Carolina and The Fan Non-fiction | H.S

Twenty-Nine

Was this even the airport I arrived in last September?

In an untraditional and unexpected manner, Jas and I had to be escorted to another car from our Uber when we were dropped at the gates of Heathrow. The second I texted Harry that we were at the airport, just as we were to enter, he replied that a car would come to get us from where we stood.

Well, it wasn't just a car with a driver. It was a car with a driver and a bodyguard named Curtis. Also, the London weather is quite moody today, light rain drizzling across the city. So, walking out of there with someone holding out the umbrella for you until you get to the car attracted lookers.

"Are they kidnapping us formally?" Jas jokingly whispered as she jumps in first to our seats. When I get comfortable in my position, I nudge her with my elbow as a discreet scold. Then I type Harry a message, partly with the intention of making sure that this was really part of the process. Jas' joke about kidnap might've gotten to me a little bit.

Okaaaay we're in the car H

I feel the phone vibrate in my hand almost immediately.

Ok. I'm excited to see you. x

I smile. Not at the confirmation that we're not being kidnapped. But at the fact that I am about to see him. Then comes the anticipation. The queasiness building up in the pit of my stomach and gut. I try to swallow the mix of happiness and nervousness.

See you ;)

I look out the tinted window and notice the car round to the other side of the terminal building. It's pretty much the same outside, but the chandelier peeking through the glass tells me otherwise.

We pull up in front of a walkway.

I sling my tiny three-day duffel bag over my shoulder, then I barely reach my hand out to open the door. But I draw back immediately because Curtis beat me to it. I give the driver my thanks before stepping out under the umbrella that was again held out for us.

I try not to let the oddness of the situation show by thinking this is never going to happen again so just go with it. Suddenly, I recall having the exact same conversation with myself whilst with Harry in Barbican. God, my thought trail is turning out to be similar as that night.

I fight the resurging fear that I had confessed to Jas last night. I just don't want a repeat of November.

People come and go.

People come and go.

Just fucking go with it.

And just fucking go inside the entrance now. I tell myself, realizing that I got carried away with my brooding and stopped in my tracks for a second. Thankfully, it was just for a second. Too short for anyone to notice.

The chandelier I saw from the car window greets us. It sits atop the five-star-hotel-lobby looking interior of what I have trouble thinking is still Heathrow.

"I'll take it from here. Thank you," another Curtis-like man said. He was as tall and as built but he was in a suit.

I give Curtis One a shy smile and a nod which he returns before turning his back to us. Meanwhile, I turn my head to Curtis Two who introduces himself to us. "Good afternoon Ma'am, I'm Abott of the Meet and Assist Concierge Service of Heathrow, I will be guiding you both around the VIP section."

He takes our bags, leaving us with our carry-ons. He continues to talk about the services we can avail and I can't help but feel consciously more and more guilty. Each word he says is a luxury I cannot afford.