Page 1 of The Suitcase Swap

Chapter One

Sophie Swann didn’t think that the people who designed airports were trying to make her life miserablespecifically, but was amazed at how well they were accomplishing the feat nonetheless. She’d read several articles before she’d bought her ticket – everything from safety statistics to meditation techniques – but the problem was that, once in an airport, one couldn’t ignore the very apparent reality of the giant, and often very visible, planes.

Even in the atrium parts of Heathrow Airport where she couldn’t look out of any windows, there were actual signs everywhere reminding her that she was in an airport and would soon hurtle through the sky in a metal tube at mind-numbing speeds. Which meant that none of her data, careful planning or deep breathing were doing her any good.

She put her earbud in and opened the app to video-call her son. Tom’s face appeared on the screen only moments later, like maybe he’d been waiting for her call. Which he probably had been. She was startled, as she always was, by how much he took after his father, with his dark hair and brown eyes, and somehow was nothing like him at the same time. Tom, after all, was kind and funny, and her husband – ex,ex-husband – Andrew was decidedly . . . not.

Tom grinned at her, a crooked smile all his own, and she started talking before he’d even said hello. ‘I’m thinking of getting into drugs. Nothing extreme. The heroin lifestyle looks exhausting. Just something that would take down anelephant for eight hours and could be conveniently purchased in the airport.’

Tom’s grin widened. ‘You might struggle to find heroin in the airport, Mum, but I have faith. If anyone could manage it, it would be you.’

Now that she’d had a chance to study him and look past her own panic, she could see how tired he looked. The crooked smile didn’t quite reach his eyes and faint purple bruises underscored the fact that he wasn’t getting proper sleep. She could imagine that good sleep would be hard to come by for both him and his fiancée, Marisa. Their miscarriage was too new, the heartbreak too fresh. Grief either handed out too much sleep or too little. It was just the way of things.

Sometimes Sophie really hated the way of things.

She clucked sympathetically at him. ‘How are you holding up? How is Marisa?’

He glanced away, swallowing hard. It took him several seconds to speak and when he did, it was to mostly dodge the question. ‘I’m very glad you’re on your way.’

Well, wasn’t that an answer in itself?

‘So am I,’ she said gently. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a toy plane swoop along through the air. A small girl, perhaps two, held it tightly in her little fist, gurgles of delight marking the plane’s passage. At least someone here was happy.

‘What is it?’ Tom asked. ‘You look a bit peaky all of a sudden.’

‘Giant metal tubes withwingsand I’m supposed to get on it.’ She focused on the screen in front of her, ignoring the perspiration suddenly coating the majority of her body. Sophie didn’t even like to drive, something her husb—,ex-husband – loved to poke fun at. She very carefully taped up the edges of that idea and hurled it into her mental trash bin. Then she lit it on fire, just to be certain. ‘Bring back the days of travelling by sea. I could buy a big, floppy hat and swan about on the deck of a ship being mysterious.’

The image of her son on the screen shifted, revealing another part of Tom’s Brooklyn flat. Marisa sat on a lime-green couch, her compact frame wrapped in a Sherpa blanket, smiling back at her. If Tom’s face had hinted at exhaustion, Marisa’s screamed it. Her naturally tanned skin pale, her usually shiny black hair dull and piled up on her head in a messy bun. ‘Hard to be mysterious on a plane. You going to be okay, Sophie? We can still book you on that cruise.’

Sophie was already shaking her head. The flight was cheaper by far, and more importantly, it was faster. Seven hours versus six days and by all appearances, they needed her now, not in a week. She loved London. It was home. But Tom was her heart and at some point, Marisa had become part of that, too. Her heart was breaking and if that meant getting onto a plane, so be it.

‘I shall be very brave,’ Sophie said, ‘and also possibly abuse the bar cart.’

‘Those little liquor bottles on planes are one of life’s few joys,’ Marisa said, her usually bouncy voice deflated. Sophie wished not for the first time that she could reach through the screen and hug them both. Maybe instead of meditation and illegal narcotics, she would focus on why she was going. Her son and soon-to-be daughter needed her, and they needed her now. She was asurvivor, damn it all, and she would survive this.

An app on her phone helpfully pinged, letting her know that boarding would start soon. She immediately felt overwhelmingly, horribly, ill. ‘Okay, my loves. Must dash. See you soon!’ She blew them a kiss, enjoyed their chorused goodbyes, and ended the call right before sprinting towards the nearest toilets.

Sophie felt she had a solid grasp of irony. For example, she knew there was a spectacular amount of irony in a travel writer having to vomit in the airport loo at the very idea ofsetting foot on an aeroplane. The fact was, her writing had started as a hobby. She never in a million years would have thought she’d end up in her current career.

After her son had gone to university, she’d had little in her life beyond work. During the day she’d had her hands full running the logistics side of Andrew’s business, the one they’d built together, the one that had beentheirs.Swann’s was the kind of place you went to for home DIY projects, to get interesting new fixtures, or to take a workshop on how to build a bird feeder or even a patio. While she organized payroll, managed inventory, and paid the bills, Andrew gadded about charming new clients and building the business.

She’d never enjoyed the client dinners or the travel aspects, so she’d been happy to hand those parts over to Andrew and his assistant, Lori. More fool her. She wasn’t sure what was more aggravating: losing the business she’d helped build, losing her husband, or the overwhelming cliché of it all. Losing your husband to his younger, prettier assistant was something that happened on daytime soap operas. Couldn’t he at least have used some imagination for his midlife crisis? He could have learned to juggle fire or joined a monastery. But Sophie knew this was a pointless question – Andrew had all the imagination of beige wall paint.

But before all of that, before the mess of her divorce, there had been a few years where she’d found herself at a loose end on weekends and after work. Andrew was always busy. Tom was gone. Since Andrew was allergic, they had no pets. She’d tried joining a book club, but it turned out she didn’t like people telling her what to read, especially since one of the members kept picking depressing literature. Sophie had wanted books that would sweep her away, not books that would make her cry.

What she really liked was reading stories that would take her somewhereelse. Fantasy lands with interesting creatures.Romance novels set in foreign cities or on sun-drenched islands. Mysteries that took place in catacombs, or on ships, or really anywhere that wasn’t the house she’d shared with the same man for over twenty years. The same walls. The same floors, even though she’d torn out the awful carpets that had been there when they’d bought the house. Sophie had wanted at least a taste of adventure.

Which was why she liked travel shows and shows likeDestination: Eatsthat took the viewer to interesting new restaurants around the globe. Sophie was the kind of person who liked trying new things . . . she just couldn’t go very far to do them.

It was her best friend, Edie, who’d come up with the idea. If she couldn’t go far, why not explore what was nearby? After all, there had to be other people who couldn’t travel for all kinds of reasons. ThusSwanning Aboutwas born. Sophie set up a blog for longer posts and attached social media to it. She found things to do on a budget, like free museum days, or classes that had a cheap introductory try-out session. Local theatres with reasonably priced tickets. Happy hours that actually made you happy. Sometimes she caught the bus or a train to go further afield, but not always.

She was surprised at how happy her new hobby made her. She wasmoresurprised at how happy it made others, and she was themostsurprised when she started to make money from it. What Sophie liked most, however, was the community that had formed around it. Every single time she voiced her own fears, told her readers how difficult something was for her, she was rewarded with support and solidarity.

Her latest post about her fear of flying, which she’d linked to a video about packing tips for a long-term stay, had sparked a chorus of replies.

@LolaLightfoot: you can do it, Swanny!

@MarlaBarla: You’re so brave. I know how afraid you are of planes. I wish I could take such a big step!

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