Part Nine
Halley
Halley’s heart was beating nearly out of her chest. ‘My video cut out from this lousy cellular connection, and I badly need to see your face right now.’
‘My video went too.’ Henry sounded strained. ‘Actually I thought...’
‘You thought?’ she prompted, when he didn’t complete the sentence.
‘Halley, would you do me a favour, and call back once you’ve connected to Wi-Fi?’
‘Sure,’ she breathed. An instant later, there was a click and the call dropped entirely. She scrambled to her feet, rushing to the low cupboard in the galley and plugging in the router. She slowed on her return to retrieve her phone, scooping it up and continuing on, with a compulsion she didn’t pause to decipher, to pass through the short corridor and into Henry’s bedroom.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, her fingers trembled as she selected his network, then pressed in MyHalleyHart , which she’d discovered, in his email about Blue Moon practicalities, was his Wi-Fi password.
She swiped on his name. If she had any expectation, it was for Henry to answer immediately. But two rings went by, and then another.
The fourth ring was cut off early, and Henry appeared on her screen.
‘Did you mean it?’ Her subconscious must have been formulating the question, because the words she was previously struggling to find suddenly flew from her tongue. ‘Do you love me?’
‘Yes,’ he said instantly. ‘Though I didn’t... well, I was hoping to tell you once we were together in person. I thought the call had dropped entirely, you see. And I know I’ve only ever seen you for one day but...’
He was flustered, and pink-cheeked, and especially cute, so she watched as he rambled on, all but apologizing for telling her he loved her.
‘Got that out of your system?’ she asked mildly, when he trailed off. ‘Because I need you to shut up and listen, Henry Inglis. I also had something to say in person.’
He went entirely still.
‘On a practical note, I love you too — but that wasn’t my big reveal.’
He made a jolting motion, but didn’t speak, and she continued.
‘When I talked to my thesis advisor about applying for jobs in Europe, he didn’t only wreck our Christmas plans by insisting I get more data. He made two other recommendations that seemed pretty unlikely to come off — especially when I was down on myself for missing that data corruption. In our meeting right before I left, he had updates on them both. One, was that I apply to present my results at an astrophysics symposium in January, in Chicago. My application was successful, so I’ll be attending that. And the second... well the second was that I start making contacts in European departments, beginning by capitalizing on the fact that I can write my thesis up anywhere. He offered to ask his various European astronomer contacts if their institutions would accept me as a visiting student for the rest of the academic year. And, well... I’ve had an invitation from a university.’
‘Where? Where is it in Europe?’ Henry asked hoarsely.
Her mouth was dry. ‘Not Oxford. Astronomy’s only a small department and—’ She broke off at the look on his face. ‘I think it’s the next best option, for us. It’s Southampton?’ It was the largest city in Hampshire, where Henry’s family lived, and only sixty miles from Oxford.
‘Sorry, could you repeat that?’ Henry spoke with infinite politeness, but his eyes bored through her, even via their cameras and screens.
‘The headlines are, I love you too, and I’m coming to England.’ Something struck her. ‘If you want me to?’
‘That question is superfluous,’ he said, grinning like a loon. ‘How soon can you come, and how long can you stay?’
‘I’ll be there once the symposium ends, in late January. And I can stay through the end of the summer term. I’m hoping to submit my thesis by the end of June.’
‘Six months,’ Henry said, looking so satisfied he was on the verge of smug. ‘You’ll be down the road from my parents for half a year! We’ll be together every weekend, at the absolute least.’
‘I can make it to Oxford a lot, as long as I write while I’m here.’
‘And I’ll come to you. I’ll buy a car to make it easier — we can share it.’
‘I’d like to offer to go halves, but I’ll be pretty broke,’ she warned.
‘The boat’s cheap. I can afford it.’
She scooched back on his bed and rested her head on one of his striped pillows. It smelled of Henry.
Henry blinked. ‘You’re in my bed.’
‘Is that OK?’ He’d made a point of telling her that the couch unfolded into a guest bed several times in earlier calls. ‘Should I sleep on the sofa bed?’
The vertical lines appeared between his brows. ‘It’s up to you.’
She rose onto her elbows. ‘Henry, stop being enigmatic. If you don’t want me in your bed, you can say so. And, like, explain why , because it seems kinda weird.’
His face coloured. ‘That’s not it. I just wanted to avoid pressuring you to sleep there, if you’d rather not.’
‘You’re not even here! How would I feel pressured?’
He laughed wryly. ‘I don’t know. I seem to have overthought it.’
She flopped back onto his pillow. ‘I wish you were here.’
He instantly sobered. ‘Me too. Halley?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Please sleep in my bed?’
Her toes curled involuntarily, and she lifted her chin. ‘Have you ever imagined me here?’
‘Many, many times.’
She pinned his eyes with her own. ‘Tell me about it.’
* * *
From: Henry Inglis
Subject: Happy Christmas!
To: Halley Hart
It’s still just about Christmas Day here. Your mother’s home from work and we ordered Chinese food. Afterwards she was keen for us to watch an American football match but I couldn’t concentrate for thinking about you, so I exaggerated my jet lag to escape.
You know what keeps coming into my mind? You, right at this moment, asleep in my bed. And how I’ll soon be there with you. And that when we have to part again, it’ll only be for a month, after which you’ll be nearby for half a year. Half a year, Halley! Also, I can’t stop replaying the moment you announced: on a practical note, I love you too . At some point you’ll need to explain how that could ever be a mere practicality.
All of the above means that, despite us being apart, it’s the best Christmas of my life so far.
All my love, Henry xxx
* * *
Thursday, 26 December
From: Halley Hart
Subject: Happy Boxing Day!
To: Henry Inglis
What a perfect email to wake up to. I almost called you right away, but it’s three a.m. there and I need you to store up sleep so we don’t have to waste any of our twelve hours together.
I learned at lunch yesterday that today’s called Boxing Day, though not from Ruth or Kwame, but another of their guests... I wonder if you can guess? I was going to mention it when you called, but what we ended up talking about was (much) better.
Mom misses me watching football with her — I’m sure she’d really appreciate you hanging out with her for the game today!
Love, your Halley
* * *
Henry
‘Halley’s bedroom,’ her mother had announced, as she threw the door open. ‘Since she was three years old.’
But most of the remnants of childhood had been removed, leaving it much like any other adult-child’s former bedroom, in stasis between their infrequent visits. The equivalent space in his own parents’ house was still always referred to as Henry’s room , though Viola’s former bedroom became the study when she bought her flat and emptied it out.
The biggest indication of Halley’s long occupation of this room were the wooden letters spelling out her name, on the wall behind the bed. But he could also see her presence in the transparent stars on the ceiling, and the globe on the top of the dresser. He strolled over and spun it. Small red gems had been affixed to various locations, and they winked under the overhead light. There were also tinier gold gems, in a wider variety of places, and he leaned in, examining them.
His phone buzzed and he swiped to accept the video call. ‘Good afternoon, beautiful.’ Halley was out on the Blue Moon’s covered bow deck, swaddled in green merino wool which he recognized from his wardrobe. ‘Nice jumper.’
‘ Jumper ,’ she repeated, grinning. ‘It’s soft. Can I steal it?’
‘It’s not stealing if you stop to ask,’ he said lightly, because what’s mine is yours was perhaps coming on a little too strong.
‘Hey — you’re in my room! Did you notice the stars on the ceiling? They’re laid out in real constellations.’
‘I was busy trying to decode the globe. Oxford’s gold and Chicago’s red?’
‘Red was places I’d been and gold where I wanted to go. I updated it through my teens, but Oxford was one of the first I marked out, when I was like, twelve.’
He knew she’d wanted to visit Oxford because of her link to Edmond Halley, and it wasn’t like Henry had lived there himself back then. But her longstanding attraction to where he now lived and worked made him feel even more that the two of them were meant to be. ‘What were the other original places you marked in gold?’
She sucked in her cheeks, thinking. ‘London, Saint Helena and Antarctica.’
‘Saint Helena? As in, the Atlantic island where Napoleon was exiled?’
‘I don’t know much about Napoleon, but it sounds like the same place. Edmond Halley had an observatory built there in the 1670s.’
‘Don’t tell me he made it to Antarctica, too,’ Henry said, rotating the globe to look at the vast continent on the bottom of the planet. ‘I didn’t think it was discovered by Europeans until the nineteenth century.’
‘It wasn’t,’ Halley said, laughing at him. ‘No, Antarctica’s nothing to do with treading my ancestor’s footprints. That one’s all mine. I read about how it’s one of the best places on the planet for astronomy when I was a kid, and became obsessed. I sort of still am — I’d have pursued my Ph.D. at any of the universities with access to Antarctica telescopes if I’d got an offer.’
‘It amazes me that you were so ambitious, so young. I don’t recall even knowing what a historian was.’
She shrugged, and retreated back inside the Blue Moon. ‘Sometimes I think my career trajectory’s just nominative determinism — you know, people subconsciously gravitating to the kind of work that reflects their name? Comet by name, astronomer by occupation.’
‘I’m sure there’s more to it,’ Henry said, carrying his phone through to the guest bedroom where he’d been sleeping. ‘Oh, what was that about someone you met at Christmas lunch?’
Halley’s pensive mood seemed to lift suddenly, and the pleats in her cheeks reappeared. ‘Your freshers ! You’ve always been discreet and not used their real names, but I recognized Ms Oxcited and Mr Exactly when a girl called Olivia announced how oxcited she was that it’s Christmas, and a boy called Dexter murmured “Exactly,” in agreement! When they heard I’m your girlfriend, she insisted on regaling me with English festive traditions, and I’m sure I’m meant to feed back to you how much history she knows.’
‘That sounds tedious—’ Henry began.
‘Not at all — they’re sweet kids. And it didn’t go on long, anyway. They made excuses and left even before dessert was served.’
‘Teenagers don’t appreciate Christmas pudding.’
‘Neither do American twenty-seven-year-olds,’ Halley said, pulling an exaggeratedly sickened face. ‘You eat that stuff? It nearly choked me. Trifle, on the other hand, is divine.’
‘Trifle’s great too,’ Henry agreed, his mind on his students. ‘You didn’t happen to hear why they’re both still in residence, did you? It’s unusual for undergraduates not to have homes to go to over Christmas.’
‘Nope, sorry. I assumed you knew they were still in Oxford, to be honest.’
‘I realized vaguely that Olivia was, but I was too focused on the letters in the archive box to follow up — what is it?’
Her eyes were wide. ‘Letters? Last I heard of the box, you were off to look inside it. But then you were in Chicago, and never once mentioned it, so I figured it had been empty. I didn’t want to ask and remind you of the disappointment.’
‘Ah,’ Henry said. ‘No, far from a disappointment. There are hundreds of Lawrence Sedgwick’s letters inside, from the latter part of his Naval service. I think it’s everything he wrote to his family in those three years, though I’ve only examined them briefly — I’m looking forward to plunging in properly.’
Halley had become very still. ‘You weren’t tempted to work on those over Christmas, instead of flying to surprise me?’
‘I didn’t give it a second thought,’ he admitted, wondering why that irritated her. Then her chin jerked triumphantly, and he knew it hadn’t.
* * *
Friday, 27 December
Text messages between Henry and Halley:
Heading for the airport — see you in about eleven hours! xxx
Remember I have to leave twelve hours after that, so hurry if you possibly can!
Sorry, Halley, I’ve arrived to find our time together might end up an hour or two shorter. There’s a weather delay. xxx
I know, I’m tracking O’Hare flights online. I can’t see a new departure time?
They haven’t announced one yet. I’ll keep you updated. xxx
* * *
Halley
Halley flipped through books. She’d imposed a rule that she couldn’t check her phone again until she entirely emptied each crate of Henry’s books, checked them over, and set any that were damp to air beside the stove. Rising to her feet, she yawned. She hadn’t been able to sleep the night before, instead turning over and over the knowledge that it was her final night alone in Henry’s bed. It hadn’t felt real that he’d be with her by around ten tonight, but that hadn’t prevented it hurting when she heard about the heavy snowfall in Chicago, and it hit her that he wouldn’t be.
She caught her phone up. No updates, and it was almost noon. That meant it was almost 6 a.m. in Chicago. The time Henry should be leaving, but he didn’t even have a new departure time.
In desperate need of distraction, she wandered into the little corridor between the bedroom and living area, which ran between several large cupboards Henry used as closets, on one side, and a shower room on the other. On both walls, and the individual doors, there was the framing for bookcases. Kwame had begun to build it, and Henry hadn’t yet had time to complete it, but it would look really cool when he did. A book-lined corridor, with the doors to the shower and closets hidden, unless you knew precisely where to push. And Henry badly needed the shelf space.
She went through the bedroom to the steps that led up to the bow. Henry had shown her, when he was right here and she watching on a screen, that the horizontal treads flipped up for storage. Inside were the tools Kwame had left for him to use. And up on the roof, wrapped in a tarpaulin, there was wood, pre-cut into the right lengths to finish the bookcases. She whistled as she rummaged through the tools.
* * *
Text messages between Henry and Halley:
Good news here! They’ve cleared the runway. xxx
And it only took two and a half hours...
Sorry, sarcasm was unhelpful. At least I’m on the Blue Moon — you’ve got to hang out in a jam-packed airport. How long’s the backlog?
Not sure, but someone’s saying that international flights will be prioritized for take-off slots. xxx
* * *
Henry
‘Update on flight 2987.’
Henry straightened, instantly alert despite his long wait.
‘For operational reasons caused by the inclement weather conditions, this flight has been re-routed via JFK Airport. Please watch the departure boards for a gate announcement.’
He leaned back again, deciding he must have misheard the flight number: a plane-load of people going to Britain wouldn’t be taken to New York instead. It made no sense.
The tannoy crackled again, but the forthcoming announcement wasn’t a repeat of the one that had drawn his attention, only a brief explanation that a Korean Air flight had been cancelled and passengers should contact their airline.
That was the second outright cancellation of a long-haul flight, though plenty had also taken off. He frowned, then got to his feet and strode to the departure board. The last time he’d checked there were only three gate numbers displayed. Now, many more were listed, as well as the two cancellations. And one single re-routed — gate 54, beside his flight number.
‘That must be a mistake,’ he muttered. His phone rang as he began walking. He was unsurprised to see it was Halley calling.
‘You’ve gotta go to gate 54,’ she said instantly.
‘I know. I’m on my way—’
‘And there’s something weird going on. They’re re-routing your plane through New York.’
‘I saw. I don’t—’
‘Have you asked why?’
‘I haven’t had a chance. I will when I reach the gate.’
‘And then let me know immediately? And I’ll tell you if I figure out what’s going on from this end. I’ve got alerts set—’ she broke off to yawn, and he seized the moment.
‘Sweetheart? I appreciate the offer, but there are constant announcements here, and I’m keeping an eye on the website for alerts, too. You don’t need to be glued to your phone.’
‘I’m not. I’m... well, you’ll see when you arrive. But it’s not going to take all day, and I’ve got to stay busy somehow. I couldn’t sleep last night, and when I’m tired and bored I start to panic.’
‘How about you try to nap? Or you’ll be exhausted by the time I arrive.’
There were a few beats of silence. ‘But then I won’t know when to expect you.’
‘I’ll message you updates — no, I’ll email you updates, so your phone doesn’t keep beeping alerts.’
‘I guess so, then. I just want as many hours with you as possible.’
‘I know. Me too.’ A huge sign for Gate 54 came into sight. A lot of passengers must have been closer than him when it was announced, as it was already busy, and he slowed his pace. ‘I love you.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ she said, in an altogether different tone of voice. ‘I love you too.’
Stowing his phone away as he reached the gate, Henry avoided the scrum, instead finding himself a vantage point up against a wall, where he stood with his backpack resting on his feet. He had a decent view of the boarding desk, on which two landline phones were ringing. A member of the airline’s ground staff was attempting to placate a man who was shouting that he deserved an explanation, and gesticulating wildly.
‘I don’t have any more information than you do, sir,’ she said, before snatching up one of the phones. ‘Yes?... I’m afraid I don’t have any more information than you do.’
More passengers arrived, including several families, whose children were already crying, and three middle-aged men, wearing matching blue and orange tops and caps, who staggered up singing off-key about bearing down. Halley’s mother’s television seemed to be permanently stuck on American football games, but it was the Bears match that she’d all but forced him to watch, thanks to which Henry recognized the blue and orange as their colours. He thought the singing might be an attempt at their fight song and hoped fervently that American football fans weren’t as commonly drunk and disorderly as footie fans travelling home from matches. The last thing he needed was the flight to be grounded while they were arrested.
* * *
From: Henry Inglis
Subject: Update: about to take off from O’Hare!
To: Halley Hart
Hopefully you’re asleep, Halley, but just letting you know that I’m on the plane, and we’re due to take off imminently. We’ve had no explanation yet for the New York thing, but there’s a lot of speculation that we won’t even be getting off, just picking up some passengers who were delayed there by the same storm. If that’s the case, I think by the time I race through arrivals and drive to Oxford, we’ll have nine or so hours together. Then I’ll drop you back at Heathrow and go on to my parents.
Funny thing... I’m sitting beside Brian from Bedford, who’s a massive Chicago Bears fan. He and his friends fly over for almost all their matches.
Getting glared at by cabin crew so need to switch phone off now.
All my love, Henry xxx
* * *
From: Henry Inglis
Subject: Update: arrived in New York
To: Halley Hart
I’m hoping you’re still asleep, but wanted to keep you updated, as promised.
Just after we took off, the mystery was solved about the stop in New York. Unfortunately the crew have been working too long, because of the delay at O’Hare, so we were deplaned here.
I’ve been telling Brian from Bedford all about you. It was a mistake though to reveal that you’re a Bears fan, and let slip that I couldn’t follow much of the game I saw with your mother, as he decided to tutor me in the basics. When I see you I’m to say: ‘Man, what a game yesterday. The Monsters of Midway really are who we thought they were.’
Apparently our new aircraft will be departing around an hour from now. If that’s correct, we’ll get 6-7 hours together, Halley. Far from enough, but we’ll make it count.
All my love, Henry xxx
* * *
Henry
Hell is other people , Henry thought, and there were thousands of them blocking his route to get home to Halley, the one person he wanted. He gritted his teeth, dodging a child in a tutu riding on a suitcase, and her parents, filming her on their knees. A group of pilots walked three abreast and he had to virtually smash himself against the concourse wall to get past without slowing. His flight had flashed up on the departure board alongside another one, as though they’d been amalgamated. If that was the case, they’d be overbooked. Unsure how airlines determined which passengers to bump, he was determined to get to the gate quickly, though unfortunately it was in the opposite direction from where he’d been waiting.
Reaching his gate, where the queue was only mid-length, he joined the line, resting his hands on his thighs and bending over slightly to catch his breath.
‘Hiya, mate,’ he heard, and glanced up. It was Brian from Bedford, immediately ahead of him in the queue, alongside his friends.
Henry clenched a fist. ‘Da Bears,’ he said, as Brian had instructed. He immediately regretted it, feeling like an idiot. But Brian appreciated it, and hooted, before launching into a description of one of the game highlights, which at least provided a distraction from Henry’s writhing nerves.
As they neared the front of the queue he could see that there were two uniformed ground staff behind the counter. Brian and his friends stepped up to the one on the right, and he strained to hear what was being said, but couldn’t catch much. The family on the left, however, ended their conversation looking relieved, and as they moved to one side, Henry paced forward.
The eyes of the employee grazed over him. ‘Boarding pass?’
He proffered his phone, and she glanced between that and her computer screen. ‘We’re overbooked so we’re asking everyone who can to wait for the next flight, later today. You’d be recompensed generously, with—’
‘I’m sorry, that’s impossible. My elderly father’s had an operation so I’ve got to get home urgently.’ It was true, to some extent. Viola would kill him if he wasn’t there to take over, as promised. But it was Halley he’d miss if he wasn’t on this one.
The computer pinged, and the woman’s mouth twisted. ‘Bad luck, sir. That was an alert that the flight’s now full. Overfull, actually.’
He followed her gaze to Brian and his friends.
‘No, I can’t get all three of you on,’ the male employee was warning. ‘I’ve got two seats remaining, and I suggest you quickly decide between yourselves who’s coming and who’s staying, or we’ll have to offer them to the next in line.’
Henry swallowed. The next in line was him. If the three of them would rather wait together than separate—
‘Rock, paper, scissors for it?’ one of Brian’s friends said.
Brian laughed, and hupped three times. He produced scissors at the same moment his friend came up with paper. ‘All right!’ he hollered.
Henry’s heart sank into his boots, and he turned away, blinking rapidly. He wasn’t going to see Halley at all, and he had no idea how to break it to her.
‘Henry?’ Brian called. ‘You made it on the plane?’
He glanced back and shook his head briefly.
Brian released a long growl. ‘You swear your girl’s a genuine Bears fan?’
‘Lifelong,’ Henry assured him. He held his breath.
‘Hey?’ Brian called to his friends, whose round of rock, paper scissors had descended into good-humoured scuffles. ‘I’ll wait for the next flight with whichever of you loses. Lover boy’s taking my seat.’
* * *
From: Henry Inglis
Subject: Update: waiting at gate at JFK!
To: Halley Hart
Thanks to Brian from Bedford and you, for being a Bears fan, I’ve got a seat on this plane! My best guess is that we’ll be landing about 5 a.m. Halley, we’re not going to have very long together and I’m really sorry about that. But I refuse to be devastated, because in about a month we’ll be together for half a year. Half a year!
I’m guessing no replies means you’re still sleeping, and I hate to wake you only to say I won’t be there until the morning. I’ll be in touch when I land.
All my love, Henry xxx
* * *
Halley
Something was drumming as Halley half-woke. It was hail again, landing on the Blue Moon’s roof, she thought blearily.
Then she sat up, her head spinning. She had no idea where her phone was, to check for updates, but could see it was dark outside. She’d overslept, and Henry must be on his way.
And the drumming was getting louder.
‘Hello!’ a man with an English accent called. ‘Are you in?’
She was on her feet a split second later, narrowly avoiding a tangle with the bed covers. She sprinted into the corridor, vaulted over the tools she’d left out and raced past the log burner, which was only warm.
‘Henry?’ she called, as she leaped up the steps to the door in the stern, which she kept bolted closed on his instruction.
‘Yes,’ came the muffled reply from the other side. She wrestled with the stiff bolt, finally thudding it across as he added, ‘We’re here to see him.’
Her stomach lurched as the door sprang open. A man with thinning, sandy hair leaned into view. ‘Is the old boy in? We were out for a stroll and thought we’d pop in to say hullo.’
We, Halley thought, straining to see behind him. ‘He’s not here,’ she said. ‘He’s... well he’s on his way, I guess. I need to check my phone.’
‘Sorry to trouble you with questions,’ the man said, looking at her anxiously as he entered. ‘But I hope you don’t mind me asking... y’know... who you are?’
A pale woman with shiny black hair came in behind him, and scoffed. ‘Don’t be preposterous, Julian darling. This must be Henry’s American.’
* * *
Henry
His phone rang as he boarded the plane, and he answered quickly. ‘Halley? You got my emails?’
‘I did. I’m sorry I slept so long. And that you’ve sat in airports for hours to only get a few hours closer to home.’
‘At least that’s about to change. I’m boarding in New York.’
‘ Finally ,’ she breathed. ‘What’s your ETA?’
‘Touching down just before 6 a.m.,’ he admitted, making his way up the aisle to his seat toward the back. ‘I’ve only got hand luggage, so I can hopefully disembark and make it through to the car park by about half past.’
‘That decides it then. Julian — you’re right. I need to go to Heathrow early.’
‘Halley? Julian’s there?’
‘And Gabrielle,’ she said significantly. ‘They popped in to see you, and found me.’
His mouth fell open. Halley and Gabrielle, on the same small boat. For the first time in days, he wasn’t desperate to be aboard the Blue Moon. ‘How... uhh...’
‘Later,’ she said, then louder, ‘Julian reckons there’s no point you coming back here, when I’m meant to be at Heathrow shortly after nine ready for my own flight.’
‘He’s right,’ Henry said, clamping his mobile between his shoulder and his chin as he reached to open the overhead locker just before his row. It was overfull already, and he slammed it shut. ‘I should have thought of that. You’ll have to check our terminals, and meet me at mine. There’s no link between arrivals and departures beyond security, so wait in the arrivals hall.’
‘Obviously.’ He could almost hear her eyes rolling.
At the next locker along, a couple were stowing their stuff. ‘The trains don’t run that early, though, and I don’t want you subjected to another long coach trip. Please order a taxi, Halley, and I’ll pay you back.’
‘That’s not necessary,’ she said. Before he could argue, she added, ‘Julian already offered to drive me.’
‘Seriously?’ The couple shifted into Henry’s row, and he sidestepped to the next overhead locker, which now only had a tiny gap left. ‘Tell him I owe him one.’
‘Will do. And have a good flight, babe. I love you.’
It was the first time she’d said it first, and, despite everything, he felt heady with happiness. ‘I love you too,’ he said, pushing at the bags until he created a little more space, then wedging his backpack in. ‘And I can’t wait to see you soon.’
Carrying only his phone and book, he paused at his row. His was the middle seat of a row of three, and the man and woman were sitting either side of it. His assumption that they were a couple must be wrong.
‘Excuse me please,’ he said to the woman, who was in the aisle seat with an iPad and water bottle and snacks piled on her lap.
Rather than moving her legs to one side, she scowled. ‘We book an aisle and a window so we can share three seats for the price of two.’
‘No one ever chooses the middle one, unless they can help it,’ the man by the window said.
So they were a couple after all.
‘I suppose I couldn’t help it,’ Henry ground out, his happiness already draining away. ‘Full plane, and all that. Would either of you like to swap with me?’
‘No,’ they said together. The woman stood and moved into the aisle, and Henry shifted into his seat. The man put his wrist on the armrest to Henry’s right. The woman put her elbow on the armrest on his left. Then they both took their shoes and socks off. Henry pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if this flight could possibly get any worse.
‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,’ a voice said through the speakers. ‘This is your Captain speaking. Unfortunately air traffic control has us waiting for a take-off slot, so we’ll taxi out to the runway but we’re anticipating a delay after that.’
Henry thudded the back of his skull against his headrest.
* * *
Saturday, 28 December
From: Halley Hart
Subject: FOUR HOURS!!!
To: Henry Inglis
I’m sorry for sleeping through all your email updates. It sounds like a hellish journey, and I hope you’re catching up on some sleep now.
Gabrielle’s a peach by the way. By which I mean the exact opposite. She kept calling me the American as if it was a curse word, and crinkling her nose like I smell. Also, I don’t want to be all why do people who speak other languages speak other languages , but she kept saying things to Julian in French, then laughing. When he asked if I understood (I think to try to stop her ― he’s a very nice man) and I said ‘No, being American, I learned Spanish,’ she stage-whispered something about les americaines and imbeciles. You’ll never know how badly I wanted to snap back that I hadn’t recognized her with her clothes on. (I only managed to suppress it by biting my lip so hard I drew blood.) (Just as well you’ll be able to kiss me better in a couple hours!!!)
Anyway, Julian wanted the whole story, and then he made coffee while I read your emails, and then I updated him all over again and he came up with the Heathrow plan. I’d have probably accepted the ride anyway but when I saw how pissed Gabrielle was about it I definitely had to.
They’ve left again now but Julian’s coming back with his car to collect me later. Unless Gabrielle makes him cancel, in which case I’ll jump in a cab. But I have a feeling he won’t stand for that. He seemed pretty mad at her as they left.
FOUR HOURS and we’ll be together! Which means only two for me to pack and clean and do some more of a project I hope you’ll approve of.
I love you! (Despite your taste in ex-girlfriends.) Your Halley
* * *
Texts messages from Halley to Henry:
Well I made it to Heathrow and I’m sitting in your terminal. Julian drove me and was super-nice. He offered to wait with me, but I sent him home. ONE HOUR until you land!
Ugh. Your ETA just changed. Looks like you’ll be here closer to 7 than 6. I hate airlines. And Chicago snow. And Oxford rain/sleet/hail. But I love you. Please hurry if you can.
You’re now arriving at 7.39. And 739 is a cool number. It’s a prime where if we take a digit from the end, it’s 73 — also a prime. Take another digit away, and 7’s a prime too. Maybe I’m nuts, but you arriving at 7.39 would be perfect, so I’ve called it as correct, and I’m brushing my teeth. Because you’re arriving at 7.39 and I CAN’T WAIT!
I jinxed it by calling it. It’s now showing 8.03...
I can’t believe that yesterday we were sweet summer children who thought twelve hours together was too short. Do you know what I’d give for twelve hours with you now? At least a kidney. Hurry, hurry, hurry. And call me the second you see this!
* * *
Halley
Halley bounced her leg and gnawed her sore lower lip, her eyes cemented to the arrivals board. She’d paced out the route to the terminal bus, investigated the duration of that journey and called her airline to check the latest possible time that she could arrive for her flight. Apparently it was a peak departure time, so there were long queues through security, and if she got to her terminal less than two and a half hours before her flight was leaving, she may well miss it.
And she couldn’t miss it. If she didn’t collect the final week of her data now, it would set her back another month, ruling her out of the symposium in Chicago and significantly delaying her arrival in Southampton. Which meant the last terminal bus she could catch was one departing at 9.30.
Henry’s flight status had been labelled delayed all morning, and its arrival time had constantly been put back. Until the past hour, when it had only displayed 8.43. Her eyes shot to the clock on the top right of the huge screen — it was 8.42.
And then her phone chimed. Henry.
Her heart rocketed in her chest as she fumbled to answer.
‘Halley?’ he said.
‘I’m here!’
‘We’ve just landed — still taxiing in. We were really delayed leaving and I didn’t know how long you could wait.’
‘I’m here,’ she choked out again. ‘But I can only stay for forty-seven more minutes, Henry.’
‘I’ll get there.’ His voice was deep and determined. It sounded like a vow. ‘We’ll see each other.’
She wiped her nose with the edge of her sleeve. ‘I’m at the meet and greet right beside the exit from customs.’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
* * *
Text messages between Henry and Halley:
They’re letting us disembark now. I’m readying myself to run. xxx
Forty minutes exactly.
Almost at PP ctrl. xxx
Thirty-three minutes.
Queues at the e-gates, but I’m in the shortest one.
Twenty-nine minutes.
The email you sent while I was in the air just loaded in my inbox.
Maybe don’t bother with that right now. Twenty-eight minutes!
WTF... Gabrielle!! I didn’t exactly think the two of you’d get on, but I had no idea she’d be that unpleasant. I can’t believe I ever dated her.
Ha. Twenty-six minutes!
Seriously, I can understand it making you question my judgement. And as for her looking at you like you smell — you might like to know that her perfume made my eyes water.
I do like knowing that! But I shouldn’t have made that dig about your judgement because everyone’s got that one ex they regret — I’ll tell you about mine someday. Twenty-four minutes!
E-gate had error. Had to move queue.
Twenty-three minutes. How long’s the new queue?
Medium. But once I’m through here, it’s plain sailing.
Twenty-one minutes.
Henry??? How’s it going? Only seventeen minutes?
Almost through! Then I’ll sprint until you’re in my arms. xxx
I like the sound of that. But there’s only thirteen minutes.
Henry, there’s only seven minutes. (Don’t slow down to reply.)
* * *
Halley
‘Six,’ Halley hissed, stacking her smallest suitcase on top of the other one, and manoeuvring them around the tall man who’d just stood in front of her, without removing her gaze from the crowds of strangers streaming through the customs exit.
‘Five,’ she muttered, putting both hands on her hips, her elbows bent at acute angles, to block the tall man’s attempt to move in front of her again. He could easily see over her head, dammit.
‘Four. Come on, come on, Henry.’ She was aware of glances from the people either side of her, probably wondering why the crazy American was talking to herself. She didn’t care. Maybe they’d give her more space. She checked over her shoulder. When the double doors opened, she could just about see the bus stop, beyond. The 9.30 bus hadn’t arrived yet, and there was a crowd waiting. That was OK — she’d monitored it all morning, and there was always enough space for everyone to cram in.
The countdown timer on her phone chimed. Only three minutes. She scanned everyone who’d come through customs in the past thirty seconds, in case she’d missed him, then snapped her eyes back to those rounding the corner. Fear and stress and longing were strangling her oesophagus, but she had to keep breathing; If Henry appeared now, she was claiming a 180 second kiss.
Her phone pinged for two minutes, and she stared at the screen in disbelief. Minutes had never gone by so quickly before. She checked behind her: the bus was pulling up. She surveyed the corner again, where a couple appeared, holding hands. She glared at them as her phone chimed one minute.
Come on, come on, come on, Henry . . .
Reluctantly she ceded her place at the very front of the meet and greet area to the tall man, as she scrabbled to call Henry, desperate to at least speak to him while they were under the same roof.
It rang and rang. He didn’t answer. There was a beep for his voicemail.
‘Henry?’ she said, staggering backwards, dragging her cases and still looking for him in the face of everyone who made it round the corner. ‘I gotta go. I love you.’ She couldn’t hear anything but the whoosh of air, like she was falling, and she only knew she’d made it to the other side of the double doors because it was instantly colder.
She turned and leaped on the bus, instantly pivoting to stare through the bus door, which was open behind her. Across the sidewalk, through the double doors and beyond a sea of bodies, a figure dashed round the corner from customs, sprinting so fast she knew it was him.
‘Henry!’ she yelled.
Three loud beeps emanated through the bus... a warning that the doors were closing. She screamed again at the top of her lungs. ‘Henry, over here!’
His head jerked, and she thought he might have heard her, in the split second before the doors closed and the bus pulled off, and they were separated again.
‘Americans are so loud,’ she heard someone behind her hiss, as a solitary tear streaked down her cheek.