The Timeline [h.s.]

72.

July 12th, 2018:

Out of all the flights Claire had partaken in during her whole life, this particular one from London to Los Angeles had destroyed her, both mentally and physically.

She had never been so jet lagged - and she had been a fervid regular to Australia for half of her conscious life (everyone knew that flights to Australia were one of the most feared ones, due to lengths and increasingly worsening of the passengers' conditions).

The problem was - among others - that she hadn't been able to sleep on the plane. Despite Jeff and Harry's best efforts to time her flight from London with the night hours in California - to give Claire the chance to arrive in the early hours of the morning and have breakfast (which, as Jeff had tried and tested more than once, could help you fight jet lag, wherever you were, tricking your brain into thinking it was time to wake up), Claire hadn't relaxed enough to even have a small nap on the plane.

She had been too preoccupied with Theodore - who had slept like an angel for the 90% of the flight - too preoccupied with herself, too preoccupied with the auditions (she had read the documents Alfie had sent her at least twice each in her first class seat) and she had been too preoccupied with the thought of falling asleep to actually fulfill it by falling asleep.

The result? She had as good as sleep walked through the arrival area of LAX, escorted by people who had been put in charge by Jeff to make her entrance in the U.S. as smooth as ever. And thank God they had been with her, because Claire was pretty sure that, if they hadn't, she would've ended up forgetting Theodore somewhere while she got escorted to some sort of liminal space jail, after messing up something as simple as showing her passport to the designated employees.

She felt so stupid, her head was padded with soaking wet cotton balls and her ears still hadn't properly unplugged, rendering her vulnerable and a spectacle for anyone who would want a comedy show.

Things were looking so bad that Claire had resorted to doing something so drastic, something she hadn't done since she had turned 13 and discovered that it just wasn't for her: she had drank coffee. A double espresso with enough sugar and cream shot into it to change its color. Still, she had winced and cringed throughout the whole process, earning delighted giggles from Theodore, who had taken the whole thing as a game, and had asked her if he could too taste the disgusting beverage.

Of course, Claire had ordered him a cup of steamed milk flavored with vanilla and some cream on top, and he had drunk it in small sips, mirroring Claire's expressions, even though he had admitted that he liked it, once he was done. And then he had needed to use the bathroom to pee, because nothing was more effective than a cup of warm milk to empty your bladder.

Claire hated coffee, but she had to admit that it was doing its job. She still felt stupid, but at least now she was aware of her stupidity and, more importantly, she was aware of her tremendous jet lag.

Harry had sent her a cryptic message, telling her she'd be picked up soon enough - she had received it as soon as she had turned her data on, receiving a text from her Internet provider that reminded her that she had a limited amount of data to use in the USA, and if she wanted more she could spend 6.99£ and they'd happily provide them. She had scoffed, quickly shooting texts to everyone to inform them of her arrival - she didn't know what time it was back home, to be honest, so she hoped no one would be woken up by her incoherent 'I've landed' texts. If they did, then oops.

At any rate, Claire was expecting to be picked up by Jeff, just like it had happened in New York, holding a cardboard sign reading 'Actress +1'. The thought made her giggle as she walked through the atrium of the airport.

Instead, Jeff was nowhere to be seen.

That confused Claire.

She stood in silence, for a few seconds, looking around herself and trying to determine if, together with her weakened sense of hearing, the jet-lag was also impoverishing her eyesight. She held Theodore's hand, looking left and right, as the people who were helping her with her luggage loomed close by.