Page 38 of Lost Luggage
‘Granddad grew up in a children’s home with no one and hated it. At least I had family. How could I complain?’ Her cheeks flushed. ‘I can’t believe I’m telling you all this. No one knows this much about my eating apart from Susan and Maisie. I really miss Maisie. She used to really listen and made me laugh.’
‘Is she a friend from university?’
‘No. The library.’
‘Greta loved reading too and would go to the library in Stockport in Wellington Road. I could never see the appeal of having a head in a book myself. But she made a friend, too. Harry, he was called. I met him once.’ Greta’s arthritis had been especially bad that day, so Dolly drove her in. Whilst Greta checked out her books, Harry asked Dolly if she thought her sister would appreciate being asked out. Dolly said to go for it, Greta often spoke about Harry and he seemed like such a nice man. But a few weeks later she stopped talking about him and changed the day she went to the library.
‘It’s an impressive building, I think people from all over the region visit it. Libraries are great places for making friends, even though you aren’t supposed to talk, you’ve got common ground before you even open your mouth. Maisie was… special. That year I was at home, having treatment, we’d meet up and go for a coffee, in between her trips abroad. She’s travelled the world. I loved listening to her stories. One reason I wanted to go to Paris was because she spoke of its amazing bookshops.’
‘She must be very proud of how you’ve done.’
‘I don’t know. We lost touch a while back.’ Her mouth drooped. ‘As I’m not on socials, she couldn’t have found me and we never exchanged phone numbers. I don’t even know her surname. So stupid. But, then, life happens. I left uni with no warning, didn’t contact any friends from there for ages, I couldn’t face explaining. I’m hoping she’ll reach out again when she’s able. The librarian got to know us both and I’ve asked her to pass on my contact details when Maisie comes back.’
Dolly gave Phoebe a hug. She’d never forgotten, one of the drivers where she worked, Phil… they were good friends. He came in, in a bit of state one morning, in the early nineties. Princess Diana had talked publicly about her bulimia the day before. It inspired his daughter to open up. Phil and his wife were trying to understand. Their daughter had been vomiting up food for months.
Phoebe said she’d always tried hard to hide her problems from her granddad, but he used to notice that suddenly all the biscuits were missing, or how anxious she was about going out. He offered to pay for private counselling, if that was quicker; said he’d support her whatever she decided about going back to university.
Fred always had been supportive – when Dolly had been given a rough ride by a customer at work, had scratched her car or argued with Greta.
‘I miss Gran. Every day. For as long as I can remember we’d talk about books together. She made the best rice pudding and always made time for me. Gran just seemed to know when something was wrong, if a friend had been mean at school or I’d got a bad mark and was feeling down. Now my best friends are all away at college. Granddad, Susan and Maisie, they’ve been my rocks. Granddad letting me talking things through, even if he didn’t always know what to say. Susan’s mindset advice and Maisie’s idea to create the year of firsts. She helped me think up all twelve. I was supposed to start them the January before last, six months into leaving university and having counselling, but Christmas was a nightmare food-wise and set me back. In retrospect six months of therapy wasn’t enough. So I delayed starting it until May, throwing myself in the deep end with a trip to Paris.’
‘Maisie sounds like a wonderful friend.’
Phoebe believed a sense of sadness had drawn them together – Phoebe with her eating issues, Maisie with her past. She’d endured difficult times as a young woman, but said having children made that better. Phoebe reckoned the travelling might have been a distraction from painful memories for Maisie, in the same way that the bingeing was for Phoebe. For whatever reason, they clicked straight away.
‘Maisie has her quirks, like we all do. I lost my library card once, one of the last times I saw her. Maisie said she was always forgetting where she put things, so really important documents she kept hidden… now what was it… in an object that looked happy on the outside but was really sad.’
‘What did that mean?’
‘No idea. She teased, enjoying trying to get me to guess, and then I suddenly found my card and the moment passed.’ Phoebe sat up and eased the yellow crystal bracelet off her wrist. She took Dolly’s hand and pushed it over Dolly’s fingers. ‘I want you to have this. It’s helped me. I want to pass that on. I got it from Afflecks in town, from a crystal stall there. I could take you, if you want.’
‘I’d like that very much.’ Dolly held her arm in the air. The lumps of citrine burned brightly as light hit them. They might help her like they’d helped Phoebe. This past year Dolly had dived into loneliness and binged on it. Avoiding everyone else had offered huge comfort, an escape from reality and the need to build a future without Greta.
‘So… why were you so upset, outside, just now, Dolly? I’ve talked enough.’
‘I bumped into an old… acquaintance of Greta’s today, Edith…’ Her face crumpled and she covered her eyes with her hands, a sob catching her unawares. She told Phoebe how she now believed Fred’s explanation that he left without warning, all those years ago, because her sister threatened him, said he needed to call off the engagement and leave. Edith said Greta was worried about a holiday… that must have been Dolly and Fred’s imminent trip to Paris.
Dolly shook her head. ‘I could always tell if Fred was planning a surprise or had bought me a gift, he’d get this silly grin on his face – he was useless at keeping secrets. Or so I thought. Whatever my sister knew about him, it must have been one hell of a dark secret for him to hide it so well.’
Phoebe’s body stiffened.
‘You don’t seem surprised by me thinking that? Phoebe?’
‘I can make a guess. There are things about Granddad that… might surprise you. But it’s not my place to say. You need to talk to him. For both your sakes. Come around to our house, Dolly. I’ll make food. I’ll be there if it all gets too much. How about tomorrow night?’
27
The next evening Dolly and Leroy each stood on their own drive, suited and booted, Greta would have said. Dolly in her red jacket, checked trousers and polished shoes. Fred wasn’t a friend, not any more; this meeting was formal. Having not slept well again, she rubbed the back of her neck. Emotional ill health was easier to spot as she aged and left its mark physically. Looking back over the last year she’d ignored the signs, the stiff joints, waves of nausea, the chest pains, the constant tiredness. Leroy was off to Spinningfields to meet Tony, wearing his leather jacket and more than a splash of aftershave. Old Spice used to be his signature scent – nostalgic, reliable, an agreeable fragrance. His new one’s grapefruit notes smelt acrid.
Dolly took out her car keys. ‘Sure you don’t want a lift to the station?’
‘I could do with the exercise. A six-pack won’t create itself.’ He patted his belly before striding over to give her a hug. He stepped back and took her by the shoulders. ‘Don’t let anything you hear tonight knock you off course, gal.’
‘And don’t you let Tony mess you around,’ she said and gave him a beady look. He rolled his eyes, kissed her on the cheek and, humming, headed off. Dolly drove around Knutsmere several times before taking the road to Lymhall. The satnav directed her to a cul-de-sac, not far from the village centre, and a large detached house with a fancy bird bath in the front garden. Black metal rails ran across the front border, with gold painted spikes. Fred always had coveted the high life. He’d dreamt of owning a Ferrari and a second home in Spain.
She pulled up the handbrake, turned off the engine and checked herself in the mirror. She hadn’t bothered putting on make-up, apart from a cursory slash of pink across her lips. The curtains twitched. As she approached the oak door Phoebe opened it. Fred stood behind in a nondescript jumper and grey slacks. Dolly wiped her hands on her trousers.
‘I’ve made cottage pie. Hope that’s all right,’ he said.
