It's You [H.S.]

8.7 | Only you

20th June 2017

Eloise never imagined she'd be mulling over her favourite motorway; but, hey, here she is.

Trying to avoid the hypnotising glare of the headlights streaming past in the opposite carriageway, she's actively following her meandering thoughts in a bid to stay alert.

Before Harry, she could count the number of times she'd been up the M40 on one hand. It's Oxford University territory, and as a Cambridge graduate she bleeds light blue, not dark blue.

She's not sure she'd ever even been on the M6 before him. Now she's lost count, and genuinely wonders if she could navigate it with her eyes shut.

As she reverses their last trip up from just three days ago - when they'd landed at Gatwick, grabbed some things at the house in Hampstead, then jumped straight in her car to head north - she'll readily admit that she prefers the journey when she's with him, or at least heading towards him.

Her heart ached driving away from him earlier this evening, especially in that state. She feels like she's abandoning him; all of them.

But he wouldn't have it and insisted she couldn't sack it off.

They're premiering Baby Driver in Europe first to hit some film festival deadlines, but are off to LA and then Sydney within the next couple of weeks. But first up is London, tomorrow.

It still doesn't all quite feel real just yet, but her hometown premiere of her first movie might just do the trick.

Harry is so disappointed he won't be there, but he can't leave - not yet - and admitted he couldn't bear the thought of facing a prying journalist right now. Completely understandable.

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When she pulls up at the house in Hampstead just after 10pm, she looks around glumly, hating the dark and oppressive silence.

She heads straight up to bed, calling him to check in as she wraps her arms around his pillow.

He hasn't slept on it for a couple of weeks now, but if she tries hard enough, she can just about smell the last traces of his cologne and shampoo.

She'll take whatever she can get.

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21st June 2017

Funnily enough, she's spent all day now missing the peace and quiet of the house last night.

It's been a whirlwind. A fitting to check the final alterations on her dress for tonight; then prep, hair and make-up; filming a couple of interviews with Ansel; then more time in the hair and make-up chair in the hotel suite.

Her car had left the Sanderson Hotel only to crawl through rush hour traffic for the short journey to Leicester Square, ready to hit the carpet at 5.30pm.

For the peace and quiet, and the air conditioning, she'd happily sit in here for hours.

Checking her lipstick in the rearview mirror, she's not sure why they'd spent so long perfecting her dewy make up. In this heat she's certainly glowing anyway.

She scoffs hearing the DJ on the radio report that it's officially the hottest day recorded in London in forty years. No shit?

It's just her luck that she needs to be groomed to within an inch of her life and looking flawless in the middle of a heatwave with the mercury hitting a sweltering thirty-five degrees in the centre of London.

She wishes she'd had her hair pinned up, not freshly trimmed and curled to bounce around her collar bones.

Trying to avoid wiping her sweaty palms on her blue Burberry gown, the leather seats of the Mercedes aren't doing much to help.