Let go of the little distractions
Hold close to the ones that you love
Because we won't all be here this time next year
So while you can take a picture of us

Take a Polaroid picture
Take a picture of us to show
We all want you to see where time goes

So in the stillness of the moment
Make sure you take a Polaroid picture
And keep it with you forever to
Remind yourself that everything changes
But there was this one time
Man there was this one time
When things were okay

Polaroid Picture by Frank Turner

Tom is on his knee, his hand is sweaty and he’s probably never been this nervous in the past 35 years he’s been on this earth. Well. That’s not true. But he’s not been this nervous for the past ten years at least.

He looks up from his kneeling position to see Julia – his girlfriend – staring back at him, one hand on her mouth to hold in a (hopefully) excited squeal.

“Will you please marry me?” he repeats. He doesn’t even know what may take her so long. It’s not like this comes as a surprise. Not with the amount of hints she's dropped over the past year.

They’ve met at a Victoria's Secret Fashion Show he’s attended in 2014 and where she modelled. They'd hit it off pretty fast and strong. And here they are, in the summer of 2016, getting engaged.

Well. At least if she finally gives him an answer.

“Oh my God, Tom! Yes! Thank you! I will keep my last name, though. I’ve made a living being Julia Simons, and Hiddleston will always be linked to you.”

“Of course, babe.”

The ring he’s chosen is beautiful, diamonds glistening. And then it’s all a bit of a blur, the violins in the background and the other patrons in the restaurant clapping, Tom and Julia kissing.

Shit. He hasn't planned this far.

“Tom? Haven’t you been listening to me?” Julia asks one hour later from before him, frowning a bit.

“Sorry,” he answers. “I zoned out.”

She rolls her eyes at him. Not playfully but like she's really annoyed. Once, he loved that expression but it was on a different face and it was also a different time. Better not think of that now. Or maybe he actually should.

“Yeah, I know. You tend to do that.”

“Sorry. What was it you said?”

They’re in their New York apartment now. Both a little tipsy from the celebratory champagne and Julia's been talking like a maniac for the entire drive home from the restaurant.

“I’ve said,” she now continues, “that we should make an Instagram post. We should talk to Brian and Judy first, though.”

Brian and Judy are their publicists in the U.S. and are – of course – already informed. Tom wouldn’t have done this otherwise. He thinks of informing Luke, a once good friend and his first ‘Brian’ basically. But he decides against it now. He'll have to be in the UK soon anyway.

“And maybe our families,” he says. “Maybe we should go to my Mum's and Dad's. Tell them face to face.”

“Tom, you know I have the shootings and shows coming up in the next weeks. I don’t want to wait another month to make the announcement.”

Of course, Tom knows. He’s got quite a good idea of Julia’s schedule. That’s why he’s made that suggestion.

“Oh, sorry, babe. I forgot. Maybe I’ll go alone then? I haven’t seen Dad in ages anyway. We can skype to tell them together.”

“You don't want us to go together?”

“I want to tell them as fast as possible. That’s all. Maybe I’ll go to Oxford alone? And you’ll join me at Mum's? Suffolk will be even more beautiful next month.”

Julia nods. And then drops her dress, standing in front of Tom in her underwear, efficiently ending the conversation along with the slight panic that’s settled itself in Tom’s stomach.

***
“So, have you read the news today?” James Hiddleston asks from his spot at the kitchen table. He's a handsome man, even in his seventies, and he’s got a quiet demeanour around him, something his neighbours enjoy about him.

He’s still living in the house he’s moved to with his now ex-wife and their three children, still has most of his old friends and also still loves the young woman standing in front of the stove now, wiping her hands with a tea towel, as if she was his own daughter.

He's known her for almost her whole life, with her brother being best friends with his son. Or, they’ve been at least.

“Do you mean the world news, the important ones? Or the news everyone wants to tell me are important today?” Elizabeth Lucas asks, a sarcastic smile on her lips.

As a midwife she's naturally visited lots of young woman today, all of them telling her excitedly – and maybe a little carefully – how Tom Hiddleston, the Hollywood big shot who once lived in their little town, is now engaged to one of the most beautiful and famous women on the planet. Apparently, they’ve announced it in an Instagram post.

She loves her job, really. It’s often busy, it’s often hectic and sometimes risky. But it’s always worth it in the end. Bringing new life into the world is a nice goal to work towards to, isn’t it?

She’s once wanted that for herself. Still does, actually, 32 is by no means too old for that. But you’d at least need to have some kind of partner for that, wouldn’t you?

A quiet chuckle from James has her look up. “I did mean the not-so-important ones I guess.”

“I saw that, yes. Nice for him. Good. I'm happy.”

“When do you think he’ll be here?”

She shrugs. “Why would he come here? I guess you and Diana both know now. And he guesses that as well, I suppose.” Seeing James's raised brows, she sighs. “What?”

“You know what, Elizabeth Lucas.”

“He’s been the only one once, who's still called me that, even when it wasn’t true anymore.”

“Yeah, well. I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to that again.”

“Have been used to it for the past five years.”

James gives her a look that makes her eyes sting and her skin tingle. So, she grabs her bag that’s been sitting on the counter.

“I’m sure he’ll come. He won’t do that by letter.”

“He’s had a few years time to come here and get everything cleared up,” Elizabeth says as she walks to the kitchen door. “I hope he'll continue to have the best time.”

When she closes the front door behind her, Elizabeth almost believes her own words.

***
Okay. That didn’t quite go according to plan, Tom thinks to himself as he drives his rental car down the M40 to get to his father’s place in his old hometown he hasn't visited for the past six years.

Somehow his excited girlfriend – fiancée, he corrects himself – decided to post a picture anyway. And now he’s heading to Oxford, though he hoped he could tell the news himself without anyone knowing. His family and former friends and people he once cared about don’t know a lot of him these days.

So yes, maybe the fame was more important to him than visiting his family. His father in Oxford, his mother in the small town on the Suffolk coast and his sisters with their families in London. Not even during press tours.

But they could have come to New York and Los Angeles as well, couldn’t they?

He’ll have more time for that in the future. Right now, he’s got more important matters to care for.

He glances at the envelope sitting on the passenger seat. Tom needed a bit of time to get used to driving on the left side of the road again. But then again, he’s been driving since he was 18. It’s not that hard.

He parks his rental BMW in front of the old Lucas residence. There's a sling in the garden and a slide too as far as Tom can see. He frowns. Maybe Matt has children now and the grand parents decided it would be nice to have something nice for them when they visit?

Or Matt moved in? But then again it was a bit crowded with Libby in the apartment on the first floor. He’s not sure, though it was big enough at the time.

He’s nervous again for the second time this week. But it’ll be over soon and then he can go to London and do some business and meet some actor friends and wait for Julia to come, too.

Right now he’s out of the car and moves to the front door of the house he’s known so well.

He rings the bell and a few seconds later a child opens the door, a woman he doesn’t know right behind her. So, maybe that’s Matt's wife?

“Uh, hullo?” the woman asks.

“Yes. Hi. Is Libby there?”

“Uhm. There's no Libby living here. Just us.”

“Oh. But this is the Lucas place?” How did he not know this? Where else would she be, if not here?

“It was. But we bought it last year, after the mother died.” Oh, shit. Libby’s mother is dead? “Her husband is gone too, both had cancer, it must have been hard on their children,” the woman rambles on. “Oh!” she then says, making Tom jump slightly. “You meant Beth? Sorry, she’s called Beth around here. She's living over there,” she points behind Tom. “In the Johnson's house. Rents herself a small flat.”

Before the woman can talk on, Tom says a quick thank you and leaves.

He rings the other bell and then waits. And then he sees her as she opens the door.

She scoffs and shakes her head, her brown eyes twinkling in the way he’s used to. Or has been used to know. She's wearing jeans and a simple shirt, filling it out a bit more than that last time Tom saw her all those years ago.

“You've got some nerve, Tom. Coming here.”

“You still haven’t signed.” There. Straight to business. Let her sign and then leave again.

“You never got my new address. So. That’s not my fault. Leave it on the doorstep or something.”

She turns to leave. “Stop trying to walk out on me, Lucas!” he calls after her as she closes the front door to his face.

With great satisfaction Tom notices Libby coming back to the door, ripping it open again. “You've started the ‘walking out on people’-business, Hiddleston. And stop calling me ‘Lucas’. That's not the name that’s been on my passport for the past decade.”

"Well, it will be again."

“Until I sign the papers, just call me Hiddleston.”

With that, she indeed closes the door in his face for the second time, leaving him stunned.

Tom sighs. So, maybe he should after all visit his father first and come back later, when his wife – or soon-to-be ex-wife – will have come to her senses again.