Page 24 of Lost Luggage
‘You could always make your own list of firsts,’ said Flo, hopefully.
‘I wouldn’t know where to begin,’ muttered Dolly.
‘Suppose. Oh well. That’s our deal over with. Can you tell my parents?’
Dolly gazed at Maurice, who was swimming around his mermaid ornament, and at the lounge, more homely without stale food smells. Leroy might be right. Maybe Phoebe was in a bad place, today. Goodness knows Dolly could relate to that – and how creepy to have a complete stranger track you down and talk about things you thought were private; she could see that now. What’s more, it was clear from the notebook’s March entry that Phoebe hadn’t been looking forward to the swim in any case. Dolly smoothed down her hair and sealed the top of the biscuit packet. Flexing her toes, she stared at her friends. Friends who’d needed her support but instead had done their best, for months, to cheerherup.
‘So, you’re happy with the changes you’ve made to your lounge so far?’ Dolly asked Leroy.
He nodded and beamed. ‘The light, airy decor of Winston’s beachfront rentals gave me ideas on how to place furniture and make the room look spacious. And this is just the beginning. No more moping. Action instead of navel-gazing. Pining for Tony was never going to win him back. My new diet and gym workouts are going to prove I’m still vital and interesting.’
‘Who’d want to gaze at their navel?’ asked Flo and she pulled a face. ‘Belly buttons are full of fluff and bacteria.’
‘Agreed,’ he said. ‘From now on, eyes forward.’
‘It sounds like you’re taking on one big first instead of lots of smaller ones like Phoebe,’ said Flo to Leroy.
Dolly tilted her head and thought for a moment. ‘Me too. I’m going to continue tidying this place. Tomorrow I’ll put out the knick-knacks I bought for this room. I’ll carry on eating more healthily. I used to love swimming with Greta – I’ll try going every Sunday, as a starting point.’ Dolly sat upright and plumped a cushion next to her. ‘How about you carry on going to Guides, to be fair to Gill who’s given you those extra weeks to decide about your Promise, Flo, and I’ll do all these things, and I’ll continue to walk you there every week?’
‘Not really the same, though, is it?’ Flo screwed up her face. ‘I know! What if you do the Personal Brand badge with me? For the first part I’m cooking those caterpillar biscuits at yours, to take in this Tuesday – I think you should bake something forself-discovery. Then, for the next part of the badge we’ll have to…’
Dolly reached out with her little finger.
18
For the third time, Dolly reached the other side of the pool, the shallow end, and stretched out her arms. She held on to the edge and bent her knees, her whole body looser than it had been for months. She turned around and a mum threw her toddler up into the air, catching the little boy as he squealed with delight. One of the rare, clear memories Dolly had of her own mother was when she’d taken her and Greta to Manchester’s Victoria Baths. Usually the two sisters would go without her once a week – they didn’t have a bath at home, and had continued the ritual for a while, even after Dolly and Greta moved out. The pool’s baths were on the balcony, above the second-class men’s swimming area. You’d get a free cup of tea and bar of soap. But this one time their mother also came, in between her two cleaning jobs’ shifts. Laughing loudly, the three of them splashed each other. As she relaxed, the years fell off their mother like drops of water.
Dolly glanced at the large clock up on the white-tiled wall. Half an hour’s breaststroke was quite enough. This afternoon she and Flo were due to discuss the next stage of the Personal Brand badge. Leroy had invited them over; he’d baked a cake and wanted to show off his revamped lounge. Flo’s green caterpillar biscuits had gone down a treat at Guides last week and she’d given Dolly a cupcake made by Anushka, with musical notes piped on the top. Dolly had also baked biscuits, in the shape of a magnifying glass to represent self-discovery. She’d chosen a recipe using oats and raisins. Flo said they tasted like breakfast and had taken two for her parents. Despite his extravagant ways, Fred used to love plain biscuits. But Dolly wouldn’t think about him.
She crouched down to push off the side when… her eyes narrowed as a woman came out of the changing rooms. The woman unwrapped a large towel and placed it on the bench, near Dolly’s flip-flops, before hurrying into the water. Wishing water wasn’t transparent, Dolly ducked down lower. Next week she’d come at a different time, Saturday, even. The March challenge must have been to swim every Sunday. At least Dolly had finished and could get out once Phoebe started her front crawl. Except the young woman fixed her eyes on Dolly and then headed in her direction. She swam the last few metres underwater and popped up next to Dolly, remaining submerged in the water, up to her shoulders, blinking.
Don’t say anything. Wait for her to talk.‘I bought your case at a lost luggage auction.’
‘What?’
‘It’s held once a month in the Northern Quarter. People bid on lost cases the airport passes on. If you don’t believe me—’
‘I do. It makes perfect sense why someone like you… Granddad said there’d be a logical explanation. So did Steve.’ Phoebe exhaled. ‘How much, out of interest?’
‘How much, what?’
‘Did you pay for my case?’
‘Forty pounds.’
Phoebe let out a low whistle. ‘You could have sold my Zadorin coat. Or the ring. Made a massive profit.’
‘Some things are more important than money.’
‘Agreed. Like manners.’
‘My sister always used to say that. I am sorry if I came across as nosy, you see—’
‘No. I’m sorry,’ Phoebe said stiffly. ‘I was dead rude the other day.’
Dolly tipped her head to one side. ‘Oh. Right. I haven’t read the whole notebook, you know. Just challenge by challenge since January, hoping each month that I’d find you. Apart from the first Paris one. I read that when I was trying to work out what the notebook was.’
Phoebe fiddled with the end of one of her plaits. ‘If it was me I’d have sold the coat and read the whole thing straight off.’ A toddler floated past on an inflatable turtle. ‘Have you thrown away everything else?’
