a bad word against him".
Eloise gapes at her dad in disbelief, blindsided and visibly shaking. After the relief and elation of the news about Magnus, she's struggling to process her now tumultuously swirling emotions.
She's been desperate for answers for months, and now she can't seem to formulate questions quickly enough.
But-? What-? Why-? How-?
How could they?
How dare they?
Why did they go behind her back?
Why did they need to break her heart and make her question her sanity in the process?
"If you'd known, would you have gone to him?".
"Yes! Immediately".
"Well, then it was all worth it, and I'd do exactly the same thing in a heartbeat".
Dropping heavily back into his seat, Crispin tugs at the sleeve of her dressing gown, encouraging her to follow suit.
She resists for a beat, but, seeing his broad shoulders slump as he rubs a ragged hand over his face, she's shocked to realise that he looks older and worn down, like he's been carrying a burden. And he has; even more than she realised.
After a long and weary sigh, he pauses to try to organise his thoughts, then tries to explain. "The day after that first meeting with Homeland Security, Harry woke up early too, and we had a heart to heart on the balcony... He asked me some questions, about the real level of risk, and I may have given him some details about mum's ordeal, and the aftermath, that we've never told you kids".
Cutting his dark eyes back up to hers, a wide and watery blue, he continues. "He was adamant, immediately... And I can understand why".
He lifts a hand to squeeze hers, eyeing her intently. "He's an amazing man, Lolly... He has flawless instincts, but still willingly damaged his reputation and his chances with you to ensure your safety... He was annihilated by the media, and probably will be again if the verdict of the hearing hits the press, and they work out the dates and the timing of him ghosting you... But, please, Eloise, just hear him out? You owe him that much, for that sacrifice alone".
She has a million questions, and despite her shock at her dad's revelations and vehement defence of Harry, she knows he's not the one that needs to answer them.
Neither is Ben.
>
After pacing around her bedroom for over an hour, desperately trying to piece everything together and organise her thoughts, she realises her dad's right.
She needs to speak to him.
She needs to go to him.
Striding back downstairs, she levels a look at Ben, and speaks to him for the first time since her scathing words earlier. "Where is he? Where can I find him?".
The Aman, in Tokyo? Ouch.
He really had run away to the other side of the world. But why choose a place that held such happy memories for them? That has to hint at some kind of masochism, surely?
Back in the safety of her bedroom, she pulls out her phone and drops heavily on to her bed.
After staring at his number again for the first time in a while and hyping herself up, she holds her breath in anticipation, only to growl in frustration when his voicemail greeting immediately kicked in.
'Don't even-', she lets out a scoff of her own and ends the call with a frustrated jab of her finger.
But she won't give up that easily, not this time.
Frowning as she tries to work out the time difference, she figures it must be eight or nine o'clock in the evening in Tokyo right now. Perhaps he's out at dinner? But he wouldn't normally turn his phone off...
When her second call goes straight to voicemail she waits it out.
"H, it's me... Umm, so the verdict's in. The hearing was a few hours ago, and he's already being extradited to Sweden, for sentencing... Anyway, umm, that's not why I'm calling. Dad just told me, Harry. Everything... Well, fuck, not everything. I have so many questions, I don't even know where to start... But I hope you'll talk to me this time. I mean, not answering this call doesn't bode very well, but I have to try... I'm coming, Harry, to Tokyo. Don't you dare move... So, umm, I guess I'll see you soon? Hopefully".
Focusing hard on trying keep her tone steady and her voice from wavering, as soon as she hangs up, she can't recall what she said. Did she ramble? Was she too mean? Shit, did she blurt out that she still loves him or anything embarrassing?
>
>
8th February 2019
After some frantic packing, then some antsy pacing at Heathrow, they finally took off at 7pm.
Now 4pm the next day, they've just landed in Tokyo, bang on time.
In that annoying wasted time, waiting for the plane to finish taxiing to its gate, Eloise can't help but wonder where she lost her nerve.
She rolls her eyes at herself, knowing exactly when.
It first wavered when she'd hung up from leaving that voicemail. Then, her determination and competitive streak saw her through the second big wobble in the BA Lounge; she would not be the one to back down, not again. And her third wobble, as the plane started accelerating down the runway, had her downing the entirety of the glass of red wine she'd been given upon taking her seat in Business Class.
Despite her exhaustion, she hadn't slept a wink. She's too wired, too on edge.
The red wine had only swirled her racing thoughts, not blanked them out.
Her trusty noise cancelling headphones hadn't been able to block out her millions of questions.
And she'd resolutely been ignoring Ben.
He didn't want her flying alone in the state she was in. He's been a part of their relationship since before day one; and he feels guilty. He'd gone along with the plan, eventually, and kept it from her. He, and their dad, are both implicated in all this too; it's not Harry's alone to shoulder.
But, all Eloise knows, is that he's a huffy, heavy-breathing, wriggling and shuffling, 6'1" shadow of a travelling companion. And he's on her very last nerve.
>
Feeling anxious and discombobulated already, Eloise emerges from the peaceful cabin, straight into the dazzling neon signage of Haneda airport, with Ben hot on her heels.
It's a lot to take in on any given day, but her already frazzled state of mind isn't in much of a fit state to handle the added stimulation.
She quickly remembers the unsettling sense of being a tall, white, blonde female in Japan. She can't quite decide if she feels more like a goldfish in a bowl, a captive killer whale trapped listlessly circling an aquarium tank, or just a big old fish out of water.
Sucking in a deep breath as soon as they step outside to the taxi rank, a racking cough takes hold of her.
Fuck, it's cold and damp. Despite her black Moncler puffer coat, scarf and gloves, she can feel it in her bones. One day, she'll come to Japan in the spring, to feel the warmth on her skin and finally see the bloody cherry blossoms everyone wangs on about. But, today, it's as grey and gloomy as her mood.
After a forty minute taxi journey, in which she'd ordinarily be cricking her neck to gaze around and soak everything in, instead she stares blankly at the fat wet snowflakes - rare enough in Tokyo over winter. Landing on her window, they melt as they slope lazily downward, from slush to water by the time they reach the door sill.
She drops her head against it and sucks in a deep breath.
Wordlessly, Ben reaches over to grip and squeeze her hand. She squeezes his minutely back, but doesn't trust herself to say anything.
>
Entering the hotel lobby from the ear-popping lift's atrium on the thirty-third floor, Eloise breathes an unexpected sigh of relief. The painstakingly designed hallowed calm proves remarkably effective.
All clean lines, lofty ceilings, muted palettes and everything at a hushed volume, it's like a soothing balm for her frazzled brain and senses.
She's not sure if their five star service - greeting her formally by name with a reverent bow before she's even reached the reception desk - is due to a note in their system telling them she's a returning guest, if they might recognise her, or whether someone might have tipped them off? Hmm.
Trying her luck, she asks the concierge if he can tell her which room a Mr. Mick Greenberg is in. The first of a few of his alias' she knows to try.
Half expecting a polite comment about guest privacy, she's surprised to see him smile softly and tap on his touchscreen. "Mr. Greenberg upgraded your suite. He's also on the 38th floor, but on the opposite corner of the building, suite 3808. You're in 3802".
Eloise can only drop a heavy hand to the cool stone check-in desk.
Fuck, he's really here. Shit, like, just upstairs.
>
Arriving at their suite, she can't help but recall the blissful few days she'd spent in a very similar room, at this very hotel, just over a year ago.
She knows exactly how comfy that bed will be. In her exhaustion, having barely slept for two days now, it's practically singing out to her in invitation.
But the flashbacks are visceral and hit her, all at once, with a physical jolt.
Nights drinking wine, soaking in the tub, looking over the city lights. Now 5.30pm, they're already out in all their splendour. The views from that incredible spa, too. And drinking too much saké over the best sushi she's ever had. Ornate room service afternoon teas whilst they FaceTimed Ben, Mer and a newborn Ruby... God, it all feels like forever ago.
Feeling overwhelmed and suddenly overly warm, she dumps her bag and tears off her scarf and coat.
Bending to undo the lock of her suitcase, she then stills.
Standing back upright, she scoffs, "What the fuck am I doing?". Whirling around, she heads straight for the door.
But Ben steps in front of her and drops his hands to her shoulders, bending his knees to look her in the eye. "Have a shower. You look like shit and smell all planey... Just give yourself a few minutes. Believe me, you'll thank me later".
>
With her hair still a bit damp and her glasses steaming up a little, she digs through her suitcase, trying to find a pair of socks, before giving up.
Sliding on a pair of hotel slippers instead, she spins to grab her discarded key card off the console table and wrenches the door open.
Rounding two corners, she speed walks straight up to suite 3808 and hammers on the door.
She just catches herself too late.
What the fuck is she doing?!
What is she thinking?
What on earth is she going to say?
And why didn't she think any of this through in the fucking shower?
But that incredible waterfall shower head has a lot to answer for. It was the first thing in what has felt like forever that finally managed to quieten her racing thoughts.
Then the door opens.
That proves to quieten her thoughts too.
>
It's Jeff.
He gapes, then pulls her straight into a tight hug. "I'm so sorry. After everything you've been through-".
She rears back, cutting him off. "Do not tell me he's not here".
"Oh, El, no-", he shakes his head.
"What, he left? That fucking coward. I-".
"No, no!", he cuts her off this time. "He's just in the shower", he smiles softly.
"Oh! Shit, I-... Did-? Did you know?", she stutters, running a hand through her still-damp hair.
"Know what?", he asks gently.
"...Anything?", she begs.
"No", Jeff explains hurriedly. "I only knew that he needed something staged, but he wouldn't tell me what. He just told me not to try to defend anything in the press and to clear his schedule. And I've been tearing my hair out over him ever since... We headed straight here after hearing from Gemma about his birthday. Then, last night, everything seemed to change, but I haven't gotten a huge amount of sense out of him since".
She scoffs gently. "That makes two of us then, I guess? Fuck, I'm confused".
"Well, he's the man with your answers, right?".
Mitch interrupts them, rounding the corner from the living room of the suite, where she can hear a Packers game on.
He yelps and dashes straight to her, pulling her into his arms for a long and tight hug.
"Thank God you're here, El. I've been so worried about him. Are you okay? He only told me about the hearing and everything last night... He didn't go into any real detail, but are you okay? Is it done? Shit, you feel skinny".
Eloise is taken aback. She's not sure she's heard him say so much, so quickly, ever.
She offers him a bleak smile. "Heartbreak and a stalker will do that to you, I guess", she chuckles softly.
But then she looks over his shoulder and gasps.
Fuck.
Unwrapping her arms from around Mitch, she drops her head against his shoulder for a beat and takes a couple of deep breaths.
Then, straightening her posture, lowering her shoulders, she holds her head up high, and steps around him.
"We'll, umm, give you some space", Jeff says softly, looking between them both.
"Ben's in 3802", Eloise whispers to Mitch, pressing her key card into his hand.
She's vaguely aware of Tom squeezing her hand as he files out behind them, but her eyes don't leave Harry's.
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