“*The Wheelie Suitcase*”
“Mum, I’m not a kid anymore. Can’t I just do something I actually want for once?” grumbled Ellie.
They’d been arguing for days ever since Ellie announced she wanted to go away for a week to Edinburgh with her boyfriend.
“What about your studies? Exams are coming up.”
“I’ve got good grades. I’ll catch up. Please, Mum,” Ellie whined.
“You barely know him. What happens after this?” Diane was running out of arguments to talk her daughter out of it.
“If you don’t let me go, I’ll run away and never come back,” Ellie snapped, flopping onto the sofa, clutching a cushion to her stomach and turning to face the window.
*What if she actually does leave?* The thought crept into Diane’s heart like a shadow, swelling into panic. Her daughter was her whole world, the only family she had left. Losing her wasn’t an option.
“Mum, you always played it safe, and now you’re alone. You want that for me too?” There was a hysterical edge to Ellie’s voice now.
“Love, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you, don’t rush…” Diane said, knowing full well her daughter was in love and wouldn’t listen.
Ellie buried her face in the cushion and sobbed.
*Am I really my own child’s enemy? Times are different now. Everything moves so fast. Maybe if I’d been braver, figured things out sooner with Ellie’s dad, my life would’ve turned out differently.* Diane sighed.
“Fine. Go. But you call me every day. I can’t give you much money—you know I’m saving for the house.” Diane gave in, exhausted from the arguing.
Ellie tossed the cushion aside, flung her arms around her mother.
“Thanks, Mum. Don’t worry about money—Jacob’s got it. I’ll call you loads. Everything’ll be fine,” she chirped happily.
*Easy for you to say. Wait till you’ve got your own daughter. Then we’ll see how *you* handle the worry.* Diane bit her tongue. What was the point? Ellie wouldn’t understand anyway.
Her daughter dashed to her room and came back dragging a suitcase.
“You’ve already packed? So you *would* have run away?” The realisation stung.
“I knew you’d let me. I know you too well. I’ll call Jacob now.” She grabbed her phone but didn’t dial, instead turning back to Diane.
“You should get away too—visit Auntie Grace or something. What’re you gonna do here alone? It’s your holiday,” Ellie said more gently.
“I’ll find something. Just… be careful, alright?” Diane muttered, her mood dark enough to howl at the moon.
“Mum, I’m *grown*. I get it.” Ellie tapped her boyfriend’s number.
Diane’s heart lurched. From the conversation, she knew Ellie was leaving *now*.
“Right, taxi’s waiting downstairs.” Ellie wheeled her suitcase to the hall. Diane scrambled after her.
“Mum, don’t make a fuss. I’ll call when we’re on the train. Back in a week.” She pecked Diane’s cheek, ignoring the tears welling in her eyes, and fluttered out the door.
*That’s it then. All grown up. Doesn’t need me anymore. Won’t even let me wave her off.* Diane rushed to the kitchen window. A black cab idled below, a lanky lad pacing beside it. *Seems alright. Maybe it’ll be fine. Can’t protect her from everything.*
She watched the cab disappear, then slumped onto the sofa where Ellie had been moments ago. Tears pricked her eyes. *Alone again. Quiet. Empty. I’ll go mad here. Better get used to it. Letting go—that’s a mother’s lot.*
She sat like that for ages, numb. *Maybe I should get away too. The coast, maybe. It’s not summer, but still warmer than here.* She booted up Ellie’s laptop, searching for last-minute tickets.
A cheap flight to Brighton left tomorrow morning. Diane didn’t hesitate—booked a five-day return. Sick of counting pennies. Sitting here waiting for Ellie’s calls? The week would drag like eternity.
She started packing. The flurry of preparations dulled the gnawing worry. Ellie called that evening, breathless—they were at King’s Cross, waiting for the train, everything was brilliant… Her laughter crackled down the line before she hung up.
Diane lay awake, restless. *I’ll sleep on the plane,* she decided finally, giving up. She called a taxi, threw on her autumn coat, and left for Heathrow.
Even at dawn, the airport thrummed like a kicked hive. People hugged goodbye, sprinted for gates, shouted into phones.
She passed a couple wrapped in each other’s arms. The girl’s tear-streaked face tilted up as she whispered,
“You’ll come back? Promise? I love you…” A sob escaped as she buried her face in his jacket.
He murmured into her wind-tousled hair. Diane looked away. Too raw, too intimate.
After check-in, she waited at the gate, thinking of Ellie. Silly girls, rushing headlong into love, afraid they’ll miss out. So many heartbreaks ahead. Would they have enough tears for them all?
Diane had been that girl once. Threw herself into a whirlwind romance. And where did that get her? A husband who bolted when fatherhood got real. They split right after Ellie was born. A few flings since, but marriage? No thanks. Raised her daughter, kept her safe. Now it was too late to change anything. And here she was, fleeing to the coast. Why? Where? But staying home would’ve driven her mad.
A man’s wheelie suitcase clipped her ankle.
“Sorry,” he muttered, moving off to sit alone, flipping open a paperback.
*Probably meeting some mistress,* Diane thought bitterly.
Boarding began. He handed his ticket to the attendant first. No mistress appeared. He paused, Diane bumped his suitcase again, cursed under her breath. Fate, with a sick sense of humour, had seated them across the aisle. She ignored him, eventually dozing off.
They stood simultaneously after landing, jostling as they shrugged on coats. He was really grating on her now.
Outside, she hailed a cab, asked for a cheap hotel. Dumped her bags and headed straight to the pier. The sun warmed her back—should’ve ditched the coat. She breathed in the sea air, smiling properly for the first time in weeks. Ellie texted: *Made it safe, having a blast.* The knot in Diane’s chest loosened. Suddenly, she was starving.
“Mind if I join you?”
*Him again.* He slid into the café chair opposite without waiting. “We keep crossing paths. If fate’s this persistent, maybe we should chat?” He offered his hand. “James.”
“Diane,” she said, leaving his hand hanging.
“Lovely name. Can I call you Di? Suits you.”
She shrugged. Handsome, slightly older. Open smile.
“Let’s skip the formalities. Here on holiday?” he asked.
“You? Work?” she deflected.
“Bingo. Remote work’s a blessing. I’m a writer—among other things. Fancied some sea air.”
*A writer. Sure. Next he’ll say I’m inspiration for his novel.*
He read her scepticism. “No, really. I publish stories. One book in print so far. Do some freelance copywriting—”
“Right.” Diane smirked. “What do you write about?”
“Bit of everything.”
“And people actually pay you?”
“Shockingly, yes. Enough for spontaneous Brighton trips.”
They walked the pier after coffee. He talked about his work, his books. Against her will, Diane liked him more by the minute. He walked her to her hotel, didn’t push to come up.
“Work to do, and you need rest,” he said, leaving. She was oddly stung he didn’t suggest meeting tomorrow.
Next morning, he was waiting in the lobby. They strolled, dined at a seafront bistro. Wine loosened Diane’s nerves—she laughed freely, feeling lighter than she had in years.
She woke disoriented. Running water from the ensuite. Diane scrambled up, cursing herself. *Lecturing Ellie, then *this*? One glass of wine and—*God, at my age.* Though forty-one wasn’t old. Women had babies at forty-one…
“Awake?” James emerged, freshly shaved. “Coffee, then I’ll walk you back. See you tonight?”
Diane couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this content. Even Ellie faded from her thoughts—until guilt flashed hot. James mistook her blush for shyness, kissed her gently.
Five days vanished. Now he was hugging her at Gatwick.
“Stay?” he pleaded.
“Ellie’s back tomorrow. Work soon,” she said softly.
“CallThe following weekend, as Diane and Ellie unpacked their bags from their New Year’s trip to Aunt Grace’s, the doorbell rang—and there stood James, holding a single, slightly battered wheelie suitcase, grinning like a man who’d finally found his way home.
