Page 27 of Lost Luggage
‘Welcome to Guides, boring as office work,’ muttered Flo in a monotone voice, yet her eyes had lit up as she scribbled. With her teachers she talked about how, say, cockroaches were more like termites than beetles, how they were such survivors because their bodies could last for ages without food or water. She enjoyed talking to Mrs Johnson who knew loads about bugs, and agreed with Flo they shouldn’t be called creepy-crawlies, because insects weren’t scary and did a whole lot more than crawling. Flo put the end of the pen in her mouth, concluding that she communicated her brand in a more… grown-up way, with facts and figures, like how in its lifetime a ladybird would probably eat around five thousand insects. And Flo might show her teachers a picture she’d done.
‘I love flicking through your sketch book,’ said Dolly, ‘so that’s another way you communicate your brand, through drawing.’
‘What about with your mum and dad?’ asked Leroy as he sat down again.
Flo snorted. ‘I avoid talking about bugs with them. My parents hate insects because of their work; daddy long-legs especially freak my mum out. Dad goes mad if flies get into the kitchen, and he uses naughty words if they find a cockroach at one of the offices they’re cleaning. I’ve got nothing in common with my parents apart from an obsession with banana cake. But that makes sense because recently I worked out that they’ve been lying to me about something really big…’
‘Go on,’ said Dolly gently.
Flo paused then rolled her lips together.
Flo used to keep secrets when she was younger, too, like when she was five she went through a phase of hiding objects such as the TV remote control. Dolly and Greta cottoned on it was because she enjoyed pretending to help them look for it, so they’d play along whilst she giggled. However, Dolly had a feeling that this latest secret was something much more significant.
‘You’ve never shared your expert knowledge about insects with your mum and dad?’ Leroy asked.
‘What’s the point?’
‘Open up to them a bit, love… as if you are speaking to your teacher, then they might understand it’s a serious interest,’ said Dolly. Her phone buzzed and she reached into her coat pocket. Her pulse quickened as she showed the message to Flo. ‘Well I never, Wednesday’s lunch is on.’ Dolly had so many questions after meeting Phoebe. Why was a martial arts day so challenging forsomeone like her? And parts of the notebook didn’t make sense since finding out Phoebe was so young, like how could some of her friends have already passed? ‘If I’m brave enough to face this Phoebe again, missy, you’ve got what it takes to dazzle your parents with insect facts.’
20
Steve winked across from the bar and Dolly tentatively raised her glass of wine, surrounded by chatting voices and the bustle of food being brought out of the kitchen. The pub suited Steve, with its welcome sign over the entrance, the shelves of board games, the cheerful music playing in the background. It had a brickwork interior with hanging artificial ivy, a wooden floor and solid rectangular tables. It was down-to-earth, practical, despite its high-end bistro feel. Dolly had slipped into a newly washed polka-dot jumper and slacks free from stains. Also, she’d come straight from the hairdresser’s – her salt-and-pepper roots were blonde again. The split ends had been cut away, the layers spruced up. Dolly had forgotten how a good hair day could lift spirits. Greta had sworn by a shampoo and set, every week, and when she walked out of the salon, for a few seconds, she looked more like the Greta from Dolly’s childhood. Dolly had said as much to her stylist this morning, the one she’d ignored in the park a while back.
Steve pushed a drink that looked like lemonade towards Phoebe, who picked up a menu and strode over. Dolly reached down, under the table, to her rucksack and checked she’d brought her tea flask.
‘We’d better choose from the snack menu, it’ll be quicker. My boss is tight about breaks and will kick up a fuss if I’m a minute late.’ Phoebe brushed strands of hair out of her face, sat down and took off her sporty fleece revealing a dark green shirt with a logo that readLymhall Pets. Dolly ordered a three-cheese platter with baguette on the side, then changed it to a wholemeal ham salad sandwich. Phoebe did the same but in reverse.
Looking flustered, Steve came over, promising to put their order through as quickly as possible. Two members of staff had handed their notice in yesterday, so he was short-staffed. Graduates, both of them. He was pleased they’d found the jobs of their dreams, but it had taken Steve long enough to find them. Getting new staff was harder than ever. He suggested Phoebe might prefer to work with humans.
‘They’re too undomesticated for me, sorry,’ said Phoebe, and she downed half her drink.
‘Busy morning?’ asked Dolly.
‘Nothing I’m not used to,’ she said, without making eye contact. ‘A stock delivery – compressed hay, dog and cat food… and this afternoon we’ve got new fish tanks arriving.’
‘You sell actual pets?’
‘Only fish. For everything else we direct customers to animal shelters. How many have you got?’
‘Only Maurice.’
Phoebe met Dolly’s gaze. ‘On his own?’
‘No, he’s got me. So… you live with your granddad?’ Dolly asked swiftly.
She folded her arms. ‘What of it?’
‘Nothing. I lived with my sister my whole life. Family’s important.’
The lines between Phoebe’s arched eyebrows softened. ‘I dropped out of university a couple of years ago, when my second year ended in the June. I spent almost twelve months after that… dealing with stuff. I mean… I had some therapy,’ she mumbled.
Then Phoebe began her year of firsts at the end of last spring, in the May. She talked about university loans and how her granddad had helped with costs. As she started to get better, thanks to the counselling, Phoebe wanted to start earning and got her part-time position. Now she worked Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays.
Dolly tried to read Phoebe’s appearance – she looked so healthy, so together. But then, many people suffered from invisible illnesses. Perhaps she was depressed or something had happened to give her post-traumatic stress.
‘Have you lived in Lymhall long?’ Dolly asked.
‘Granddad and Gran moved here when they got married.’
