The woman who got lost in her own handbag

It was stifling hot, and the rush hour traffic was gridlocked. A siren wailed in the far distance. I held my breath as I moved through a haze of exhaust fumes that was hanging behind the idling cars. This was a part of town that I knew well, and I was just thinking about a back street detour when something grabbed at my attention. I hardly recognised myself, but there was my reflection in a round brass mirror in the junky antique shop window. My face looked drawn but my body was almost completely obscured by the most beautiful handbag that I had ever seen. It was discreet, but also a tiny bit saucy with just a glimpse of a scarlet lining. I swear it called my name. Seeing it there broke my heart; it was so out of place. I had to rescue it. The chunky gold chain strap felt cool and heavy in my hands. And the teeth on the zip were fierce, like they would take someone’s hand off if they tried to unzip it behind your back. It smelled of heaven… classy perfume and soft leather. I stroked it like it was a baby and I swear it sighed. It cost me an arm and a leg but the woman behind the counter said they were practically giving it away, she murmured something about it having been returned again.

           I set it down on your pillow while I got changed. Our bedroom hasn’t smelled of you for such a long time and it’s nice having a new scent in the room, it’s like company. You would have laughed at me posing in front of the mirror. Trying it on one arm and then on the other. I let my hair down the way you liked it, but it got caught up in the chain. It took me ages to get untangled. The little pockets fit my fingers perfectly. I was stroking the lining when I noticed a dark patch in one corner. It was a bit stiffer, a stain perhaps. I know it’s second or third hand, but it made me feel really sad.

When I told them at work about it, they said I should get designer shoes to match. We all laughed… least they did. You’re going to think that I’m losing the plot, but that night when I got home from work, I called out ‘Honey I’m home.’ just like I used to when you were alive. I’d been dying to hold it all day, I kept thinking about it and smiling. Someone said that I looked like I was in love, but I’m not, truly, I’m not. You’re the only one for me. I made a promise, and I won’t forget it. I hope you’re waiting for me. Eternity, you said.

My nightmares have come back. Not the old ones about me having to say goodbye to you and you not wanting to go. They’re different. Last night, I dreamed I was queuing up for my own funeral, but the thing is I wasn’t dead. It was awful, I reached out, pulled the bag over onto my pillow and rested my head on it. It was the only way I could get back to sleep. I slipped my hand inside; I think the crusty bit in the lining has spread out more. And I’m sure that the perfume is getting stronger.

Every day now, I wake up tired and my throat hurts, I think it’s that scent. It’s everywhere, it follows me to work, it’s in my clothes and in my hair. It’s like old lilies. I tried going into the supermarket and spraying myself with testers, but it just makes it stronger. I scrub myself in the shower and wash my hair again until my scalp is sore. I think people are noticing it when I pass them in the street.

 I’ve been dreaming again. One night, I found a tear in the lining in the corner of the bag and when I looked more closely, I realised that the stain was blood! I don’t think it’s mine, but it doesn’t look old.

 And this morning I found a bit of broken mirror  in one of the little pockets. I swear it wasn’t there before.

My dreams are awful. I hardly dare go to sleep. I’ve tried coffee, letting the cold in and keeping the lights on, but I’m so tired it creeps up on me. I really am starting to worry about myself.

Last night I held my bag like a crying baby and tried to comfort it. Then I dreamed that I saw something white, in one of the zip pockets. This morning I had a look and there was something there. I reached in really carefully and pulled it out. It was a photograph! I swear I didn’t put it there and what’s even spookier is … it’s a picture of you! Of you! What’s more I don’t remember taking it, I’ve never seen it before. So how did it get there?

I’ve tried opening the windows, but the smell just won’t go away. It reminds me of the stink that you get in the water at the bottom of a vase of old flowers when they’ve started to rot. I’ve had a lot of headaches recently… if only I could get a decent night’s sleep, I think I would begin to feel better. They’ve signed me off from work.

I wake up crying most nights. I’d sleep with the light on, but it doesn’t make any difference. My nightmares are … horrendous. I don’t have the words to describe them. There’s no escape, my dreams carry on after I wake up. I can see them flickering at the back of my eyes.

I’ve been looking at this pill for an hour now. It was in the smallest pocket. The lining is now completely red and bone hard. Is it my blood? Or is it yours?

Maybe, if I took the pill I would shrink, like that girl in the story, I could climb inside and be safe?