Page 14 of Lost Luggage
Sorry I couldn’t give you the answer you wanted.
I miss you.
Ponytail bouncing, chewing gum, Flo came in. No one could have guessed that she’d spent last night hiding in a tree. She opened her palm to show Dolly an earwig she’d found on the way over, admiring its pincers. After releasing it into Dolly’s back garden she washed her hands and poured hot water into the teapot. Leaving it to brew for exactly the time she knew Dolly liked, she took out her gum and dropped it into the bin. Dolly fetched the notebook whilst Flo took off her coat, hung it on the back of her chair in the conservatory and rolled up the sleeves of her red sweatshirt. With gusto she ate her cookie. Dolly remained standing.
The second challenge, adventure, first… none of those words left her impatient to read on. Nevertheless, Dolly proceeded, whilst adding up the challenges in her head. Having started in May last year, this would actually be at least Phoebe’s ninth one, tenth if she had, after all, been at the balloon debate and Dolly had somehow missed her.
‘February
This is possibly the most difficult first so far.’
The tension in Dolly’s shoulders increased as she spoke.
‘It’s Valentine’s Day this month and my dating history has been a disaster. I’ve never had a long-term relationship, let alone got married. I’ve always struggled, over the years, with letting a man get close. But I want that to change, if for no other reason than to stop Granddad from worrying – and hassling me. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, I know he means well and has been lonely since Gran died, but not all of us are meant to be half of a pair. At least that’s what I’ve always told myself. I know it’s true for some people, but deep down, in my core, if I’m honest, something’s missing.
Yet that could be because I’ve never been happy with who I am. Slowly, that’s changing, and learning to care for myself might get rid of that loneliness. That something missing might be self-love.
But trips to the cinema could be fun. Meals out. Walks in the park holding hands. So… I’m going speed-dating for the first time ever. My palms feel clammy just writing this. Everyone else there is bound to have had far more experience. They’ll know what to wear, what to say… how to breathe. At least the event I’ve found seems well organised, with participants split into different age categories.’
Dolly’s hands dropped. Anything but this. Flo almost choked on her cookie.
‘Although I could kill Granddad. He blurted it out to Steve over the garden fence, and now he’s keen to go too, said he’s put it in his diary seeing as it’s only a twenty-minute walk away. Steve’s great, but I don’t want him there, as it is I’ll feel self-conscious enough.
Monday 14th February. Dancing Daze, Lymhall. 7–9.30 p.m.’
The cookie fell from Flo’s fingers and, still coughing, she jumped up. She grabbed Dolly’s hands, swinging them from side to side.
‘Niiiice! What will you talk about? How will you decide who is a good match? I could come too and—’
‘No.’ Dolly slumped into a chair and groaned. ‘I can’t think of anything worse.’
Flo sat down too. ‘Try Guides.’
Dolly had been unlucky with romance since her world fell apart in 1975, and had always felt wary on the dates she’d half-heartedly agreed to. Like the time she had dinner with a colleague from work. Roy was sweet on her, everyone told her that, and he was pleasant enough but… not her Fred. And what if he’d let her down? That would have made her nine to five awkward. That was the trouble with trust being broken, the doubt stuck, like chewing gum in hair. Try as you might, you can’t get it all out.
The two of them pored over the February challenge. Dolly liked Phoebe’s honesty. She would never have admitted out loud, not to Greta, that sometimes she wished she had a partner, to once again fall asleep with her arms around a warm chest instead of a hot-water bottle, to wake up looking at a face that didn’t have a dorsal fin above it. This Phoebe seemed to share a similar longing, despite recognising that loving yourself was more important. Dolly had learnt that the hard way, back in the 1970s.
And yet, this last year, Dolly hadn’t cared for herself; she was beginning to see that now.
Dolly curved both forefingers and thumbs into circles and held them up to her face like binoculars. ‘Romantic notions aside, young Flo, we’ve been given a couple of clues. Detective hats on, please.’
Flo hesitated and then made binoculars herself, smiling.
When had Dolly last fooled around like this?
Flo studied the words again and her face lit up. ‘If this dating night is only twenty minutes away from her, Phoebe must live in Lymhall too.’
Dolly gave her a thumbs-up and typed ‘Phoebe Goodbody’ alongside ‘Lymhall’ into Google but no luck. At least she now knew the area where the case’s owner lived – that was a massive step forward. Dolly pointed to the word ‘Steve’. If she couldn’t find Phoebe at the speed-dating night, she might find him. However, Flo was hardly listening to this theory, already planning the practice the two of them would need to put in. One speed-date after school every afternoon: Flo would pretend to be a different man each day and then by Valentine’s Day…
Dolly did the maths. That was twenty-five different dates.
Whilst Flo chatted and started to think up characters, Dolly stared at a loose thread on the sleeve of her bobbled jumper. Since Greta died, the routine of doing nothing had held her hand through the worst of the grief that still popped up now and again. Opening that steamer trunk had been like finding the key to a door she’d kept shut this last year. She could close it again, but Maurice might suffer and Flo wouldn’t go to Guides – she’d miss the opportunity to make friends and would carry on arguing with her parents… Dolly thought back to the small moments, in recent months, when Flo had been by her side, without realising it, pulling Dolly through that difficult time. Now it was Dolly’s turn to support Flo, like she had when her young neighbour was a baby, a toddler and then a little girl, Dolly cleaning up grazed knees and wiping away tears, listening to stories about fallouts and sharing the hurt. That was the problem with caring, Greta would always say, one reason she insisted the single life was safer. However, this sense that she should help Flo had the opposite effect on Dolly; instead of feeling unsafe it gave her a solid, tangible purpose.
Flo stood up and took a bow. ‘I’m ready for the first date. I’m called Ed, I’ve got red hair and I play the guitar.’
‘I should date a man nearer my age.’
Flo wagged her finger. ‘Any man would be lucky to go out with you. You don’t worry about boring stuff like chores, and you listen when I talk. Not everyone does that. Did you know, insects have ears in all sorts of places? On wings in butterflies, antennae in mosquitoes, forelegs in crickets and tummies in grasshoppers. Mum and Dad must have them on the soles of their feet ’cos they rarely sit down and hardly hear what I’m saying.’ She sat on the floor. ‘You should borrow my latest book about chemical elements, it’s full of interesting stuff, like during kissing the brain releases this love hormone; it makes you attached to whatever you’ve got your lips on. We should all kiss the mirror at least once a day. Everyone might love themselves a bit more, then.’
