The Purple Suitcase

Here is a story I wrote when I attended a Cambridge University course in writing short fiction back in 2013. It was hugely by my professor at the time, and I still really like it today. I dare say it was about the potential scenario of marrying an old boyfriend. I’ve not re-edited it, so it’s exactly as it was over 10 years ago. Let me know what you think about it.

—–

She dragged the heavy purple suitcase behind her as they rushed towards the train. She heard the whistles blowing and the slow chug-chugging of the engines, and already she felt out of breath.

“Can you hurry up?” he yelled ahead of her, just as the wheels on the little case failed for the third time and she nearly tripped in her high-heeled booties. She threw him a desperate look as she struggled with the damned little thing and caught him rolling his eyes. Help me, she felt like yelling. Help me with this stupid purple menace; but she didn’t want to seem useless.

Finally they made it onto the train, and he stomped ahead of her to their compartment without ever turning around. After a further fight with the suitcase, as it barely fit into the storage compartment, they took a seat.

He sat across from her as she pulled off her gloves and placed them with her hat on the seat beside her. Both were a lovely, matching ivory colour, and they looked almost rosy in the soft light. His mother had given them to her months before, and they suited her well. She looked like a lady now, perfect for that handsome son of hers.

Good, she thought, she wanted to be perfect. She laced both her hands over her knee and cocked her head to one side.

For several seconds she stared at him, waiting for some kind of emotion to show on his face. She stretched out her hand, the beautiful vintage ring sparkling in the afternoon sun. Eventually, he placed his hand over hers, patted it slightly, and withdrew it.

“Are you looking forward to Paris?” she asked.

“Of course,” he sighed.

“What?”

“I’m glad the wedding is finally over.”

For a moment she wasn’t sure what to say. The pause seemed to fill the compartment with an invisible steam, and it fogged up the windows on this cool Fall day.

She thought back to their wedding, to the beautiful dress and the cake. She thought back to all the smiles that had surrounded them that day, and the kind glances his mother had thrown in her direction when she walked down that aisle. There had been so many flowers, all in different shades of pink. There had been little girls dressed in blush-coloured dresses, dancing with little boys in tiny matching waistcoats. She’d seen herself and him in all of them. With that vision in mind, her entire chest had felt as though it was on fire, and at the same time she’d noticed a calm flow through her veins like she’d never felt before. Now that same calmness appeared to have evaporated. Poof. Gone. She felt strange.

Finally she managed a smile, “Me too. So much work.”

“Exactly! And your mother was just unbearable. I hope I won’t have to see that much of her again, well, ever.” He laughed. So did she. She stared at her hands, fidgeting with the ring he had given her, turning it round and round on her finger. He had picked it out all by himself, never once asking her to give her opinions. It was thoughtful, in a way, not at all like she would have imagined it. The band was the yellow gold of a canary, caged for life by the gigantic emerald that sat atop, crushing the life out of it.

It was beautiful.

Of course it was beautiful.

“So, Paris. You’ve planned a lot for us haven’t you?”

She lit up at that. “Why yes, I have! We can go see the famous opera house, and Versailles, and the Louvre. Oh just think of all the beautiful art we’ll see! All that history!”

He suppressed a yawn, and once again her heart sank. She gave the ring another turn. The skin beneath it felt a little tight now. Did it look swollen? She refused to take her eyes off it. Perhaps she should take it off for a bit. That would be alright, wouldn’t it? She wouldn’t lose it or anything, she was careful like that. Besides, say if she did lose it… he could always buy her another. He was a responsible man; a sensible choice.

“Wake me up when we’re there?”

“Sure, sure,” she said. “I was going to read a little anyway.”

What are you reading, she thought. Of course he didn’t ask, he didn’t really care for books, for romance or magic.

He closed his eyes. His lovely, bright blue eyes. She looked at him for a while, studying his face as he slept. He looked peaceful now, and a little boring. He was a kind man, with good intentions, surely.

She thought back to their wedding day once more, and how much time she’d spent planning it to suit his wishes. Their wishes, she reminded herself. No.

She gazed out the window and suddenly saw herself standing in the church again, wearing a dress that may as well have been a sofa. Every inch of her had been covered in lace and beading, and the tulle of the underskirt had itched so badly. She remembered wanting to tear it off, so she could stuff it in that horrible pink cake. She didn’t even like pink, and yet everything, everything was the colour of pork! His mother had chosen that cake; bitter chocolate with a marzipan ganache, “as pink as the little shoes I’ll get for your little ones,” she’d said, patting her belly with those condescending, vomit-inducing eyes. What if she didn’t want that woman touching her belly? What if she didn’t want little ones yet.

She looked at the storage compartment again, and at the little purple suitcase squeezed into it with such force. Suddenly, she didn’t hate that suitcase so much anymore. Suddenly, that suitcase represented something new.

Suddenly, he awoke.

But all that was left was the canary yellow ring.