Page 18 of The Suitcase Swap

Mike took a long pull of his beer. ‘I tried to raise you with manners, I swear. I don’t know what happened.’

‘We didn’t listen, thankfully.’ Amaya huffed a breath, causing her fringe to float up. ‘Okay, I’ll back off, just . . . message her, okay? Talk to her. Don’t think about dating. Just have a good time.’

He didn’t want to lie to her but he also really thought it would be a terrible idea. ‘I’ll consider it.’

Amaya checked her phone. ‘I’ve got to go, but Dad?’

‘Yes?’

Her expression was concerned, her tone serious. ‘When you do go out with her, make sure you have condoms. You have no idea how many STI outbreaks they’ve had at retirement homes. Just chlamydia all the time around there.’

‘Bit of an ageist stereotype, don’t you think?’

She threw up her hands. ‘I have data! It’s not an unfair stereotype if it’s real!’

He grabbed another beer. ‘I’m also not in a retirement home! I’m fifty-three, for fuck’s sake!’

‘At least if you were in a home, you’d be getting some action. If you don’t use it, Dad, it falls off. Ra told me that.’

‘That’s not remotely true, you’re both weirdly fixated on this, and I’m hanging up now.’

‘We just want you to be safe and happy!’ She cackled as he reached over and turned off the phone.

Mike had meant to stick with his plan, avoiding all temptation where Sophie was concerned, he really had. But as he was drinking his second beer, he sat down in front of his laptop. Since he was in front of his laptop, he tapped it, bringing it to life. Now that it was awake, he might as well search for Sophie Swann’s blog. It was a little bit like that book,If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, but with some light internet stalking instead.

He foundSwanning Abouteasily, a picture of Sophie front and centre, leaning over and laughing, a giant Highland steer chewing on her blouse. There was so much joy in that photo, he had to smile, almost like he was contractually obliged. He clicked on one of the links at random, finding a post from a year earlier when she’d gone to Little Venice in London.

I found a cafe where I could sit and sip my tea and watch the lively waterways. It’s such a bright, fun corner of London. Walking along the canal felt like I was in a charming storybook, the people kind and friendly. (I did see a drunk fellow relieving himself in one of the side streets, but that’s neither here nor there.) One of the boats along the canal had been converted into a little bookshop! The afternoon felt like a dream, and between transport, tea and my book, it still came in under forty quid . . .

The next link took him to a post where Sophie and her friend Edie had tried a free pottery class. It hadn’t gone well for Sophie – she was covered in clay, her bowl entirely misshapen. Edie’s didn’t look much better, but both of them were smiling like they’d made something worthy of display in the Louvre. What must it be like to live with that much joy inside you all the time?

He started reading through the comments, which was usually a mistake. There were a few nasty ones, but her core followers were nothing but supportive. He could see why they were so enamoured of her. Her style was so casual, her writing so kind, and the things she wrote about easily accessible. Reading her words felt like talking to a friend. Not all posts were long, some just linking to her Instagram. He found one from the day he’d met her in the airport. Her picture was unfiltered – she looked pale, like she might be sick at any moment, but she looked determined, too.

I’ve made it on the plane. I can do this. Thanks to all of you that reminded me that a small step would do.

As he was staring down at her face, he realized that he missed her. A few conversations and one meal and hemissed her. This was so dangerous.

His hands shook a little as he clicked on the last link, posted the day after their dinner.

I cannot tell you the relief I’ve felt, being on land again! The flight itself went smoothly, butafterthe flight was full of turbulence. I felt vastly unwell when I got off the plane. (Note to future Sophie, limit your G&Ts on your next flight.) I had to sit down on the floor on the way to customs. Despite my triumph over my fears, I was feeling very down and self-critical as I sat by the bins, hoping I wouldn’t embarrass myself. Luckily, a kindly gentleman checked on me and gave me some medicine and water. He even walked me to customs. Kindness, my loves, is out there. Revived, I made it to my son and my temporary new abode!

My new apartment is very American – it’s loud, full of colour and over the top. I’m a bit in love with it. I’m sitting in the kitchenette now, enjoying my tea and simply feeling grateful for the fact that I am here. I get to hug my son and his beloved, and that means more than I can say.

But it wouldn’t beSwanning Aboutwithout a few bumps and hiccups. I immediately lost my luggage upon arrival. Or more accurately, my suitcase was accidentally mixed up with someone else’s! At the time, I wanted nothing more than a shower, a nap and a meal, not in that order, and so I was quite irritated that this plan had been thwarted.

But as I often tell you, my Swannies, sometimes ruined plans lead to better stories. Do you know who had my luggage? The kindly gentleman, that’s who! My first dinner in New York involved my son, my daughter in all but legalities, and the kind of man who made a travel-sick woman feel one thousand times better. I couldn’t have imagined this welcome dinner, and I’m so glad things went awry. As I always say, you’ll have a lot morefun if you stay flexible. (And yes, I know that’s a bit of a double entendre, and I won’t apologize for it one bit.)

Suddenly the ache in Mike’s chest was too much to bear. It seemed so silly, not talking to her. He was a grown man. He was perfectly capable of keeping it friendly. He could talk to her, surely, without risk of it becomingmore.

He took out his phone and stared at it. It had been three days. He couldn’t simply send her a, ‘dinner was lovely’ kind of text. Sending her a text for no reason felt . . . risky. Like it was saying too much. He tapped his fingers along the tabletop. A reason. That’s what he needed. A good excuse for texting her after three days of radio silence.

His gaze drifted back to her blog. What if he texted her something related to that? Maybe an interesting building to visit? She probably already had a list of prospective places – this was her job, after all, and she was very good at it. What did he know about travel blogging? Nothing. He did know all about architecture, however, and New York had some very interesting spots. What to send? Something joyful. Full of whimsy. It had to be something to catch her attention, but also be a good fit for her blog.

He took a deep breath and started typing.Have you ever visited Jane’s Carousel? It’s in Brooklyn Bridge Park. At night the lights show off the beautiful artistry of the restored carousel and make the glass enclosure glow like a beacon.

He hit send, then realized that out of context, it might be a little . . . weird? Like he was just sending her random trivia. Or maybe she’d think it was a lead-in to a, ‘we should go there on a date’ conversation, giving her the wrong idea.

Mike quickly sent her a follow-up message.Thought you might find it interesting.

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