Page 30 of Lost Luggage
‘Dolly?’ he said.
‘Fred?’ she whispered back.
Phoebe’s jaw dropped. ‘Holy fuck.’
21
Dolly tried to keep down a cup of tea but rushed to the bathroom as soon as she got home. She retched into the toilet – the ham sandwich was spent. As the letterbox rapped, she wiped her mouth and washed her hands. She took a moment in the hallway before opening the door, her dry, salty cheeks pulled tight, eyes swollen. Flo and Leroy stared as Dolly explained that she wasn’t feeling too well and there was nothing much to report about meeting Phoebe, they’d simply chatted about the firsts, eaten, had coffee. Dolly suggested Flo went home, had tea and then popped back later to do more work on the Guide badge.
However, Flo remained on the doorstep and crossed her arms. ‘Friends tell each other everything. You must have a bit of gossip.’
‘We’ll come back later,’ said Leroy, gently, and went to steer Flo away.
Dolly paused and gestured for them to come in. They sat in their usual places in her lounge: Dolly on the sofa, Leroy in the armchair, Flo on the floor.
‘Did she tell you about any of the other challenges?’ asked Flo. ‘Did you arrange to meet again?’
‘Yes. One was filling in a gratitude journal for a month. And no, I had to leave quickly due to… this stomach upset.’
Leroy moved to the sofa and put an arm around Dolly. Flo left the room and came back, trying not to spill a tall glass of water. Dolly drank a few mouthfuls and Flo put it on the side table, next to the tea flask. She sat cross-legged on the floor again and looked up expectantly.
Dolly reached for Leroy’s other hand, on his lap. ‘He was there. He’s her granddad.’ Dolly’s voice wavered. ‘All this time he’s been living in Lymhall.’
Flo hugged her knees. ‘Who?’
Dolly’s breath hitched. ‘Fred.’
‘YourFred?’ Leroy let go of her hand and turned to face her. ‘The one who buggered off all those years ago?’
‘If you don’t mind, I can’t face talking about it at the moment. I need to…’
‘Digest it? It’s like when Dad eats garlic. It keeps him up all night but by the morning he’s fine.’ Flo stared for a few moments and then jumped up. ‘That quiz show’s on that you like. I don’t have to go back home until half-past five.’ Flo passed Leroy the remote control and sat the other side of Dolly, snuggling up like she used to, when she was a toddler.
Sitting in between them took Dolly back. It was that day after Fred proposed, in the afternoon, a Saturday, she’d done overtime at Hackshaw Haulage. That morning, when she’d rushed around to Greta’s, Dolly had been bursting with talk of Paris. Said the wedding wouldn’t be for a couple of years but they were going to have one last splurge before settling down to save. Dolly rang Greta again, later in the afternoon, but she’d only just got back, in a bad mood after her church meeting, said it had overrun and she had a headache. At six o’clock, wearing the lipstick Fred especially liked on her beaming mouth, Dolly had called at his flat for dinner, as arranged.
Dolly leaned into the memory and it filled her with emptiness. She could picture Fred’s landlord now, the tie-dye top and long hair. In between puffs of pot he’d explained Fred had moved out, packing as quickly as he could, a couple of hours before. He’d left no forwarding address and hadn’t even asked for his deposit back. The landlord didn’t think much of it, tenants came and went. As long as they paid their rent and didn’t mess up his salamander bathroom, he didn’t ask any questions. Fred had left behind his velvet-upholstered turquoise cocktail chair, and the smoked-glass coffee table he’d been so proud of. Turned out, he was moving far away from Manchester. There were no mobile phones back then. She had no way of contacting him. He’d grown up in children’s homes and had no known relatives. In floods of tears she’d visited Greta. Dolly had moved out of her sister’s place when she’d got her job, craving independence, loving a flatshare with women her own age. But suddenly Dolly felt so alone.
To her surprise, their mum had been making a rare visit. She didn’t look well. At the time Dolly and her sister hadn’t known she had cancer. Dolly told them about Fred and the three of them sat squashed on Greta’s small sofa, Dolly in the middle. It was the only memory she had of her mother holding her hand, as an adult, and wanting to know all the details.
‘Mark my words, Dorothy, you’re better off without men,’ she had said. ‘I’ve given up looking for Mr Right. Only ever found Mr Left. Left me once he’d had what he wanted. Left me if money got tight. Left me if a prettier, younger woman came along. Left me because he was scared of settling down. Your father was the worst.’ She and Greta had exchanged glances. They often did that.
That evening was the only time Dolly could remember her mother taking a close interest in her. She’d been such a vague presence throughout her childhood. Her mum said Dolly should move back in with her sister. Forget Fred, forget romance, forget naive ideas about marriage. Greta agreed and a couple of weeks later took Dolly on holiday to Margate. The sea breeze blew away any remaining doubts. Dolly’s new life would not be one of romance.
After the quiz show, Leroy and Flo left. Dolly sat on the sofa and stared at Maurice. An ugly expression had crossed Phoebe’s face when she’d heard Dolly only kept one goldfish. She didn’t understand how the relationship between Dolly and Maurice was special. He’d swim excitedly to and fro if she went near the tank’s lid, and if she ran her hand around the glass he’d often follow it. Yet seeing Fred again took Dolly back to the days of having a companion with lots in common. Someone who understood your wants and needs, your hopes and humour, the reason you liked mashed-up bananas on toast or didn’t mind losing at darts. Whereas Dolly would never understand why Maurice sometimes ate his poop, and likewise he’d dart to the bottom of his tank if she sneezed loudly, not understanding that noise wasn’t a threat.
With a shudder, she knelt by the tank.
‘I thought Greta and I were enough for you,’ her voice croaked. ‘But now I realise what you’ve been missing all these years. I’m sorry, little chap. How lonely you must have been, especially during hours in the dark.’ Those nights when she had laid alone in bed, wishing the other side of the mattress was occupied with comforting arms and soft words, with lips that erased problems of the real world, Maurice had probably been doing the same, floating in water that only moved if he did.
Tail swishing from side to side, he swam up to the glass. They stared at each other for several minutes, both with water in their eyes.
22
Dolly stood outside the bottle-green shopfront. She’d intended on visiting this morning but talked herself out of it. It was now half-past four, thirty minutes until the shop closed. A bell rang as she pushed the door. Dolly inhaled the smell of wood shavings and algae. The room was crammed with stacks of hay and sawdust, with colourful pet toys, food bowls, hamster cages, and leashes. To the left was a row of tropical aquariums with lights on, and the sound of bubbling water relaxed her. Each tank was home to a different type of fish. As she walked along she finally came to an unlit one at the end, home to several that looked like cold-water fish, like Maurice, except with large patches of white as well as the gold. A till drawer slammed shut behind her. Phoebe said she was in on Fridays. Dolly could have come on a different day. It was too late now.
Phoebe looked up as the other customer left. She came out from behind the counter. The weather was warmer today and Dolly had put on the berry-red jacket she used to wear for work.
‘I… didn’t know whether to text you,’ said Phoebe. ‘How are you doing? I had no idea… Granddad has hardly spoken since Wednesday.’
