Page 4 of The Wrong Suitcase

‘Room Twelve?’ she asks, and I nod.

‘Room Twelve,’ I repeat.

I felt reborn after my swim. I went back and forth, up and down, as fast as I possibly could, and by the time I was done I was the only one left at the pool and the sun had shifted in the sky. I’d had my beer and taken in the view, then made my way through the hotel via the lobby where I dropped off my dirty shirt to the overnight laundry and was told my bag was already upstairs waiting for me.

The thing was, it wasn’t my bag. I got into it using my code, but inside was see-through packing cube after see-through packing cube, all labelled and organised and definitely not mine. One labelledWedding Outfithad some combination of floaty dress and pointy high heels, and one calledMorning After the Night Beforelooked to be stuffed with denim shorts and white sneakers that were so tiny they could have been a child’s.Lotions and Potionshad little bottles of decanted products, all identified by the same loopy cursive, and the only thing out of place was a roll of condoms – ‘ribbed, for your pleasure’ – stuffed into the zip pocket as if they were an afterthought, alongside a battered old teddy bear. I hoped the two things were unrelated. I’d showered, was finally feeling like my bad mood had lifted, and thenthis.I was lumbered with some random woman’s suitcase, and likely she had mine. But when I went to the room reception directed me to, nobody was there.

‘I knocked repeatedly,’ I clarify to Eleanora. ‘I think maybe they were using a hairdryer and didn’t hear me? But I waited for about ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. Ages! Or maybe it was the wrong room? Can you call up again? I’d really like to get my stuff.’

Eleanora looks bored and disinterested. I’m not convinced she’s invested in my problem, despite the fact that I’m stood in front of her in hotel slippers and a robe. One false gesticulation and I’ll get arrested for indecent exposure, which, to be fair, doesn’t seem far off the realm of possibility with the direction this whole day is going.

‘Actually, do you know what?’ I decide, studying her impassive face. If you want a job doing, do it yourself – that’s what I teach my team at the hospital. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll go and try again, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll go door-to-door if I have to. I don’t have time for this. I need my suit! How many rooms are there here?’

‘One hundred and thirty-three, sir.’

Right. Okay. Maybe Iwillwait until she calls the room again.

‘That’s quite the look you’re sporting, Birchy Boy,’ a voice comes from behind me, as Eleanora agrees to call up to Room 12 again. I turn around and there’s Adriano in his full wedding garb, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

‘My man, how you doing?’ I say, going in for a fist bump and then a quick hug. ‘You look wicked. This isverysmart.’ I finger his lapel and can tell he’s not exactly wearing a TK Maxx special. His beard is trimmed perfectly, and he’s a bit tanned, like maybe he’s had a few sessions on a sunbed. I’ve known Adriano my whole life – our families grew up next door to each other in Thirsk, near York, although now he lives in Toronto. I know how he farts himself awake most mornings and had to get circumcised after his willy got caught in his zipper when we were fifteen doing our Duke of Edinburgh Award. We used to play ‘Lost Soldiers’ in the woods behind the village, and I’d never known him happier than after he met Sarah. He called me the morning after their first date – which had been weird in itself because we weren’t phone-talkers, really – and said he’d met the woman he was going to marry. I wonder what it’s like, that clarity. I wonder what it’s like to be that certain of your future. It must be nice, always having a teammate. Somebody who is on your side. My heart twinges. If Ella was here, at least I’d have somebody to help me see the funny side of all this. But then, it’s exactly because she isn’t here that I can’t. She was socoldon the phone. Business-like. Matter-of-fact. As if she didn’t care at all. I’d thought we were one thing, but had obviously been delusional because to her what we had was quite another. How did I get it so wrong? Why is finding a girlfriend so much easier for everyone else than me?

‘Cheers, mate,’ Adriano says. ‘I’ve been working out a bit, and can you tell I’ve had my teeth done?’ He gurns at me to show me glistening pearly whites. ‘Cost me nearly a grand and they’re too sensitive to eat ice cream or drink tea now, but they look good, don’t they?’ I tell him that they do. Then he casts his gaze up and down, assessing, before asking, ‘Is this what you’re turning up in, or …?’

I look at what he means.

‘Hotel robes are in this season, mate, didn’t you hear? All over the Milan catwalks,’ I say, giving him a little twirl. I decide I can’t bog him down with the real reason I’m wandering around dressed like Hugh Hefner – it’ll all be sorted soon enough anyway. I hope. ‘If I’m too fashion-forward for you …’

He shakes his head good-naturedly. ‘It’s not me you have to worry about, I’m afraid.’

‘What do you mean?’

Adriano rubs at his beard. ‘Sarah. She wants you to meet her friend. Apparently you’re made for each other.’

‘I doubt that,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘You know I was supposed to be here with someone, don’t you?’

‘Charlie told me you got stood up. That’s brutal, man.’

‘Isn’t it? So tell Sarah it’s a bit soon to get set up.’

‘She’ll call bridal privileges.’ Adriano laughs.

‘And I’ll call only-got-binned-off-six-hours-ago privileges.’

‘I think that’s fair.’

I’m acting as if it doesn’t hurt, that I’m in on the joke, but it does hurt. I feel pathetic, being here alone. What kind of man doesn’t have a date for a wedding? His best mate’s wedding? I could kill Charlie for talking about it. Brothers are supposed to look out for each other. It’s all right for him: married, two kids, house in the suburbs. Everyone thinks blokes have to be tricked into getting ‘tied down’, but most of the men I know love it. They adore Saturday rugby club and bedtime stories and cold cups of tea on Father’s Day, even when it’s driving them mad. I don’t know how it happened, how I became the only single man in our friendship group. It’s as though I went to the loo when everyone decided to get engaged, and by the time I came back I was the last bachelor standing.

An older couple pass us, dressed in their best clothes. It’s only half an hour before we’re all supposed to be in the courtyard for pre-ceremony drinks and canapés. They’re early, but if I don’t get a move on not only will everyone know me as the grumpy one, and the recently dumped one; I’ll also be the late one. The clock is ticking.

‘Adriano,’ the woman says, waving at him, and he turns to me to say, ‘See you once you’re dressed? You’re good for the reading, aren’t you?’

Adriano was very diplomatic about telling me he’d be asking his two brothers, and Sarah’s bro, to be his best men, but had asked me if I could give a reading at the ceremony so I’m still part of it all.

‘I’m going to make you cry like a baby,’ I tell him, grinning and pulling him in for another hug. ‘It’s pure poetry, mate. Won’t be a dry eye in the house.’

He rolls his eyes as he pulls away. ‘No rhyming couplets or crowd participation – you promised me.’

I shrug. ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’

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