Page 20 of Lost Luggage
So she pointed out a grey sofa, white shelving, a swish new drinks’ cabinet. Rugs that would suit the laminate flooring that Tony always went on about. Dolly mentioned swanky wall-fitted fires, with the simulated flames; Mark and Kaz had one. She’d forgotten what it felt like to have a project, like when they’d needed to adapt the bungalow to suit Greta’s arthritis. Dolly had ordered a handrail for outside the front door, bought the slip mat in the bath and had a grab bar fitted by the toilet.
Leroy stopped the trolley for a second, wrapped his arms around her and held Dolly tight. Greta, for all her disciplined ways and dislike of public displays of affection, also gave great hugs and would always be the last one to let go. Dolly had never doubted how much she was loved.
They walked through the artificial plant section and over to a selection of picture frames, Dolly happily inconspicuous amongst the hordes of people, until a woman in a sequinned baker cap raved to her about a picture of the Eiffel Tower. She and her husband had visited the year before. Had Phoebe gone there, after all? Over the years everyone else seemed to have visited apart from Dolly and Greta, for romantic weekends, on school trips or with their job. She’d still got an Eiffel Tower snow globe that one of the lorry drivers brought back. A friend of Fred’s had an apartment in Saint-Michel. Fred would have fitted in well, with his Yves Saint Laurent silk scarf and the seductive way he blew smoke rings. He’d suggested they go there to celebrate their engagement, a last splurge before saving for marriage and a home. Greta had taken the news of the trip almost worse than the engagement itself.
* * *
Mid-afternoon, Leroy yawned as she pulled up into her drive. She’d actually driven all the way there and back. He insisted a big lunch had made him tired, not the hoicking of flatpack shelves into the boot – he went to the gym every other day now, it couldn’t be that. Dolly wanted to say the size of his bill must have knocked him out, but that might be hypocritical considering all the bits she’d bought. It had surprised her how much she’d enjoyed selecting items, re-imagining her bungalow. Leroy clambered out and opened the boot, mentioning how he’d drive to the garden centre the next day to look for a new hallway mat. Dolly could come if she wanted.
‘I thought your car wouldn’t start?’ she said.
Mark shouted across from his drive, asking if they needed a hand, and Leroy hurried away to shake his hand. Flo came over, dragging her feet as the men walked past, unloading the boot. Mark offered to help him assemble the shelves. Dolly placed her two bags on the ground.
‘Off out anywhere nice?’
‘To do the big food shop,’ Flo muttered and pushed up her knitted bobble hat with a butterfly on the side. It had come out of one of the auctioned lost cases a few years ago and used to be too big. ‘When I get back Dad says I’ve got to start my Guides homework – that is, creating a cake, a dance or a song, to show to the other Bumble Bees what my brand is. How can I do that if I still don’t know what it is?’ Flo studied Dolly’s bags. ‘Where have you been? Have you spoken to that Steve?’
‘IKEA and no. We called into his pub, The Rising Sun, but he’s away for the week.’
Flo folded her arms. ‘So I have to go to Guides again without you doing another challenge?’
‘I for one am enjoying getting out on a Tuesday evening and taking you there.’
‘You couldn’t leave fast enough last week when you dropped me off. I get it. I don’t want to stay either.’
Flo wasn’t just a friend. She was like the extended family Dolly had never had. She hadn’t said anything, but when Flo had come out of the hall last week, amongst the other girls, and one of them picked up a glove Flo had dropped and gave it to her, with a big smile, for a second Flo looked… part of something. That was important.
Flo looked at the car and managed a smile. ‘You drove, Dolly. Now you’re unstoppable.’
Dolly looked at the Skoda.
Yes. Yes, she was.
What’s more, she wouldn’t let those cruel men at the speed-dating night hold her or Flo back. She wouldn’t leave Flo to flounder with her brand.
‘Sorry for being a baby,’ said Flo. ‘It’s not your fault, but I just feel our deal isn’t equal any more, with me still going to Guides whilst we wait for you to talk to that Steve. We haven’t even looked at the March challenge yet, just in case you have to do it.’
‘You’re right,’ said Dolly. ‘If your dad says it’s okay, how about you stop at mine instead of going to the supermarket? I couldn’t resist a bag of doughnuts from a baker’s in Lymhall. Come on, we’ll have a go at your Guides homework – together – and when that’s done…’ Dolly lifted her chin. ‘We’ll read the next page of this Phoebe’s notebook.’ It was still in her bedroom, in the bin that hadn’t been emptied.
Flo whooped, Mark gave his approval, and ten minutes later, the two of them were sunning themselves in Dolly’s conservatory. Flo opened her exercise book and bit on the end of her biro. She put both down on the basil green case.
‘This is hard,’ said Flo and bit into a doughnut. Jam squirted on to her chin. ‘Can we think about what your brand might be first, Dolly? I’m still struggling with mine.’
Flo wasn’t in the girls’ football team, didn’t go to dance classes or play the recorder. Her parents had made her try all of them and Dolly knew Flo couldn’t wait to drop out.
‘I haven’t got really strong beliefs either,’ said Flo. ‘Not like my parents, whose voices get really high when they talk about politics. Anushka, a girl in the Bumble Bees patrol – she’s also eleven – is brilliant at singing and won an award for writing. She goes to a private school in Lymhall and wears socks covered in music notes.’
As it turned out, Anushka was the girl who’d picked up Flo’s glove. Dolly had chatted very briefly to her mother about the weather.
‘Anushka’s brand is about being creative,’ Flo continued. ‘She wants to be a songwriter when she’s older. Megan – I haven’t spoken to her yet – she’s thirteen and looks after her sick mum and wants to be a nurse; her brand is about caring.’
With sugar-dusted fingers, Flo picked up her biro again. ‘My brand isn’t obvious like theirs, so let’s start with you, Dolly. Let’s light one of your scented candles; it might help.’ Flo pointed to the tiered plant stand in the corner. Dolly hadn’t lit a candle for over a year. Minutes later, fragrant lavender wafted their way. It was one of the few smells that reminded Dolly of her mother, who would dry wild lavender from the local park and tie it into little linen bags, to put in their underwear drawers.
With Greta around, Dolly’s brand had been clear-cut. They were two sisters who lived together, retired spinsters; they baked, gardened, went to church. They helped out with Flo, took part in local charity events. They were do-gooders, Dolly supposed. Reliable. Upstanding. But Greta’s death had buggered that brand, and thinking about their brand like that showed it had been more about her sister’s likes and beliefs. Where had the Dolly who went dancing and flirted, the one who wouldn’t tut at a dirty joke or getting drunk disappeared to? That Dolly had even tried cannabis. Routine and a comfort zone never used to be her best friends.
Yet… she’d felt happy living with Greta. Or, rather… content. Well, she hadn’t wanted for anything, at least.
‘Me, at the moment? I like convenience food but I’m trying to eat healthier. I’ve tidied up more, recently, than in the whole of the last year. I’m making the effort to go out more, taking you to Guides and shopping with Leroy. I’m going to change the lounge because… I like a project. Oh, and I still dream of going to Paris, even though I’ve never stepped foot in an airport.’
