The Whipping Turn

Paris and London - Home

The Eurostar came to a graceful stop, pulling into St Pancras station almost silently, any noise lost in the din of the passengers preparing to disembark. Jenna preferred the train. The familiarity seemed to absolve any anxiety of international travel, unlike airports which seem to thrive on stress and bustle.

Jenna had not spent the whole journey alone. Their Whatsapp group had started pinging the moment the train had left Gare du Nord and really, there was no point ignoring them. Jean didn't usually let up.

Jean: You miss us already.

Jenna: I don't. I have a coffee and a book. Its lovely and quiet.

Jean sent a picture of his tshirt rucked up, showing off his toned torso.

Jean: admit it.

He was gorgeous but she wasn't going to admit it.

Jenna: The scenery outside my window is stunning.

Jean: the scenery in my bed is stunning.

And he sent a picture of Oliver sitting in bed, reading the paper. He was gorgeous too, but Jenna suddenly had a vision of Jean's pictures escalating into the not-suitable-for-work-or-crowded-trains variety and sent a hurried replied.

Jenna: please don't send me a dick pic while I'm on the train.

Jean: omg where do I start!!?

Jean: Do you want a dick pic another time? How did you get dick pic out of reading the paper? Is oliver a dick?

Jean: Also.

Jean: YOU SHOULD BE SO LUCKY.

Oliver: I'm not a dick!

Oliver: I'm always gonna be the mature one aren't i?

Jean: Yep

Jenna: Yes.

Jenna: But we need that. We need you Oliver!

Jean sent through a selfie of the boys kissing. They each had one eye each looking at the camera, and their faces were screwed up. It wasn't passionate but sweet and cute.

Oliver: We miss you already.

Jenna: I miss you both too.

Oliver: XX

Jean: XX

Jenna: XX

Exiting through the barely-there customs, Jenna always held a pang of gratitude while flashing her British passport and striding through. There was always a long lost pang of soviet disbelief that this was even possible.

More wonderful was the grey-haired and lined, aristocratic man, waiting and clearly searching over the crowds, for her. His smile stretched wide when he spotted Jenna. His obvious affection for her, and dare she say it, love, gave a pang of a different kind. A contented disbelief full of gratitude and her own affection and love. Surely there should be a word for this type of feeling?!

"Hello my girl," Edwards pleasure in seeing her was clear as he gave her a tight hug. His simple heavy grey trench smelt like home and Jenna hugged him back tightly. "A good trip? How's that blasted ankle?"

Jenna took his arm as he pulled her suitcase and they headed for the exit. "It was fine and it is fine. Better. No crutches! No boot!"

"You're doing your exercises? Physio? Being careful?" Edward fussed.

"Da da, Ed" Of course she was and Edward knew it.

"Ok, ok, Jenna. Let's go have a cuppa. Roland is looking forward to seeing you. Gosh, it's been a long time! You're basically French now. How did I end up with two frenchies?! Oops, lets grab a cab." Edward dashed forward with an elegant arm out, always the model of decorum. And they went home.