Page 21 of Lost Luggage
Flo listed everything and stared at the page, whilst Dolly fetched her another squash.
‘I think I’ve worked out your brand. It’s kind of… self-improvement. Like the influencers on YouTube who try to get fitter, try to dance quicker, one girl organises and tidies all of her friends’ bedrooms…’
‘I need improving? I guess that’s true. I have let things get on top of me since—’
‘No! You’re great as you are. You don’t tell me off for bringing in caterpillars and don’t mind if I’m moody. What I really mean is… you are trying new things. You want stuff to change. So your brand is about… finding yourself?’
‘Self-discovery… I like that.’
‘You’re like this YouTuber, Try Anything Tracy, one of my favourites. She says we should spend our teens doing as many different things as we can, to find out who we want to be.’ She hugged her knees. ‘Don’t tell Mum and Dad, but she’s the only reason I used to agree to try all those school activities.’
‘If this Tracy inspires you so much, why did you hold off agreeing to go to Guides?’
‘Because I’m fed up of Mum and Dad suggesting activities that are more like their sort of interests, not mine,’ Flo mumbled. ‘I don’t want to talk about that any more. It’s to do with my secret and something Mum and Dad did when I was born.’
What a cryptic comment. Dolly wanted to ask more but didn’t want to push as Flo had closed the subject down.
‘Your turn next, then, sweetheart. What do you think your brand could be?’
‘Gill says, if we’re stuck, to think about what would be missing if we weren’t here. Mum and Dad would say bookmarks in random places and grass-stained trousers.’ She rolled her eyes.
‘I think that’s actually a great start – you love reading.’
‘Doesn’t everyone?’
‘Not me, and your reading interests are quite specific, to do with nature and science.’
‘True. The other kids in my class like made-up stories about wizards or gangs.’
‘As for dirty trousers – that’s because you love exploring outside. Flo, I think your brand is about learning. You’ve really been bitten by the bug – literally – when it comes to studying insects. In fact, an insect could be your brand’s symbol.’
Flo’s face lit up. ‘I could bake a cake in the shape of… a butterfly!’
‘Or make iced biscuits. I can help.’
Flo lunged forwards and locked her arms around Dolly’s neck.
Gently Dolly pushed her away, belly-laughing. ‘Right. Let’s get Phoebe’s notebook.’
16
Dolly closed the door of the changing-room cubicle. It was Sunday lunchtime; morning swimming lessons for children were over. The clinical smell of chlorine suited Dolly who was on a mission. She placed her rucksack on the small bench and unzipped it. One bare foot did its best to grip the wet floor as she undressed and tugged on the threadbare navy one-piece she’d found at the bottom of her wardrobe after Flo had gone home yesterday.
March.
Go swimming. Lymhall Pool is only a short walk away. Sunday lunchtimes are supposed to be less busy. Maisie’s seen beautiful coastlines across the world, whilst eating jellyfish in Vietnam and whale watching in Alaska, but reckons it’s just as satisfying seeing people having fun in the local baths.
Fun? In water? Strangers in close proximity? Dodging collisions wearing an uncomfortable costume?
I’d rather eat jellyfish.
So Phoebe wasn’t a confident or keen swimmer; perhaps this challenge was simply to broaden her life skills. Maybe, like Fred, she had a fear of water. He and Dolly had gone to Blackpool beach once and he’d waded in up to his waist, refusing to go further, even when she’d splashed him. He’d got his own back by hiding her towel when she got out; his silly streak couldn’t resist. She’d chased him up and down the beach and tripped over. He’d given her a piggyback to the promenade and bought her the biggest ice cream slathered in syrups and sprinkles.
A grin spread across her face, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. Why had he crept into her mind again? Had done, since Greta passed. Was it because her sister had banned all talk about him long ago, calling him a bad ’un? It was as if her death had given Dolly permission to think back to the only time she’d fallen in love.
This first was the easiest for Dolly so far. Just as well. She might have to go for the rest of the Sundays in the month; Phoebe hadn’t specified exactly which date she’d go to the pool. Dolly used to visit it with Greta – swimming was supposed to be good for arthritis. But in the latter years her sister was often too stiff to go and dearly missed it.
As she stuffed her clothes into the rucksack, on top of the Zadorin gilet, notebook, bracelet and vintage ring, Dolly caught sight of her reflection. It had been such a long time since she’d looked at her body out of joggers and baggy jumpers. She used to take more interest in her appearance but that had waned over the decades, especially after the change. When her hormones disappeared so did the remnants of her wanting to look vital.What’s the point?a voice in her head would ask.This is how life is now – a quiet retirement, living with my sister. Oh, she enjoyed looking tidy; she’d iron clothes and appreciated a smart but practical jacket that blocked out the northern gusts. She’d put on her Sunday best for church, not that she was the most fervent a believer, but it was courteous to her sister. It was only when she listened to her favourite Bee Gees that she’d experience a twinge of wanting the outside to reflect the inner Dolly who imagined John Travolta standing opposite, hips swivelling as she copied his moves in a cropped top and flared trousers.
