Page 31 of Lost Luggage
‘No change there, then. He left without a word all those years back. But he’s not the reason I’m here.’
‘I’d not heard him be called Fred before. Gran called him Will.’
‘He once told me that he used to get called Wilfred by the staff when he was in care. Secretly he always wanted to have someone special in his life who’d care enough to shorten it.’ Dolly didn’t know why she was telling Phoebe this, as if Phoebe didn’t know her grandfather better than her. ‘I was a bit older than you when he disappeared. People got married younger in those days. I knew straight away he was the man I’d settle down with. Or thought I did.’
That was one reason she’d agreed with her mother and Greta, about giving up on romantic notions. Oh, most of the men she’d dated over the years were decent, but as well as the spark missing, something always held her back. Fred had proved how easy it was to make a mistake. Not a mistake like in maths where you simply got marked down, or a mistake with the wash where a white shirt might come out pink. Mistakes of the heart left an indelible mark that couldn’t be erased with a rubber or bleach. They made you question and doubt and hate yourself, even though the damage wasn’t your fault. That was why she’d woken up yesterday and decided the best option was to pretend seeing him in the pub had never happened. Leroy had come around last night with a bottle of wine and they hadn’t talked about Fred. She’d spent the day cleaning the kitchen; now it matched the lounge in terms of order and cleanliness. She needed another trip to IKEA, very much liking her new additions to the lounge, like the neat storage boxes, one for post and stationery, another for old magazines and cut-out coupons, and the cerise throw to cover her stained rose-pink sofa – and the artificial succulent plant that graced the windowsill and added life to the room. Last week, in Knutsmere, she’d bought a plastic-leaf fern for Maurice’s tank. The interior design of his home was no less important than hers. She couldn’t help smiling when he’d tried to eat it.
‘I’m here to find a friend for Maurice.’
Knutsmere pet shop didn’t sell livestock and Dolly didn’t fancy carrying a bag of water back on the train from Manchester. Plus she trusted that Phoebe would sell her a healthy fish. The last thing Maurice needed was to find a partner and then have it ripped away from him. Dolly knew how that felt. Nothing had amused her last year when she’d stayed inside fending off company, not even Maurice’s antics. That was the only thing worse than losing a loved one – losing your zest for life.
Losing yourself.
Had Maurice lost his way over the years, even though his surroundings hadn’t changed, swimming to and fro with only Dolly’s face and the beat of the Bee Gees for company? For a second she closed her eyes, unable to bear the sense that she’d let him down.
‘What made you decide?’ asked Phoebe, the tips of her ears reddening.
‘I realised a mermaid statue wasn’t enough company for him. Fish might not have the powers of make-believe, like children do with toys.’ Or like Dolly did with daydreams. The first years after Fred left she’d spent sleepless nights imagining their reunion. There’d be tears. Apologies. A fancy, candle-lit dinner. She’d never imagined a ham sandwich and a granddaughter. ‘Not that I think fish are unintelligent and as Flo pointed out, even if the mermaid were real, Maurice might have preferred a merman and…’
‘I don’t know about that… although I did read an interesting article once, about how less impressive, smaller males flirt with the bigger ones because that behaviour makes them more attractive to the opposite sex.’ She stood next to Dolly and pointed. ‘Do you think he’d like to meet any of these beauties?’
Dolly peered forward. ‘I like that one at the back, with the white underbelly. Can you tell if it’s a boy or girl?’
Phoebe’s face appeared right next to Dolly’s. ‘There are various ways of sexing goldfish. See the pectoral fins? The ones at the front. They’re a bit short and stubby. Whereas in males they are longer and thinner. What are Maurice’s like?’
Dolly stood up straight again. ‘Yes, his are slimmer.’
‘I think she’s a bit older than the others.’
That would suit him, then. Dolly asked what the best way of introducing her to the tank would be. She’d investigated online this morning and already knew she’d have to acclimatise her to the water temperature first by floating her plastic bag in the tank. What if Maurice attacked? He was a gentle soul but… well… Dolly wouldn’t appreciate a stranger suddenly turning up in her lounge. Dolly wanted to get it right.
Phoebe offered to help. No, she wasn’t going out, even though it was Friday night. So Phoebe held the goldfish bag whilst Dolly drove them to Pingate Loop in silence. Dolly made a brew and they floated the bag in the top of the tank, adding the tank’s water to it, bit by bit. Maurice darted to and fro underneath. There was a chance he might chase the new fish, or the other way around. It was a territorial thing.
‘Right,’ said Phoebe. ‘Do you want to do it? Tip the bag gently sideways so that she can swim out and then all we can do is watch out for signs of aggression.’
Palms sweaty, Dolly held the plastic. ‘There you go, Fanny.’ She held her breath as the white-and-gold fantail slid into the tank, before flapping her fins as she neared Maurice. He shot away and went downwards, towards his bridge, hovered for a second and then went back up. Talk about a face-off. However, their top fins were upright – Dolly always took that as a good sign. The two fish weren’t chasing each other or biting. In fact, they aligned side by side.
‘Do you think I’ve done the right thing?’ mumbled Dolly. ‘He is very set in his ways.’
‘Even titanium melts if the temperature is hot enough, and Fanny looks pretty hot to me.’
Phoebe and Dolly exchanged smiles.
‘The name suits her, by the way.’
‘Maurice is named after one of the Bee Gees, it’s his favourite band. “Fanny (Be Tender With My Love)” is one of their tracks.’
Fred hadn’t been tender with Dolly’s love. The letterbox rapped and provided a welcome distraction. Flo grinned hello, side-stepping as an evening breeze rocked her ginger ponytail.
‘I saw Phoebe,’ Flo hissed. ‘It’s her, right? Can I come in? Pleeease?’
Dolly opened the door wider and gave Flo a sharp look as she forgot to wipe her feet. Flo went back to the doormat, scraped her school shoes across them and then slipped them off. She lolloped into the lounge.
‘Isn’t Maurice handsome?’ said Flo and knelt on the carpet. ‘I especially love how he always…’ She gasped. ‘Who’s that?’
‘Flo, it’s Phoebe. She works in a pet shop.’
‘No, silly. In the tank.’ Flo pressed her nose against the glass. She turned to face Phoebe. ‘I’m Flo, Dolly’s best friend – apart from Leroy.’ She gave Dolly a pointed look. Dolly nodded. Flo gazed at Fanny, then Phoebe again, who left to use the bathroom. ‘All these new faces. Dolly, please can we invite Anushka too? I’ve told her how cool this place is, with the tree out the back, with your conservatory, with Maurice. Can I ask her around at the weekend to prepare for the final bit of our badge? Her mum says it’s okay if you agree. You have the best snacks.’
