Not that Luna believed this saga was over by a long shot, but she reasoned that as long as no more property was destroyed she could rest easier at night. Unfortunately, she ended up sat in front of a six-year-old with a penchant for kicking on the plane ride home, so the first half of her overnight flight was an ordeal. Even after he fell asleep, she found she couldn’t get comfortable. So she arrived sleepless and gritty-eyed at Heathrow, only to find a massive queue at immigration. Once she’d finally gotten through, she went to the ladies room and retrieved a toothbrush and toothpaste from her backpack, feeling slightly more human after she’d cleaned her teeth. Her hair, which was crackling with static from the plane, she brushed and swiftly braided. Luna walked through the final set of doors into the arrivals area with her head down, reaching into her jeans pocket for her mobile and switching it on. A scrum of American tourists were gathered just outside the secure area shouting instructions to each other, and she had to pick her way through them and their assorted luggage.
