Chapter 47
Max
As the words tumble out of Doily’s mouth, the air is ripped from my lungs. My stomach twists into a knot so tight, I can barely breathe. I feel like someone has turned the world upside down and left me standing.
Hunter. Detained. The word strikes me over and over, as everything else blurs into a haze of panic and disbelief. I want to scream, run, charge into customs and break him out of whatever cell they’ve thrown him in.
And yet . . . some part of me, stubborn and ridiculous, refuses to accept it.
I can’t. I won’t. My brain keeps insisting this is a horrible mistake.
I clutch my phone like it’s a lifeline, like if I keep it close enough, I can pull him back into my world.
This is not like my mum dying. This is Hunter.
My Hunter. And until I’ve seen a plane take off with him in it, no one can convince me he’s out of reach.
In theory, I could follow him to America if he’s deported. But I wouldn’t bank on me being allowed in, not when I’ve been caught lying on a visa application. It might literally be impossible for us to live and work in the same country. But I cannot let that come to pass. I need to find a solution.
My first instinct is to stay at the airport, knowing that Hunter is being held nearby.
I hate the thought of moving further away from him when all I want is to be with him.
But hanging around Border Control is not going to help my case.
I need to act fast. Sure, they might be planning to leave Hunter to rot while weeks and months of process unfold, but they might also attempt to remove him as fast as possible.
Protocols go out of the window when it comes to deportations.
In any case, neither option is tolerable.
‘Any thoughts?’ asks Doily.
Solutions? No. But I know one person who might be able to help.
‘We need to speak to Baroness Sharon.’
I snap into action and track down the phone number of her Chief of Staff.
When I reach him, he tells me that Baroness Sharon is far too busy for him to even mention my name to her.
When I inform him that she’ll be furious if he doesn’t pass on my message, he mutters in irritation and hangs up.
Two minutes later, he calls me back and sulkily tells me I’m to come in and see Sharon immediately.
When I say I’ve got company, he goes off the line briefly, then tells me that Sharon is happy to grant clearance to whoever I’m with.
Which is how I end up heading into Westminster with Doily, my dad, Mr Peanut, and a minibus full of young people with a passion for calligraphy. One of the youths has tied a ribbon around his head, Samurai style, which is technically unhelpful but fully in the spirit of the occasion.
Baroness Sharon’s office is inside the Palace of Westminster, but the security staff seem to have been prepared for our arrival, because we are all ushered in and directed up to the fifth floor.
When I enter Sharon’s office, the first thing I see is the view – a spectacular panorama across the River Thames to the South Bank and the London Eye.
The second thing I see is the new Prime Minister of Iceland.
I know this because he’s a famous figure, a twenty-two-year old tech genius who conducts all his meetings wearing a hoodie and is accompanied everywhere by a drone that live streams him.
‘Come in,’ says Sharon, nonplussed by the fact that there are almost a dozen of us. Some of the calligraphy youths gasp when they recognise Iceland’s Prime Minister.
‘Are we interrupting?’ I ask.
‘No no,’ says Sharon. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Bjorn?’
Bjorn waves a hand to indicate he isn’t bothered. He pauses his live stream.
‘Oh Max,’ says Sharon, throwing her arms around me. ‘How did this happen?’
I give her as quick a summary as I can. Sharon’s frown deepens.
‘Is there anything you can do?’ I say. ‘I hate to ask, but—’
‘No, you must.’ Sharon fiddles with her bangles. ‘But it is a bit complicated.’
‘How come?’
‘You did break the law, darling.’
When you put it like that.
‘This is really the Home Secretary’s realm,’ Sharon continues.
‘Can you ask her?’
‘God no. She can’t stand me, the snooty cow. Plus she’s obsessed with deporting people.’
I don’t know why I thought Sharon would be able to work miracles. No one is going to have any sympathy for two people who deliberately broke the rules.
‘I’d help if I could,’ says Sharon. ‘You know what a fan I am of Hunter.’
Then it hits me. Sharon’s not the only one who’s grateful for how Hunter handled the situation at the British Museum. He saved the trade deal. This country owes him.
‘We’ve kept quiet about Hunter’s role until now,’ I say to Sharon. ‘But we don’t have to stay quiet.’
Sharon raises an intrigued eyebrow.
‘Britain has come out of this well,’ I continue. ‘So many people in the international community have praised the decision to give back the Elgin Marbles. What if it leaked that the person responsible for that was being deported?’
Sharon thinks it over. I can tell the idea appeals to her, even if she’s not sure how she’d sell it.
‘We could make a fuss,’ I say, turning to Doily. ‘Couldn’t we?’
Doily smiles. ‘Say the word and I can have the entire cast of the upcoming Peloton movie protesting at the BAFTAs.’
Sharon bites her lip. ‘You do understand that the press could spin it another way if this all goes public? You’d get dragged through the mud.’
I have a brief vision of how horrendous that would be. Hunter would get denounced as the immigrant who’s stealing British actors’ roles. That’s before they found out about Elton John’s gnome. But it doesn’t scare me.
‘They wouldn’t win,’ I say to Sharon.
‘Are you sure about that?’ Sharon asks.
‘Yes. First, we’re on the right side of history. Second, this is a love story.’