Friday
I was standing in the arrivals hall at Heathrow Terminal 3 waiting for Claire's plane to land, and so thrilled that we were about to meet face to face for the first time.
We got to know each other through Facebook. She's a friend of a friend, and we became connected because we started seeing each other's posts and we seemed to share a sense of humour and view on life, and it just sort of progressed from there. We became close friends, emailing and chatting regularly with video calls on Facebook, sharing domestic details of our lives.
Then, about a month ago, she said she wanted to visit the UK and could I recommend somewhere for her to stay? I thought about it, and even discussed it with my husband, Chris. He immediately said, "The Cotswolds. Quintessentially English countryside. She'll love it." I thought this was a wonderful idea, at least as a starting point for her adventure, so I wrote back to her enthusing about the idyllic setting, the beautiful, quiet villages, the rolling landscape.
In reply I got a plea back from Leah. Could I help her with finding somewhere? She wasn't sure what would be best. So I did a search and came up with a sweet looking two bedroom cottage, with it's own private garden, in a small town with all the essentials: A restaurant which was highly recommended, a couple of decent looking pubs, and a few small local shops and supermarkets. It was also close enough that I could make a day trip down to finally meet her, but most importantly it was available for a week at the time Claire was thinking of coming to visit. I e-mailed her:
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Claire,
I think I have the perfect place for you. See the link below. What do you think?
Fiona
xxx
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Within an hour I had a response:
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Wow Fiona!
That place looks wonderful. I've already booked it for the second week in August. I know it's a bit cheeky, but is there any chance you could come and meet me at the airport and drive me down there? Public transport doesn't look great and I've never driven a right hand drive car before. I'm flying in on Friday morning, so maybe you could stay at the cottage with me for a couple of days while I find my feet?
So excited, and hope you don't mind me asking.
Love Claire
xxx
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Of course I had no problem, it would be nice to get away. I talked to Chris and he said, "Why don't you take the whole week with her? Have a little holiday and then she'll have local transport."
"That sounds great, but are you sure?"
"Of course," he smiled, "give me a chance to catch up with a couple of the guys."
And with that I emailed back:
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Hi Claire,
Of course that wouldn't be a problem. In fact Chris has suggested I come and stay the whole week. Would that be ok? Or would I just cramp your style and get under your feet?
Love
Fiona xxx
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Fiona!
What a wonderful surprise! I would love to spend a week with my new best friend!
Really thrilled we'll be spending a whole week together!
Love
Claire
xxxx
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And that was that. It was decided. What I hadn't ever revealed to Claire was that from our exchange of pictures, just normal photos, nothing salacious, and out face only video chats, I was really quite enamoured of her. I wouldn't describe myself as a lesbian, I am married after all, but I certainly do identify myself as bisexual. Of course, it was just a fantasy in my head, and I wouldn't ever dream of scaring her and following up on my feelings, but it meant it was going to make for an interesting week.
However, can I just say that Claire is gorgeous? I'm 5'6' and she's a stunning 5'11". It probably meant I was going to be spending more time in heels than I usually do, but I really didn't mind that. Other contrasts are that she has short-ish, red-brown hair in a really lovely rough cut. I'm a strawberry blonde bordering on a redhead, and I wear my hair just past my shoulders. Additionally I'm 48 and she's ten years younger. In spite of, or perhaps because of these differences we had hit it off almost from the very beginning.
I waited, anxiously watching the arrivals board. It showed her plane had landed at that her luggage was on the carousel. I kept looking for what seemed like an age. And then there she was. I couldn't have missed her from a mile away. She was wearing a red blouse and a charcoal grey skirt that came to just above her knees. She also had shimmery sheer tights, or pantyhose as she would call them, and was wearing dark flats on her feet. Her earrings were small hoops that set her look off perfectly. I was suddenly crucially aware of my rather casual knee length red and white floral print summer dress and bare legs. At least I had some heels on. I wondered how she looked so fresh after an eight hour flight.
I could see her scanning the people waiting at the barrier, and I waved. She caught my eye and her face lit up. "Fiona!" She shouted and ran over, pulling her wheeled case with her, a clutch handbag in her other hand. She rushed over to me, let go of the handle of her case and wrapped her arms around me in a huge hug.
Even though I was in my heels she was a little taller than me and I was quite stunned when, as I wrapped my arms around her and said, "Claire," she kissed me full on the lips. Not for long, but it messed with my perception for a moment. 'Just an American affectation,' I thought to myself.
I stood back and couldn't help the huge grin spreading over my face. "It is so good to meet you at last," I said.
"And you Fi, and you." She used the diminutive of my name which only a very small group of people are given permission to do. I'd already told her to use it, and was so glad that she felt she could,
"Come on, let's get you to the car. I'll take your case." I pulled on the handle and I led her to the lifts, up two floors and headed towards where I had parked.
When we got to the car I opened the boot, or trunk as she'd say, and put her large, and rather heavy case in. We both climbed in. I started the engine and said, "Right. Off on our big adventure. Welcome to the United Kingdom."
She smiled as I drove out, "Thank you so much for organising all this. I couldn't have done it without you, and it's so lovely of you to take a week out to act as my guide."
Her soft, educated American accent was sending shivers down my spine. I really had to concentrate to negotiate the traffic around Heathrow, which is always a little more than insane.
Once we were on the open road heading west, I said, "How do you do it? An 8 hour flight and you look less dishevelled than I do after a 90 minute drive."
She chuckled, a lovely sound, and said, "I cheated. I slept most of the flight, and changed just before we started our descent into London."
We carried on in a similar chatty vain all the way to Burworth, the delightful little town in the Cotswolds that I had picked out for her visit. I couldn't help noticing that quite often when she went to say something, Claire would lay her fingers gently on my arm. I thrilled at her touch, my skin tingling and I kept having to remind myself to get a grip and concentrate on driving safely.
As we entered the outskirts, with its quaint houses, preserved beautifully, Claire breathed out and said, "Oh my god, Fi. This is like some picture postcard."