Wish You Weren't Here (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter Four

Baggage reclaim has always been a test of my sanity. I've never actually lost a suitcase to it, but for some reason, my belongings are always last to emerge on the carousel. Doesn't matter how early or late I check in; or even if I happen to somehow spot it coming off the plane first . . . It's like clockwork.

It's gotten to the point where I've started to think my own luggage is conspiring against me. It comes to life on its own in a strange little animated world somewhere between the plane and baggage reclaim and comedy-walks itself to the back of the queue while giggling hysterically. "She's going to find this so funny," it delightedly tells its neighbours. "Just you wait!"

I'm never amused.

I even replaced my suitcase with a newer improved model in an attempt to avoid this happening, but I guess the older bitter one must have given it a heads-up. I can only blame myself.

"So what colour is your case again?" Lewis asks, squinting at the luggage circling nearby. His suitcase turned up virtually as soon as we walked in the door, of course. Twenty minutes ago.

"Dark grey. And I put my first name on the side using glittery red transfers to make it easier to pick out," I tell him. I'd read this tip online, and it had seemed like a genius idea to me. It actually looked really good, too. Maybe I have a future career in the customised suitcase business!

"Ah, that might be it just coming out now. Let me go check!" My hero. I roll my eyes as he bounds across to the other side of the conveyor belt and immediately mentally check myself. Give him a chance, Ruby. He's trying.

"This seems to be it." He returns a moment later, swinging it in his hand. An impressive feat given I could barely lift it onto my scale earlier. "However, one of your letters seems to have fallen off in transit, so now it just says 'Rub'," he adds with a smirk, immediately negating his own helpfulness.

"At least it was still easy to find," I grumble, trying to take it from him. He grabs his own case, refuses to relinquish mine, and starts towing them both out of the area.

"I've got them," he insists. "Come on, 'Rub', let's go find our chariot!"

God, not another nickname! Rubik's Cube is bad enough - he once told me he calls me that because I'm "confusing and infuriating,  just like the puzzle." ("I could say the same about you," I'd retorted at the time.) I've never been a fan of people using nicknames on me unless I've pre-authorised them to do so, and Lewis has never been awarded the Ruby Rafferty Nickname Stamp of Approval. I sigh huffily and reluctantly follow him out to arrivals.

The late flight time combined with the tardiness of my suitcase means the area is largely deserted now save for the worried looking Greek man holding a sign with both of our names on it. When we make a beeline for him, he visibly brightens. "Ah, the happy couple!" He beams. Ah, the poor deluded fool! "My name is Dimitrios, and I'll be your driver for the next ten days!"

I briefly wonder why we would need a driver for the entire holiday, then assume I've just misunderstood. By this point,  I'm knackered and just want to get to the accommodation and start my relaxing vacation. Preferably after a twelve hour sleep.

"I'm Lewis, and this is Rub," Lewis says cheerfully, shaking his hand.

I am going to kill him.

"Ruby!" I emphasise through gritted teeth, wincing at the sheer strength of Dimitrios' handshake. "Please ignore him; he thinks he's a comedian."

"A sense of humour very important in a relationship," Dimitrios nods wisely, grabbing our cases from Lewis and indicating for us to follow him.  "Come now, I'll have you at the hotel in no time at all!"