By the time I got on the plane, I was already exhausted. And it was only 7 a.m. I was glad the company had splurged for the direct flight. I don’t know if I could have handled a layover in another airport.
The flight itself was another adventure. I was sandwiched between two businessmen, one of whom spoke exclusively in Italian but judging by his tone was sexually harassing me every time he addressed me. The other was the stereotypical workaholic who kept getting in trouble for operating his electronic devices when he wasn’t supposed to be. I was relieved when both of them reclined their seats about halfway through the flight and dozed.
I was too keyed up to sleep, however. Or read. Or do anything but monitor every little sound and bump the plane made. And whoever decided that Snakes on a Plane was a good choice for the in-flight movie had a sick sense of humor.
I never thought I’d be a nervous flyer. The concept of flying, in general, has never bothered me. But I was surprised to find that I kind of had to stifle a non-stop, eight-hour scream. I kept worrying my first flight might be my last, and wishing I could just drive to London. When are they going to build that bridge, anyway? Surely we have the technology.
It goes without saying that I’m mentally exhausted, nervous, stressed, and feeling not-so-fresh when the plane finally touches down at Heathrow. And I know I still have to get my baggage, find a cab, and make it to my hotel before I can truly breathe again. I estimate I’ll have to ask at least three dozen questions before I’m in a bed.
However, the terminal where I land is surprisingly easy to navigate and well marked. I thank God I’m still in an English-speaking country, even if it’s a sort of English that I frequently don’t comprehend. Thanks to my evening studies, though, I’m delighted to find out that I understand more of what everyone around me is saying than I would have six months ago.
After I have my bags, I wander over to one of the free-standing airport maps so I can figure out where to go to find a cab. Someone touches me from behind, but I ignore them, thinking it’s an incidental brush-up in the crowded terminal. I step a little closer to the map, in case I’m in someone’s way, but I stay focused on what I’m doing. Now a hand wraps around my upper arm. Reflexively, I bring my elbow down and back, looking sharply at whoever’s trying to put their hand in my messenger bag.
Jude grabs his lower abdomen and steps back. “Oi! It’s only me!” he protests.
I gasp and apologize in one breath, reaching for his arm. He quickly straightens, assuring me he’s fine, and as soon as he’s fully upright, I fling myself at him. Surprised, he takes a second to recover and hug me back.
“Blimey, I didn’t realize I needed to wear protective gear to come fetch you from the airport,” he grouses good-naturedly, stiffly patting my back.
Without thinking, I bury my face in his neck and take a deep breath of him. Then I muffle, “You weren’t supposed to be here. I thought you were mugging me!”
He pushes away first. “Right. Well, I couldn’t in good conscience allow you navigate all this alone. Strange city, stranger people, after a long flight… That wouldn’t be very hospitable, now, would it be? How was your flight?”
“Long,” I confirm. I’m suddenly self-conscious, tucking my hair behind my ears and fidgeting with my necklace. “I wasn’t expecting it to be such a big deal.”
We stand there looking at each other for a beat, then he smiles and asks, “Do you need to exchange any cash?”
When I answer, “yes,” and look around for the nearest kiosk or exchange counter, he shakes his head at me and says, “Not here. The exchange rate is bollocks. I’ll lend you some bees and honey— er, money, until we can locate a bank ATM close to your hotel.”
I merely nod, grateful almost to the point of tears that he’s here to help me out.
“What else do you need?” he asks.
If only I knew. This is unbelievable. This morning, I woke up in Chicago, and now I’m in a completely different country. After eagerly anticipating it for weeks, it’s hard to convince myself this isn’t just another one of my fantasies.
I laugh. “You tell me. I’m so lost it’s not even funny. I can’t believe I’m here!”
“It’s more than a little surreal seeing you here,” he agrees, moving me aside with a gentle hand as someone behind me tries to get past us. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat?”
I’m too nervous to eat, so I merely say, “Not really. Honestly, I’m looking forward to a hot bath and a soft bed. And then about seventeen hours of sleep.”
He nods curtly, as if my request is completely reasonable. “Absolutely. That can be arranged. Would you like to wait here whilst I get the car?”
I shake my head. “I’ll just go with you.”
“It’s a bit of a walk.”
“It feels good to stretch my legs. Let’s go.”
He wasn’t kidding about the hike. But I don’t utter so much as a sigh, since he warned me. And he’s carrying my heaviest bag. Outside, I squint against the cold drizzle and ask him, “So how’re Marvin and some of the other guys adjusting to life over here?”
“Really well, for the most part,” he answers. “Marvin’s quite the ladies’ man, believe it or not.”
“Not,” I say.
“Not kidding! The birds like his American accent.”
I laugh at the reversal. “That’s crazy. What about all of his
