Page 43 of Hate You to Love You

The turbulence jolts me awake. There’s a ding as the ‘fasten seatbelt’ sign is illuminated. It’s dark inside the plane, with the light from the screens on the back of everyone’s seats giving the interior a bluish glow. I check my screen. We’ve been in the air for about four hours. Ten more to go.

I rest my head against the window and look out into the darkness. The light at the end of the wing flashes on and off. Stars are scattered across the night sky. Everything that’s happened with my friends and family falls away. And I can finally breathe. Elliot’s longing glances at me the other night at Marly Bar are still replaying in my head. He had no right to still look at me like that.

Luckily, Claudia’s packed schedule meant that she and Elliot had to leave for London a day earlier than me, giving me the entirety of Sunday to recover from Laney’s drinks the night before. And to shake the memory of the way he stared at me out of my mind. I keep my gaze on the stars in the sky, letting my thoughts fall into a rhythm with the hum of the plane’s engine.

The stopover in Dubai and the following flight over to London both pass in a blur of jet-lag haziness. By the time I wander into the arrivals terminal of Heathrow Airport, I’m not sure whether I need a coffee or to collapse into bed. I pull out my phone and find the itinerary for the London leg of the tour, recalling a note about a car that had been organised to pick me up. After finding the location I’m meant to meet the driver, I start heading over to the pick-up area. I’m scanning the crowd for a driver holding up a sign with my name when—

It’s him.

Elliot.

I’m so distracted by the unexpected sight of him, I accidentally steer my trolley into a pole. The trolley overturns and my suitcase falls off – and then I hear the lock click on my case as my clothes spill out. I’m shoving clothes haphazardly back into my suitcase while other arriving passengers try to move around me when I see a pair of hands pick up one of my shirts and begin to fold it.

Great.

‘Here,’ Elliot says.

‘I’ve got it,’ I snap, snatching the shirt away from him. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’ I ask, forcing the suitcase closed and turning it upright again. ‘Didn’t you arrive two days ago?’

‘I’m your lift,’ he says.

I frown, gripping the handle of the trolley tightly. ‘No, you’re not.’

‘There was a mix up with the driver, I’ve got the car. Let me do this for you.’

‘I could have just caught a taxi,’ I tell him.

Elliot sighs. There’s an expression on his face that I can’t quite place. It’s one of frustration, but he also looks like he feels sorry for me. ‘Claudia’s my client, but I want to make sure things go okay for you on this tour too.’

There’s so much tension rising in my chest, it feels like everything I want to say to Elliot could come bursting out at any moment. But I have to stop myself. For the sake of both Sparked and my career.

‘Fine.’

We sit in silence for most of the car ride, me cursing whoever decided that Heathrow should be a forty-minute drive from Central London. When I look down at the GPS and realise that – even though it’s felt like three hundred goddamn years since we started the drive – only ten minutes have passed, I seriously consider hurling myself out of this moving vehicle.

I shift awkwardly around in my seat.

‘Can you stop that?’ Elliot barks at me.

‘I’m trying to get comfortable,’ I explain. ‘It was a long flight.’

‘Well, could you do it a little less loudly, then?’

I shoot him a glare as my jaw locks in anger. To distract myself, I decide to turn on the radio. A moment of crackle leads into the chorus of ‘Ironic’ by Alanis Morissette. Which doesn’t last long because Elliot switches the radio off.

‘Problem?’

‘It’s distracting,’ he says. ‘I need to concentrate while I’m driving.’

‘How can you sit in a car without music playing?’ I switch the radio back on.

There’s only ten seconds of Alanis Morissette before Elliot switches it off again.

‘Listen,’ he says, ‘there are just certain ways I like to do things. And I like quiet when I’m driving.’

And so we spend the rest of the drive in complete silence. Small suburban houses give way to larger buildings, slowly but surely. It only hits me we’ve arrived in London when we pass over Tower Bridge. I peer out the window, captivated by the River Thames below us. In the distance, futuristic buildings are scattered across the skyline. Their lights twinkle against the night sky.

We eventually arrive at the hotel. While Claudia has been put up at a small boutique hotel called The Hoxton in Shoreditch, Elliot and I have been given rooms at the Tower Hill Motel One.