Gary and Libby - Take One

Chapter One

Note: The start of this fan fiction is now several years old and so I apologise for the - frankly atrocious writing and slightly far fetched plot. However, id like to hope my writing has improved some what over the years and so, if you take my word for it, it gets better as it goes on..
To my faithful readers, Thank You, Thank You, Thank You
~ A x

This story does not belong to the works of Austen or Hardy. It has not been penned by of one of the Brontë sisters be it Charlotte, Emily, or indeed, Anne. It is not a tale of sickening romance, cliché endings or shattering heartbreak, but instead the scribblings of an enchanting woman with honey blonde hair and a penchants for Louboutins, a devastatingly handsome musician with a northern accent and an affinity for tea and the repercussions of a very, very happy coincidence...

The sun shines high in a cloudless sky as I step out into the Mancunian summer idly hoping that the weather is just as pleasant back  in London. Despite my hunger for a bustling city and an over crowded hive of people, the better weather is one of the few reasons i had for moving down south and away from the family home. And now my week of socialising with the relatives that you only ever see at weddings, funerals and landmark birthdays is over and i am London bound once more, the weight of unmet deadlines and Mondays alarm creeping unbidden into my mind.

"You'll drive safely wont you Elizabeth?" Mum asks as she shuts my car door to. "...And you'll call as soon as you get home?"
Resisting the urge to roll my eyes at her insistent desire to continue to full-name me after twenty-seven years, i smile as kindly as i can manage. "Yes mum, of course."  I start the ignition, a gentle hint for her to take a slender hand off the roof the car. Reluctantly, she obliges without a verbal prompt and i roll gently backwards towards the road, waving absent-mindedly to the small congregation of hungover family members bidding me farewell from the sunlit driveway.

Twenty minuets later and im cruising my way out of Manchester, tapping ten manicured fingers against the wheel to a disposable pop song echoing its way over the sound system when suddenly the car seems to loose all power. To no avail, i floor the gas pedal, yet im still stuck doing 30 miles an hour on a dual carriageway. Shit. Then 20. For fucks sake. Scanning the roadside, and mentally thanking the mythical man in the sky, i spot a turn off about twenty feet away and with great effort on the cars part and a little bit of hope on mine, i drag my sports car service route at a dangerously slow pace. 

I crawl a little longer, idly aware that the engine could blow up any minute but more concerned that my warranty has just run out and my breakdown insurance, for a reason unbeknownst to me, isnt fully comp. And then, like sunshine on a cloudy day, i spot it. Glowing red and a little run down, clearly a privately run thing and the answer to all of my prayers. And so i sigh inwardly, leaning forwards in my seat in a vain attempt to make me feel like im doing something to help as i roll onto the garage forecourt at a glorious three miles and hour. 

I jump out of the car when i see a middle aged man walking towards me - hes tall, with jet black hair and oily blue overalls on.
"Alright love?" He smiles, a customer service smile that meets his hazel eyes none the less.
"Errm, no not really..." I return his sunny disposition despite the rising levels of irritation for the apparent piece of shit i drive. "...Its just stopped working." I laugh, nodding towards the car.
"Stopped working you say?..." The bloke smiles a lopsided smile. I nod sweetly. "I'll take a look." Beckoning over two other men in blue oily overalls, the man without a name tag but beautifully thick hair throws a rag over his shoulder and together they all begin to push my car away into the garage. "I'll be back in a min and let you know whats up with it!" Jet-Black-Hair shouts back over his shoulder and i manage a small smile of appreciation, shouting back a genuine; "Thanks!" 

Wonder over to the entrance of the garage, I let my head rest against one of the bright red pillars, the sun shining down onto my face enough to have me sleepy and lethargic in an instant. I close my eyes for a moment and sigh loudly. Trust this to happen to me now, just as i was on my way home. On a God damn dual carriageway as well. Rubbing a hand down the length of my face, i groan, wondering if ill have enough cash on me to cover the repairs. A place like this probably doesnt take card.

"Someone looks fed up." A soft voice lulls me away from my distracted thoughts.
"Ha." I smirk, eyes still closed, temple against the blood red pillar. "You could say that, ye."
"Nothing worse is there eh? They're great when they're bloody working, buggers when they're not." The friendly voice seems even friendlier -almost familiar, but then again he is northern and its difficult to distinguish.
I glance down at my feet, scuffing toes of my black Converse against each other and relieved that i didnt decide to drive in my heels. "Yeah, you said it." Squinting against the blinding sunlight, im vaguely aware that I should probably look up and greet the amicable stranger the other side of the pillar.

"Anyway, Hi. Im Gary."

I turn slightly to see an out stretched hand then, and without looking at the person on the other end of it, i shake it. Its soft, warm without being clammy and rather big, swallowing my hand whole and gripping it firmly with elegant fingers. 
"Im-" I squint, for the first time, in the direction of the stranger. Mother of God. And now im stood here, mouth gaping open, as i let go of Gary Barlows hand.

After what seems an eternity of me standing and staring at the alarmingly handsome celebrity in front of me, he speaks.
"And you are?..." Hes smiling, a settling smile and one he clearly reserves for utterly pathetic and completely starstruck women like myself and i intuitively remind myself to remain cool. I clear my throat, smiling the widest smile i deem appropriate without looking like a creep; "Im Libby."
"Lovely to meet you Libby." He's got this really cute grin, and though the TV does him justice, my God is he nice to look at in real life...
"Three weeks." The Jet-Black-Hairs voice breaks the silence.
"What?"
"Your car will be three weeks. The turbos gone. It'll take me 3 weeks to fix it,- Unless you have it on your insurance, but they dont usually pay out over this kind of thing. Wanna leave me your address and ill drop it at your house when im done?"
"Three weeks?!" I choke. "Three weeks?! I need to get back to London tonight! What the hell am i suppose to do without a car for three weeks? Ive got work!"
"Sorry love." The Jet-Black-Hair offers an apologetic smile as he hands me a business card, a piece of paper and a pen. I scrawl down my address for him and he wonders off. I groan loudly. Just my luck.
"Your going back to London, you say?" Garys speaking again, with that whole sexy grin thing that makes my knees a little wobbly because hes famous and this is surreal. 

I want to roll my eyes, but i stop myself before the sun blinds me once more. "Well not any more..." Bewildered by my own ability to legitimately sulk like a teenager in front of the actual Gary Barlow, i gaze out across the garage forecourt again, wishing that i wasnt so thoroughly and utterly pissed off.
"Me too."
My gaze lifts to meet his own. - Two wonderfully beautiful green eyes, that glitter like emeralds in the sun. He really is very tempting. "Oh really?" Out of politeness, rather than sincerity however, I grant him a small smile.
"Yup..." He takes a set of car keys from his back pocket, swinging the metal loop idly around a dangerously long thumb. "...Right now actually. Im on my way back down....just stopped here for some oil." He starts sauntering over to a black sports car, leaving me with my head against a concrete pillar, squinting into the sun with my hands stuffed into the back pockets of my jeans.
"Are you just telling me this to rub it in then?" Im taken aback at my abrupt tone of voice, but Gary merely smiles gently, turning to face me again and blocking the glaring light from me eyes.
"No." The man dressed in a simple black t-shirt and, if i were to take a guess, four day stubble, grins with practised ease, leaning a lean hip against the tinted windows of his car. "Im telling you because your coming with me."
"Excuse me?!"
"You need to get to London. Im going to London. Ill give you a lift. It makes sense doesnt it?" Garys eyebrow lifts into his hair line, one hand on the passenger door as he presses gently on the key pad and the headlights flash twice.
Bewldered and unusually dumb found, i nod stiffly, muttering a; "I guess so..." and taking a tentative step towards the grinning celebrity in front of me. 
"Good." He grins then, swinging the car door open for me as i come up along side him, smiling wide enough to display a straight set of whitened teeth. "Hop in." 

And so cautiously, i settle into the seat, dropping my bag from my shoulder to my lap and tossing Robert Shaw's business card inside as Gary comes round to the other side and folds himself into the cream leather. Im no petrol head, but its an expensive ride. Pristine finish and smells good too, like man and under-use. But of course it does, it's Gary Barlows car.