Page 17 of Lost Luggage
‘In the future I’m only going to events where you register online first – let someone else weed out the—’
Dolly gulped and pushed her way past, into the reception area. She tripped and banged into the doors. They flew open and she staggered on to the pavement. A hand took hold of her shoulder and she turned around to face a man in his fifties, with greying stubble, wearing a Hawaiian shirt. His expression reflected her hurt.
‘You all right, love?’
Dolly couldn’t speak. A sharp pain resonated through her chest.
‘I heard those arseholes – ’scuse the language.’ His face flushed. ‘You ignore them. Losers, the lot of them. I know their type, they won’t have got a single match between them. The size of their houses reflects the size of their egos, and the space between their ears. If you want a decent night out in a pub, head down the road to the Rising Sun. I’m the landlord. Steve. There’s a glass of something nice in there with your name on it, anytime.’
Hardly listening, she muttered her thanks, hurried blindly to the station and somehow got back to Pingate Loop. As she walked into the bungalow her phone rang; she took it out of her pocket. She hoped Flo hadn’t run off again. A video call from Leroy? She pressed the screen to end the call but accidentally accepted it.
‘Greetings,’ he said and grinned. ‘How’s my favourite neighbour and did she meet Mr Right tonight? I couldn’t wait a minute longer to find out.’
‘Not now, Leroy.’ She gave a big gulp. ‘Let’s talk tomorrow.’ She shoved the phone back into her pocket. She went into the lounge and collapsed on the sofa in the dark. That was it. No more year of firsts. She’d throw the notebook out tomorrow. If Flo gave up Guides, so be it. The doorbell rang, followed by knocking. Dolly put her fingers in her ears but it didn’t go away. Nor did the comments those men made; they kept going around in her head. She got up, went to the front door and opened it a few inches.
‘Surprise! Happy Valentine’s Day!’
Dolly let out a sob and fell into Leroy’s arms.
13
Leroy took his arm away from around Dolly’s shoulders and led her back into the lounge. He turned on the lights, strode over to the window and drew the curtains.
‘If I jump in the car now, I can get to that bar in no time. I bet those idiots are still drinking and—’
‘Leave it, Leroy,’ said Dolly, and she sniffed.
Greta always said knights in shining armour didn’t exist, and after the way Fred hurt Dolly all those years ago, she had to agree. In fact, the shinier the armour, the more suspicious, her sister believed. In Greta’s opinion, Fred was too flash for his own good, with his bright kipper ties and exaggerated lapels, as if wearing fashionable clothes and buying fancy gifts like bottles of Rive Gauche was a crime. The Bell women had never needed anyone else to fight their battles. When Dolly was little, more vulnerable, it was Greta who’d looked out for her. Their mum was always busy holding down several jobs and her lovers didn’t stay around long enough to care, including Dolly’s dad and Greta’s as well. Mum put her children first, Dolly could see that now. She’d always had a smart school uniform; Mum used to get her own clothes from jumble sales. Her own parents had thrown her out when she got pregnant at sixteen. Dolly never met her grandparents and her mum only spoke about Dolly’s dad once, saying that he was worst kind of lowlife. Dolly’s mum may not have won all her battles but defeat didn’t mean she rolled over.
‘Will you answer a question honestly, Leroy?’ They sat down on the sofa and she wrung her hands. ‘Do I smell?’
‘Dolly! No, of course not,’ he said quickly.
She suffered a hot flush as if she were two decades younger. His tone, the torn look on his face, it reminded her of Greta when, in 1975, Dolly asked if she thought Fred would ever return.
‘Please… you’re the one person I trust to tell me the truth.’ Apart from Flo, but Dolly wasn’t brave enough to ask her view. Yet it was one reason she was so fond of her young neighbour: she spoke and acted from the heart. It was going to be hard telling her that Dolly had thrown the lost luggage notebook in the bin. Greta had been right. Tracking down a lost case’s owner was a dangerous business.
He took Dolly’s hands and squeezed. ‘Gal, if you showered every day, laundered your clothes more often, and put rubbish in the bin instead of on the carpet, you’d take on each day with extra gusto. It’s like Maurice – he’s kept perky, hasn’t he, because you’ve kept on top of cleaning his tank? But you know all this, my love, and when the time’s right, you’ll act. It doesn’t change how the people who matter care for you.’
Dolly couldn’t look at Leroy until he talked about how much affection everyone had for her – him, Flo and her parents, people he’d bumped into over the last year, like Rosie from the mini supermarket, that dental receptionist with the pierced tongue and the dog owner who used to walk around Pingate Loop before his red Labrador snuffed it. For a moment Dolly’s life grew bigger, friendlier.
‘You should have seen my place those first few weeks after Tony left. I even stopped organising my food tins in alphabetical order.’
‘It’s not funny, Leroy.’
‘Agreed,’ he continued. ‘I knew things had to change when I went out in underwear that didn’t match my socks.’
She punched his arm.
‘That’s more like my Dolly.’ He wiped a tear from her cheek. ‘Now could be the time for you to make a few changes, this speed-dating night prompting you, like my Caribbean trip has me.’
‘Yes, how come you’re back? Jamaica looked wonderful.’
He leant back into the sofa. ‘After several weeks of pristine beaches, blazing sunshine, beautiful sunsets, I need to get a grip on reality again. I’m glad I went, getting to know family, and as for the spices, the colours, the salty sea breeze – it’s really lifted my spirits. It’s made me feel young again, Dolly, and I hope, one day, Winston might visit Manchester. Clubbing in Jamaica, meeting all those new people, experiencing things I’ve never done before – it got me thinking…’
‘That it’s time to move on?’
‘Exactly,’ he said.
