“On behalf of British Airways, the crew would like to apologise for the extensive delays before we depart Rome Fiumicino Airport for London Heathrow. Shouldn’t be too much longer now. Again, we apologise for the delay.”
The intercom went silent, and I sunk lower into my seat, attempting sleep, though the now two hours sat unmoving on the tarmac, had made me restless. The crew wandered slowly through the aisles, passing out drinks to passengers, or otherwise chatting amongst themselves.
I stared impatiently at my phone – no reception, of course, out here on the tarmac – and so no way of letting him know I’d be late. It felt unbearable not to be in London, considering in two days time I would be boarding another flight, but this time home to Sydney, away from him and England for only god knows how long.
Finally, the plane’s engines gurgled and choked into life, lifting off the European mainland and into the greying skies towards the UK, with, of course as luck would have it that day, a longer route than normal considering the amount of air traffic (or so that is what the passengers were told). As we landed in London, I couldn’t help a ridiculously uncontainable smile. It’s funny to think your body knows when you’re comfortable, knows when you’re ‘home’, and gives you that melody of buzzed excitement coupled with the calm of familiarity. We landed, but still we remained on the plane. For another hour. Another excruciating hour when I couldn’t help but think I should be with him, I should be off this plane.
An hour into the customs line (thank goodness I had only hand luggage) and finally I stepped out to the main drag of terminal 5. There he was, his phone at his chest with screen facing towards me, my surname sprawled across it as if he were a limousine service come to pick me up. Kisses – just like you see in the movies – and then we made our way, dodging the rain, to his car. As we waited for the carpark ticket to print, he impulsively turned and hugged me: “Ahh I really missed you.” xx