**The Wheeled Suitcase**
“Mum, I’m an adult now. Can’t I just do what I want for once?” Emily huffed.
They’d been arguing for days after she announced she wanted to go to Edinburgh for a week with her boyfriend.
“What about uni? Exams are coming up.”
“I’m doing fine. I’ll catch up. Please, Mum,” she whined.
“You’ve only known him five minutes. What then?” Lydia was running out of ways to talk her out of it.
“If you don’t let me go, I’ll run away and never come back,” Emily snapped, flopping onto the sofa, hugging a cushion to her chest and turning to face the window.
*What if she really does leave?* The anxious thought crept in, 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. Is that what you want for me?” Emily’s voice wavered.
“Love, there’s plenty of time for you—don’t rush,” Lydia murmured, knowing full well her daughter was in love and not listening.
Emily 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, realised my future husband wasn’t right, things would’ve turned out differently.* Lydia sighed.
“Fine. Go. But you call me every day. I can’t give you much—you know I’m saving for the house.” Exhausted, she gave in.
Emily flung the cushion aside, rushed over, and hugged her.
“Thank you! Don’t worry about money—James has plenty. I’ll call every day, I promise. It’ll be fine,” she babbled happily.
*How can I not worry? Wait till you have your own daughter—then we’ll see.* But Lydia kept that to herself. Pointless—she wouldn’t understand.
Emily dashed to her room and returned with a suitcase.
“You’ve already packed? Would you really have left?” The realisation twisted her heart.
“You’d have let me. I know you. I’ll call James now.” She grabbed her phone but hesitated, turning back.
“You should go somewhere too—visit Auntie Margaret. What will you even do here alone? It’s your holiday as well.”
“I’ll find something. Just… be careful, alright?” Lydia muttered, mood darkening.
“Mum, I’m grown up. I know what I’m doing.” Emily dialled her boyfriend’s number.
Lydia’s stomach dropped. From the conversation, she knew Emily was leaving now.
“Taxi’s waiting downstairs,” Emily said, wheeling the suitcase to the hall.
Lydia rushed after her.
“Don’t see me off. I’ll call when we’re on the train. Back in a week.” She kissed Lydia’s cheek and darted out, oblivious to the tears in her mother’s eyes.
*So that’s it—she’s grown up, doesn’t need me anymore. Wouldn’t even let me wave her off.* Lydia hurried to the kitchen window. Below, a black cab idled, a young man pacing beside it. *Seems decent. Maybe it’ll be fine. Can’t protect her from everything.*
She watched the cab disappear, then sank onto the sofa where Emily had sat moments ago. Tears welled. *Alone again. Quiet, empty. I’ll go mad here. Should get used to it—letting go is part of being a mum.*
She sat like that for ages, numb. *Maybe I should get away too. Brighton, maybe. It’s not summer, but still warmer than here.* She went to Emily’s room, booted up the laptop, and searched for tickets.
A cheap one-way flight for tomorrow popped up. Without hesitation, she booked it—and a return for five days later. Sick of pinching pennies. Sitting around waiting for calls? A week would feel like forever.
Packing distracted her. Emily rang that evening, breathless, saying they’d made it to the station, everything was perfect—her laughter cut off as she hung up.
Too wound up to sleep, Lydia gave up and called a cab at dawn. The airport bustled like a kicked anthill—goodbyes, dashes, phone calls.
A couple clung to each other in the middle of the terminal, the girl’s face tear-streaked. “You’ll come back? Promise? I love you…” She buried her face in his chest as he murmured into her hair. Lydia looked away—too intimate, too raw.
She checked in and waited, thinking of Emily. Silly girls, rushing, fearing they’ll miss out, plunging headfirst into love. How many heartbreaks lay ahead? Enough to drown in tears.
She’d been that girl once. Threw herself into a marriage that collapsed after Emily was born. A few flings since, but never remarried—too scared for her daughter. Now it was too late to change anything. And here she was, fleeing to the seaside. Why? Home would’ve driven her mad waiting.
A man’s wheeled suitcase clipped her ankle.
“Sorry,” he muttered, settling nearby with a magazine.
*Probably meeting a mistress,* she thought bitterly.
Boarding began. He handed over his ticket first. No mistress joined him. He hesitated; Lydia collided with his suitcase again, cursing silently. Fate stuck them near each other—across the aisle. She ignored him, then dozed off.
After landing, they rose in sync, jostling as they dressed. He’d gone from nuisance to infuriating.
Outside, she hailed a cab to a budget hotel, dumped her bags, and headed straight to the pier. The sun warmed her coat off. The sea air, the freedom—she smiled properly for the first time in days. Emily texted: arrived safely, off exploring. Relief brought hunger—she hadn’t eaten properly in ages.
“Mind if I join you?” The plane man slid into her café table uninvited. “We keep bumping into each other—may as well introduce ourselves. I’m George.”
“Lydia.” She didn’t offer her hand.
“Lovely name. Mind if I call you Lyds? Suits you.”
She shrugged. Handsome, slightly older, his smile disarming.
“Let’s skip formalities. Here on holiday?” he asked.
“You? Work?”
“Got it in one. I work remotely—writer, mostly. Freelance bits too. Fancied a change of scenery.”
*Writer. Sure. More like midlife crisis escapee.*
He caught her scepticism. “Seriously. I publish online. One book out properly. Pays decently.”
“People actually read that?”
“Believe it or not, yes.”
They strolled the pier after, him chatting about his work. She warmed to him. He walked her back but didn’t invite himself up—he had a flat nearby.
“Work to do, and you need rest,” he said, leaving. It stung a little—no mention of tomorrow.
Next morning, he waited in the lobby. More walks, dinner, wine. She laughed freely, lightness returning.
Waking disoriented, the shower running, she scrambled up, furious at herself. *Preaching to Emily, then this?* But forty-one wasn’t old—women had babies at this age…
“Awake?” George emerged, clean-shaven, grinning. “Coffee, then I’ll walk you. See you tonight?”
She couldn’t remember feeling this good. Even thoughts of Emily faded—until guilt flooded her. George kissed her, misreading her flush.
Five days vanished. At the airport, he asked, “Stay?”
“Emily’s back tomorrow. Holiday’s over,” she said sadly.
“Call in sick. Come back.”
“Why don’t you come with me?” she countered.
She didn’t want to leave. Best days of her life—never to be repeated. Fighting tears, she bit back questions about a wife. No need to sour it.
The sobbing girl at Heathrow echoed in her mind: *”Promise you’ll come back?”*
Now *she* was that girl. She wanted to cling to George and weep. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she walked to check-in. He didn’t follow. She didn’t look back.
On the plane, she cracked, crying silently.
Home. Emily’s shoes in the hall. Lydia rushed in.
“You’re back early! What happened?”
“You were right. I didn’t really know him,” Emily whispered.
“What did he do?”
“Nothing. We’re just… wrong for each other.”
“Oh, love.” Lydia hugged her. “Better now than later. You’ll find your person.”
Over strong tea, grey November sleet tapped the window.
“You look radiant—all tanned. Wish I’d gone with you,” Emily said.
“New Year’s coming. Fancy visiting Auntie Margaret?”
“What about the house fund?”
“Sod the house. It’They clinked their teacups, both smiling through the lingering weight of heartache and hope, knowing life’s suitcase always rolled forward, ready to carry them wherever they chose to go next.
