A Nasty Case of the Whiffs

Short Story By Jackie Brewster

“What a nasty pong!” Lisa said, winding up her window. “They must be muck­spreading these fields.”
Gareth had noticed the smell a few miles back, but had chosen to say nothing. Diane, Lisa’s sister, had picked them up from the airport. He was tired after a long flight, and uncomfortably squashed in the back of Diane’s coupe with Lisa’s pink suitcase on the seat next to him. He strongly suspected that the smell was coming from inside it.
“Wind your window down again, babes,” Diane said. “It’s not coming from outside.”
Lisa hurriedly wound her window down and gasped the fresh air.
“I can’t smell anything,” Gareth lied.
“I’m pulling over,” Diane said, indicating. “It’s like something died in here, I can taste it.”
Diane pulled into the layby, and Lisa tipped her seat forward so that Gareth could climb out. He looked at the suitcase. It was just a matter of time before his guilty secret would be exposed.
He stood on the grass verge with his hands buried in his pockets while Diane sniffed inside the car. Straightening up, she announced, “It’s Lisa’s suitcase.”
Lisa’s mouth dropped open. “I put all my dirty clothes in a plastic bag. I don’t have anything smelly.”
“It absolutely stinks”, Diane said “and I’m not driving another second with that in my car.”
“We’re not just leaving it here,” Lisa protested, “all my holiday gear’s in it.”
Gareth sighed. “Alright, I think I know what’s making the smell.”
“What?” Lisa snapped. “Have you put something in my suitcase?”
“No.” Gareth sighed. “If I tell you, promise you won’t get angry?”
“We’ll see,” Lisa said, rolling up her sleeves.
Gareth pulled out the offending suitcase.

“I just want to say that my heart was in the right place,” Gareth said, unzipping the case. “You know that bottle of designer perfume I gave you last night?”
“What about it?” Lisa asked suspiciously.
“Well, a bloke outside the resort was selling them for a fraction of the price,” Gareth said. “I figured it was a fake, but,” he swallowed, “I didn’t think you’d notice the difference.”
Diane and Lisa gasped in unison.
“The bottle must have leaked,” Gareth finished, then added unnecessarily, “Obviously they didn’t get the smell quite right.”
“Quite right?” Lisa said. “It smells like the barnyard of death. Just get the bottle out.”
Holding his nose Gareth gingerly opened the lid of the case.
“What’s that?” Lisa peered at the contents. “That isn’t my beach towel.”
“You’re right,” Gareth agreed in surprise, lifting up the faded towel, “it isn’t.” As he did, something large and white slid out and fell onto the grass.
“Good grief.” Diane stepped back in terror. “That stinks, what is it?”
Gareth kicked it with his toe. “It’s a wheel of very ripe Camembert,” he decided. The he looked up at Lisa. “You’ve picked up the wrong suitcase from the airport carousel.”
“Who’s got my case then?” Lisa wailed.
“Someone who really likes cheese?” Gareth offered, unhelpfully.

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