Lost in London Excerpt

See below for an excerpt from Lost in London, coming June 14, 2024 to all retailers! Click on the cover below to learn more.

Chapter 1

“Lila Calvert. C-A-L-V-E-R-T. Calvert,” I practically scream. The airport is loud, and the murmur of families greeting loved ones in the luggage area is deafening. Sound echoes off the walls, and the female voice over the loudspeaker announces luggage carousel assignments. It’s overwhelming.

The airline worker across from me scowls and types on her keyboard, but I detect an eye roll in there. “Ma’am, I speak English,” she says, a fake smile plastered on her face. “Also, please don’t yell. I’m working as best I can to find your bags.”

I back away from the counter, tears burning my eyes and a great wracking sob threatening to escape my chest. My fingers twitch like I want to take over typing on the woman’s clackity keyboard and search for my bags myself, but I’m powerless. I’m nothing but a broken cog in the travel machine today. I don’t know how to use their system even if I could take over the keyboard, and it’s not like Google will help me until they get the ability to track baggage.

I laughed when Regi told me I should get an AirTag. If I had my phone, I could watch my luggage fly away from me to Oslo, Cairo, Perth, or wherever the hell it’s on its way to. But no…I took a puddle jumper from Birmingham and couldn’t even have a backpack because there was no room under the seat in front of me and no overhead bins. The gate attendant took my backpack, slapped a luggage tag on the handle, and told me I could pick it up at the end of the flight. I only have my fanny pack-type bag across my chest that holds my passport, a credit card, and a small amount of cash. Thank fuck I didn’t put that in my backpack.

I should have known. My sister, Peyton, had the same thing happen when she went to Nashville for Thanksgiving last year. Lesson learned. The Calvert sisters have two strikes against puddle jumper luggage handling. I intend to text my siblings immediately and warn them there seems to be some kind of family curse or conspiracy regarding getting our bags to our desired destination.

Whatever is happening, my luggage is probably having more adventure than I’ll see in my lifetime.

I straighten my shoulders and shake my head. “I’m sorry. I’ve never traveled to a different country before. I’m exhausted and, well, I’m frankly scared. What happened to my stuff?”

The woman taps a few other keys and blinks, her own bottom lip trembling. Fucking hell. Did I scare her? Am I going to end up on CNN for terrorist threats against an airline worker? Then again, this is London. It would probably be the BBC instead of CNN.

I shake my head, thinking. My mouth opens like I want to make a suggestion to fix my predicament, but it’s impossible. I have no power here and no logical solution.

“You came from St. Louis?” the woman asks.

“Originally.” I hold up my fingers and count my stops. “Layover in New York. Layover in Dublin. Layover in Birmingham. Now here. I am in London, right? I made it in one piece?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m checking the records, but it seems like your luggage was lost around Dublin.”

“My suitcase, you mean? My backpack was lost in Birmingham. I had it until then. Are you telling me you lost my luggage twice?”

The woman hums a guilty sound, and I curl my fingers into the customer service counter plastic. “How does this happen? Did it fly out of the plane over the green fields of England?”

She taps at her keys, her eyes frantically bouncing around the screen for information she can relay to me. She wants me away. Gone. I can see it in her lined face.

If I only had my backpack, I’d even be willing to step away from the counter, buy some pajamas and a pair of sweatpants, procure a toothbrush, and forget about the suitcase. It was just clothes, and I’m not even a picky dresser. Jeans and sweatshirts can be replaced. I’m that kind of person. A people pleaser.

But I am not pleasing this woman right now.

I swallow and tap my fingers on the counter. My other hand comes to my face, wiping a trickle of sweat that’s making its way down my temple. My hotel information was in my phone. I had a travel notebook with directions on taking the Tube from Heathrow, which stop to get off at, and how many blocks to walk to the small hotel I reserved.

What was the name again? The Queen’s Arms? The Queen’s Legs? Shit. Did the name change to The King’s Arms now that there’s a king on the throne? Does it work like that?

Also in my backpack was the travel guide Lily and I lovingly annotated with sticky notes, laughing at how I was going to spend my time in London. I also bought a Tube pass that’s programmed into my phone. I had a scheduled day out to Bath, but I’m unsure if that was Tuesday or Wednesday as my brain frantically searches its memory banks. Where was the meeting point?

Oh, yeah, that info is in my phone. Even if I could get to a computer and access my email, I have two-factor authentication that would go to my phone.

This was supposed to be my quarter-life walkabout. OK, maybe a little over a quarter of my life. I’m nearing thirty, but I’m fresh from my degree program in education, and I wanted to go somewhere and see something before I settled into my own classroom this fall. I wanted to celebrate quitting my special education para job and finally earning my degree. I wanted to do something fun for me and explore museums since I am now certified to be a history teacher. I wanted to be brave like my sisters who have traveled around the country and the world. Ava went to Australia by herself for work. Cora went to Hawaii. I can do it, can’t I?

Apparently not.

I’m just stuck. I’m stuck in Heathrow without a phone, an itinerary, or any contact information for my hotels or tours. I can’t even call home and cry to my mother because…I don’t have a fucking phone.

I smile at the woman and take a deep breath. “Can you at least find the backpack tonight? It has my phone and itinerary and everything in it. I don’t remember where I have a hotel reservation because, well, I can’t think about anything but how to panic right now.”

She stares at me a moment and blinks. Something in her face breaks, though. I see it in slow motion as her eyes sag and her shoulders slump. She sighs and rubs the back of her neck. “If you give me a few minutes and have a seat, I’ll see if we can find a hotel voucher for you for something nearby. The backpack should be found by morning, so it’ll just be for a night. The plane left and went back to Birmingham, but it only does the Birmingham and London circuit. We’ll bring it to you early. The Dublin luggage will take a bit since it’s, well, it looks like it’s on its way to Mumbai.”

“Well, I hope it has a great time,” I mumble. I point to a row of metallic chairs with uncomfortable black plastic seatbacks. “I’ll be over here crying.”

I slink away from the counter and slouch into the seat a few feet away. Hmm. This must be what Mom means when she says she likes to sit and just watch people. It’s weird not having a phone to immediately pull out and scroll through. So this is how people occupied their airport time before cell phones. I look left and right for someone to talk to, but not one soul is just sitting around this time of night. Maybe if I was at a gate upstairs, I could talk to someone. Everyone in the luggage area is either picking up their luggage, greeting their family, or in the same boat and talking to a customer service rep at one of the counters along the walls of the pickup area.

Breathe. I just need to take deep breaths. The plane didn’t crash into a blazing heap. I have my passport. I have my credit card and a small amount of British currency. I’ll be fine. So what if I don’t have my phone? This will be an adventure, right? It’ll be like having a grand outing in 1994. Like time travel or one of those trips where you board a plane with nothing but a passport and a credit card and fly by the seat of your pants for the entire trip.

I’ve heard people do this. I just never thought it’d be me on my first trip out of the country.

“Ms. Calvert?” the woman from the counter asks, suddenly standing in front of me. I blink, startled to see her like I’d forgotten she existed. “Here’s your voucher. The hotel is a short Tube ride away. We’ve given you a temporary pass for a couple of trips to get where you need to be, and we have this for you.” She holds out a plastic pouch like what my dentist gives me after I have my teeth cleaned. The bag contains a travel toothbrush, a small tube of toothpaste, a mini bottle of shampoo and conditioner combined, a stick of deodorant that’s a brand I’ve never heard of, and a pack of facial cleansing cloths. She waves it in front of my face until I take it. “Toiletries to get you through the night.”

I turn the pouch over, hopeful there’s more to it, but there’s not. “Um, thanks,” I say, looking around like I’m unsure of where to go. “How will you contact me about my backpack?”

“We’ll bring it to the hotel, and they’ll call you when it’s there.”

“Is anyone going to steal my phone out of it?” I ask, suddenly worried about a spiteful baggage handler.

She shakes her head. “No, ma’am. I talked to the gate attendant in Birmingham. He has it there. He’ll send it on when the plane gets back, but there’s rain coming. I’m sad to say it may be tomorrow afternoon or evening by the time you get it.”

I look at the floor. An entire day of my trip shot to hell.

“Is there someone local I can call for you? Someone that can pick you up?” she asks, her British accent sounding kind like Mary Poppins spooning medicine down my throat with a lump of sugar.

“No. I don’t know anyone local.” I look at the hotel voucher in my hands for a place called The Totting Oaks. God, I hope it’s not one of those places where the one bathroom is down the hall, and I have to share it with ten strangers. “I’ll be on my way.”

The woman stands and nods, the proverbial British stiff upper lip. Handling my business. That’s what she expects of me. Just get on with it.

I grip my toiletry bag, make sure my small fanny pack is still secure around my trunk, and sigh as I look for the transportation exit. I want my mother and to be back home as she fusses over me or makes some kind of pie.

I’ll settle for a hot cup of British tea and a warm bed.