Was also going to the airport. In fact, she stood to get off before I did and in doing so revealed by her shortness that she was Tara Flynn. (She also revealed it by telling me when I asked.)
I introduced myself ’cause I knew she would know who I was and, you know, I wanted to remove the sting of having stared at her for the better part of an hour by explaining that I was scanning, repeatedly, to see if it was her and if not, why not and who was she anyway (if you know what I mean). Turned out (she claimed) she hadn’t even noticed as she’d been “with the faeries” or some equally Irishy thing. I don’t know if the fact that I looked like a hobo who rides the air rails would have made a poor impression on its own but when I was forced to part from her as she left the tube station while I prepared to negotiate with the exit guard, I may just have underscored my position in the underclass in her mind (her mind is well-known for its centuries-old caste system).
The guy did let me out. I didn’t even get all emotional like I had when fighting to get in. And this guy wasn’t even Indian or similar like the entry guy was, he was a regular-looking historic-type Brit.
Which I kind of counted on, figuring he’d want me to get out of the country.
And, thanks to my extraordinary rail-timing luck, if they were allowing passengers in ’til an hour before the flight, I would be able to oblige.
‘Cept, according to the sign I saw after my tube exit, my flight was leaving from that weird terminal you needed to have stayed on the tube to get to.