Page 7 of The Suitcase Swap

Mike looked at the screen.

Rahul was frozen, knife still in hand. ‘Dad, whose pants are those?’

‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Mike said honestly.

Rahul snorted a laugh. ‘Well, I can admit when I’m wrong. You clearly live a more exciting life than I thought.’

‘I really don’t,’ Mike said, staring at the silky green underwear.

‘I don’t judge, Dad. As long as you’re happy, you wear whatever kind of pants you want.’

‘Oh, shut it.’

‘What else is in there?’

Mike scowled at him. ‘I’m not going to go digging through someone’s private things.’

Rahul shrugged. ‘How else are you going to find out who it belongs to?’

‘It’s an invasion of privacy,’ Mike grumbled, but he was looking at what was on top, to see if there were other clues. It wasn’t as bad, was it, if he wasn’t digging through everything? There were a few plastic objects, one an odd shape and he couldn’t help but pick it up and examine it.

‘That’s to hold your phone,’ Rahul said, fruit and knife forgotten as he peered at the screen. ‘You know, for hands-free stuff, like what you could use instead of propping your phone against things.’

‘My way works,’ Mike said, as he peered into another plastic container next to it. It was round, like a compact. Medicine, perhaps? It might have a name on it. He popped it open and froze.

Rahul perked up. ‘You found something. What is it?’

‘Nothing,’ Mike said, snapping the case shut and putting it back. ‘None of your business.’

Rahul leaned closer. ‘It’s a vibrator, isn’t it?’

‘No, absolutely not.’

‘That means yes.’ Rahul grinned. ‘I’m beginning to like this person. Fancy knickers, hands-free phone-holder, vibrator – maybe you should have asked fortheirnumber.’ He tilted his head. ‘Does it look like a professional set-up? Maybe they’ve got an OnlyFans.’

‘Maybe you should stop talking.’ Mike put a palm over his face. ‘We’re terrible people.’

Rahul snickered, setting down his knife and wiping his hand on the tea towel thrown over his shoulder. ‘How did you mix up bags? I thought you marked yours.’

‘I did. I have a luggage tag – the one we got from the Van Gogh exhibition. I saw it, grabbed the bag and left. I was in a bit of a hurry to make up lost time,’ he said absently.

‘Well, I’d take the time to flip that tag now,’ Rahul offered mock helpfully.

Why hadn’t he thought of the tag before? He was a reasonably intelligent individual.Because you saw green, silky knickers and lost your mind, old man.Mike huffed. ‘I don’t like how much you’re enjoying this.’

‘I’m a stay-at-home dad at the moment. I take my laughs where I can.’

Mike flipped over the luggage tag. Where he had expected to find his name, he instead found the nameSophie Swannin a slanting script. ‘It’s the exact same brand as my luggage. Exact same tag. What are the odds?’

He’d meant them as rhetorical questions, but his son answered him anyway. ‘You have good taste in luggage, and half of London probably went to that exhibition. I’d say the odds were fairly good.’

Mike put his head in his hands and groaned. ‘I’m going to have to phone this poor woman and tell her I saw her pants.’

‘I’d leave out that last bit if I were you.’ Rahul resumed his food prep. ‘Women get a little weird for some reason when a stranger starts talking about their unmentionables.’

Chapter Three

Sophie hadn’t been able to believe her luck when she’d found an apartment to sublet in her son’s building, and now that she was seeing it, she felt doubly lucky. It was a floor above them, with a small living space and the tiniest kitchenette, which pleased her greatly. Sophie could make tea and had an excuse to never cook again. Andrew had liked a good roast, and during their marriage Sophie had spent a large portion of her time at home cooking for her family. Which at one point, she’d loved. She still liked to cook for friends on occasion. When shechose.It was the expectation that she had to that had weighed her down. Not just to cook, but to cook what Andrew liked. She didn’t even particularly care for a roast.

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