Madeleine Milligan
The Suitcase a Short Story
Illustrated by Charlie Hine
Contents * Introduction - 1 The Suitcase - 3
Introduction by the Author
As the granddaughter of a successful novelist, I’ve felt inspired to write from a very young age. My childhood idol was Jaqueline Wilson and I wrote hundreds of stories ricocheting off of her characters and plots – my battered exercise books filled with stories about ‘Sylvia Briggs, Care-Home Kid’ were poorly executed spin-offs of the Tracy Beaker series. When I was just ten-years-old, I happened to bump into Wilson herself at a wedding (Sandi Toksvig’s wedding, no less). To say I was star-struck would be an understatement. While my parents attempted to Charleston on the dance floor, she spoke to me for over an hour and told me that ‘no matter what life throws at me, I should persevere, because I had it.’ I wasn’t quite sure at the time what this it was that I had, but I’ve held onto those words ever since. The Suitcase is based on true events. My father preaches that the best songs he’s ever written have been inspired by characters aboard the trains of his daily commute to London. When I overheard a bizarre conversation between a young couple whilst tube-hopping through London, I knew there was a story lurking behind their words. Thus, The Suitcase was born.
~1~
For my parents. Keep on Charlestoning.
~2~
The Suitcase
The toddler wrenched himself free from his mother’s arms and wailed, his face baring the sagging and puckered displeasure of a deflating balloon. ‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m afraid we’ll be making an unscheduled stop due to an obstruction on the tracks at West Ham. They’ll get it cleared and we’ll set off soon enough.’ The receiver clattered back into place and an audible moan passed through the carriage. The kid cried louder, his cheeks reddening and fists balling. Brilliant. I was already twenty minutes late. The last thing I need is to be stuck on a tube at ten o’clock at night with a bunch of randomers. I dragged my clammy hand over my face as the train gave a tired sigh and began to slow. It settled with a lurch, turning my stomach and sending a stranger’s suitcase skidding towards me. The owner giggled as a man brought it back to her and ran his fingers down her cheek, shaking his head playfully. She admired his shirt tightening around his chest before leaning to plant a quick kiss on his face. I refrained from rolling my eyes and turned to my phone, smashing out a text to my bandmate. Not gonna make it. Stuck on a non-moving train with an overly-affectionate couple and a screaming kid. Fab. It buzzed in response, notifying me that my message hadn’t sent. I rested my head on the glass behind me and groaned, the crescendo of the crying toddler beating at my eardrums. His mother cooed at him, offering condolences of fruit bags and soft toys whilst throwing apologetic glances at us. I watched the brick wall an inch from the window opposite as my mind wandered to images of it collapsing above us.
* The kid eventually settled, prompting an uneasy silence to descend upon the carriage, the only break being his gentle whimpering. How long will this take? Passengers began to pull out their mobiles, muttering to themselves about ‘calling home’. A large, dark-skinned man in a fitted suit started pacing in front of me, waving his phone at arm’s length. ‘There’s no signal. We must be so She turned to lean her cheek into his palm. far underground.’ I noticed droplets of sweat along his cut-throat hairline. A singular bead cascaded down his temple, journeying over his jaw and settling in the collar of his shirt. I was about to bury myself in the book that was waiting in my bag when another soft laugh came from the other side of the carriage; the couple leant in for a lingering kiss. She held his face and whispered into his ear. Another kiss. He traced patterns on the side of her neck with his thumb. She turned to lean her cheek into his palm. Kiss number three. The two middle-aged women
~3~
Madeleine Milligan
opposite them began to exchange glances, perhaps as dismayed as I by their overt display of affection. Kiss number four. The suited gentleman sat and began to fidget his knees, blotting his damp forehead with a document he’d tugged from his briefcase. The couple continued their grooming, blissfully unaware of their audience. Number five. She was a striking woman; caramel skin with dark eyes that accentuated her angular features. She was clad in an orange raincoat and heeled boots, a vivid shade of red that clashed with the coat. Her suitcase would periodically roll away from her, but she’d ignore it until her partner leant over her to tug it back, never taking his eyes from her. She hooked her slender leg over his and stroked his jeans with the toe of her boot, continuing her story. Her thick accent – Russian, maybe? – and shield of dark hair blocked most of her whispered words, but as she finished her story she leant her chin on her fist and gave a satisfied smile. Whatever she said must have tickled him, because he let out a loud laugh. ‘So, did you kiss him?’ I heard him ask. Hang on? I pressed my forehead against the pole beside me and strained to listen. Who else is she kissing? ‘Yes,’ she nodded, tangling her manicured fingers in his hair. ‘Did you do it out of spite?’ He eyed the suitcase as it began to drift away from them. ‘Yes, I did,’ she replied. He dragged the case back and held it tight, pressing his lips together in concentration. ‘That’s okay,’ he eventually answered. The suited gentleman sat and began to fidget his She was yanking the suitcase away from knees, blotting his damp forehead with a document him, a scowl forming, when I noticed the large ring adorning her finger; a fat rock he’d tugged from his briefcase. on a sparkling band, nestled between pinky and middle finger. Was it him that had given her such a bold statement of love? Or perhaps he was the Other Man? One of the eavesdropping women leant into her friend to whisper in her ear. The suited gentleman opposite me gave a juddering sigh and dropped his head into his hands. His fingertips whitened as he gripped the stubble of his closely shaven head. I pulled a bottle of water from the depths of my bag and slid it across the floor with my foot. His head jerked up, but his frown soon softened. Perhaps he’d realised that the prospect of a young woman spiking a bottle of water on the off-chance that a stranger on the tube would need it were pretty slim. He nodded his thanks and unscrewed the cap rather than lifting the lid, probably to see if the seal had ever been broken – this is central London, after all – and drained half the bottle. ‘Keep it,’ I said when he offered it back. He smiled gratefully and heaved another sigh, so I smiled back before his gaze drifted to the couple in the corner. They had begun to whisper furiously at each other. ‘Let’s not do this now, Nadya,’ the man was saying, holding onto her wrist as she placed
~4~
The Suitcase
her hand firmly on his chest. ‘Then when will we do it?’ She shoved him away and folded her arms over her chest, adopting the same expression as the chastised toddler. ‘When will this ever be okay to talk about, Michael?’ This is getting good. He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Not. Now.’ ‘You have no idea,’ she suddenly screeched, batting away strands of hair that had glued to her glossed lips. ‘No idea how that made me feel! This whole thing was your idea, your fucking idea,’ – she jabbed a finger into Michael’s chest with each emphasised word – ‘yet it’s you that’s getting shitty about it!’ She snapped round ‘Keep it,’ I said when he offered in her seat, kicking her suitcase over in the process. it back. The child shrieked at the ruckus as his mother clapped her hands over his ears. The suited gentleman lurched onto his feet and returned to his pacing as the middle-aged women continued to stare. I didn’t know where to look, torn between the child who was now baring his minimal set of teeth at his mother and growling, Suited Gentleman whose pacing was tattooing the tap tap tap of his heels into my skull, and Nadya, boring angry holes in her partner. Michael cast his eyes around the carriage, so I was careful not to catch his gaze. I couldn’t imagine having a tin-can full of commuters witnessing my domestic. ‘Don’t be like that.’ He tried to keep his voice low. ‘If you weren’t happy you could have just said something. You know, challenge me, tell me I’m wrong, tell me you’re happy the way things are and that nothing needs to change.’ ‘That’s the point, Michael. I wasn’t happy. That’s why I agreed to this stupid thing in the first place.’ She threw her hands up. ‘For fuck’s sake!’ The kid continued its wailing. Suited Gentleman began fanning himself with his paper, persistently carving paths up and down the aisle in front of me. I pressed my back into the seat, the commotion niggling at my nerves. The woman opposite finally cracked. ‘I’m really sorry, I understand you’re in a tough situation right now, but do you mind keeping the foul language to a minimum?’ She beckoned to the child, whose mother was desperately waggling a stuffed-animal in front of his beetroot face. ‘I’m so sorry,’ Michael gushed, holding up his hands in surrender. ‘Oh, you’ll tell her you’re sorry? Fuck you,’ Nadya spat. My eyebrows involuntarily shot up in to my hairline. What a psycho. ‘Please!’ the woman said, more forcefully this time. ‘Well, what would you do, huh?’ Nadya asked, leaning towards the woman. ‘Are you saying you’d be as calm as anything if your partner of four years suddenly sprung on you the idea of an open relationship?’ She formed quotation marks around the words with her polished fingers, the rock on her left hand catching the synthetic light. The woman was stunned, petrified eyes darting between Nadya’s scowl and Michael, who was wincing behind a hand. The rest of the carriage watched her. Even the toddler seemed to hold his
~5~
Madeleine Milligan
breath as the passengers waited. ‘I didn’t mean to pry,’ she stumbled over her words. ‘You don’t pry,’ Nadya’s accent clung to her words. ‘Perhaps an outsider’s opinion would help.’ The woman turned to her friend, who shrugged and pressed her lips together for fear of laughing. She turned to the rest of us, silently begging for help. Go on. What’s the worst that could happen? ‘Well, I… I can’t imagine it’s a very nice feeling.’ She peered sideways at Nadya, probably expecting another outburst. Nadya glared at Michael, a satisfied smile curling at her pink pout. ‘There we are. Not a very nice feeling. How about you?’ The attention was now on Suited Gentleman, who had stripped himself of his pinstriped jacket and was unfastening his top button. He gave a short laugh, loosening his tie and collapsing into the nearest seat. ‘Don’t ask me, love. I’m a happily married man.’ He waggled his wedding band at them and her pout puckered to a grimace. Perhaps it was the words ‘happily married’ that had stung. ‘You.’ Her sharp gaze was suddenly directed at me. Rather a demand than a question, I felt the pressure of satisfying every ear waiting. All seven sets of eyes were on me. The brick wall edged closer. I cleared my throat, my heart threatening to beat all the way out of its cage. ‘Did he give you that ring?’ I eventually say. ‘Pardon?’ ‘Your ring,’ I tried to speak up, ‘I was just wondering who gave it to you?’ Heat began to prickle at my cheeks and ears. Maybe that was too far. Michael looked up from his hands and smiled sadly at Nadya as she stared at me. ‘I did. Last year,’ he whispered. He gazed at her in the affectionate manner he had done before; his frown relaxed and his eyes smiled. ‘I love her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her.’ ‘Why would you suggest an open relationship then?’ the other woman asked, her nervous demeanour slipping as quickly as it had come. Michael shook his head and laughed, probably at the complete ridiculousness of our situation. Stuck on a tube at ten o’clock at night with a bunch of randomers that want to know the ins and outs of your fucked-up relationship. ‘Why?’ He laughed again before his face fell. ‘She’s not happy!’ he cried, standing up and throwing his hand out towards Nadya. ‘I was trying to fix us. I thought if we saw other people it would make her realise that she’s happy, she’s happy with me!’ ‘That’s why you did it?’ She was on her feet too, her eyes watering and bottom lip trembling. He nodded, taking her hands in his. ‘I thought it was because you wanted to fuck that receptionist,’ she snivelled. Romantic. The older woman rolled her eyes as the mother continued frantically waving the toy in her son’s face. ‘I would never do that to you,’ Michael insisted. Watching Nadya over his shoulder, I realised for the first time how tired she looked. I could only imagine what her mind must have been swimming with up to this moment, but she’d obviously kept everything tucked away in fear of tarnishing four-years of romance.
~6~
The Suitcase
‘She’s not happy!’ he cried, standing up and throwing his hand out towards Nadya.
‘There you are, love. He was trying to do the right thing,’ the woman cooed. I opened my mouth to pry further but was stopped short by the grinding of metal on metal as the carriage rattled to life. The passengers shrank back into their seats, realising that the drama had made them all shuffle forwards, perched eagily on the edge as the relationship had unfolded. Get me out of here. The static of the overhead tannoy sparked to life once more; ‘Apologies for the delay, ladies and gentlemen, normal service will now resume.’ Suited Gentleman whooped and the baby squealed, delighting at having witnessed a glimmer of happiness. The couple were once again drawn in to each other, ignoring their surroundings as we fell into a thrumming silence. The ebb and sway of the tube lulled me into a trance as I watched him turn her suitcase right-side up and lean in. Another kiss. He ran his finger down her cheek, shaking his head playfully. As if nothing had happened. *
~7~
Madeleine Milligan
I made a beeline for the exit and piled my belongings onto a bench, sucking in a lungful of fresh air. What an adventure. Never had London’s polluted oxygen tasted so sweet. My phone whirred with long-since sent messages, so I scrolled through them, not paying attention to the man hovering beside me. He lingered for a moment too long, his hands deep in his pockets, his head bent slightly towards me in hopes of me lifting my own. Keeping my eyes glued to my screen, my peripherals saw a sun-kissed hand emerge before dropping a torn piece of paper onto my rucksack.
I watched aghast as Michael sauntered away, running his fingers through his golden hair. He turned to wink at me before snaking his arm around Nadya’s waist. The suitcase toppled over beside her.
~8~
The Suitcase
~9~
www.facebook.com/MadeleineMilliganAuthor Madeleine Milligan Š 2017 Illustrations, Charlie Hine Š 2017