Ted and I both get out of the car. I stretch my arms above my head, exhilarated by the blustery cliff-top breeze.
“This place isn’t in my album.”
“No, but you wanted me to look in the bag, and it’s a good place to stop.”
“I didn’t know Jersey had all these cliffs,” I say, snapping a photo of the scene.
“The island slopes down like a block of cheese. The north is like this, the south is flat, beaches.”
“So, I’m on top of the cheese right now?”
He smiles. “You are.”
“I’M ON TOP OF THE CHEEEEESE!” I shout at the sea.
He laughs and then screws up his face as though he thinks I am silly. I can’t help smiling at his reaction, and then I keep smiling from gratitude that he’s shown me this beautiful view. The air here feels so unlike London, like breathing new air that no one has ever breathed before. Ted’s gaze meets mine, and I notice his eyes are calm, like a boat with a deep, even keel.
“Are you always like this?” he asks.
“What am I like?” I ask, curious as to what he might say.
“Joyful,” he says, and it is the last word I expected.
“Not always,” I say, trying to cover the surprise in my reaction. “All right then, Boy Scout, let’s see if you deserved that badge of yours.”
His eyes smile then, and the moment passes, but the word “joyful” reverberates in my head like the name of a long-forgotten friend.
As we walk around to the boot of the car, Ted says, “You do realize this suitcase is the McGuffin in your story?”
“What’s a McGuffin?”
“Not a Hitchcock fan then?” Ted shakes his head, takes his cap off and flings it into the boot. As he runs his hands through his thick hair, I’m struck again by how much younger he is than I first assumed. He is certainly not making the best of himself. I wonder how his wife handles kissing that beard. There’s just so much of it, it would be like kissing someone through a hedge. Why am I imagining other people’s kissing predicaments? Inappropriate, Laura.
“A McGuffin is an object or event that motivates a character in the story but is ultimately unimportant or irrelevant, like the Holy Grail in Arthurian legend, the ring in The Lord of the Rings, Rosebud in Citizen Kane.”
“Oh jeez, you’re one of those weird movie geeks, aren’t you?” I say, pretending to yawn as I unzip the bag in the boot. “Anyway, by that logic, this suitcase isn’t the McGuffin, it’s the suitcase owner. I already have the suitcase.”
He thinks for a moment, and then looks almost impressed. “Lady Muck, I do believe you are right.”
“Not that this little lecture in movie geekology isn’t fascinating, but are you going to look for clues or what?”
Ted’s lips twitch into a smile, then he turns his attention to the case and starts lifting clothes out, carefully laying them out on the back shelf of the boot.
“Well, he’s a got a thirty-four leg and thirty-two-inch waist, so you know he’s tall and lean. Expensive work shirt, must earn a bit . . .”
He picks up To Kill a Mockingbird and skims through the pages.
“Let me guess, you wanted a father like Atticus Finch.”
Am I that much of a cliché? Who wouldn’t want a father like Atticus, with his strong moral compass and sage advice? But I don’t feel like admitting to Ted that when I read the book, I imagine Atticus with my father’s face.
“I just like the book,” I say, taking it back from him.
Ted peers into the plastic bag of worn running kit and wrinkles his nose.
“Well, your Mr. McGuffin may be well read, but his sweat still stinks.”
“He exercises and looks after himself, I like that in a man,” I say, feeling myself prickle. I don’t like Ted being rude about Hot Suitcase Guy’s things. It feels like a strange betrayal that I’m letting him look through the bag at all.
Ted picks up one of the expensive-looking trainers and looks at the tab inside.
“Size eleven—well, they do say you can tell a lot about a man from the size of his feet.” Ted raises an eyebrow at me.
“Give me that,” I say, reaching out to grab the shoe. I pull the trainer a bit too hard, and then watch in horror as it flies out of my hand and sails over the side of the cliff. We both stand in silence for a moment, our eyes watching its long route, bouncing down the cliffs toward the sea below—there’s no way we’re getting that back.
“Oops,” says Ted.