Page 39 of Lost Luggage
The old Fred didn’t cook much and used to prefer meals that sounded more cosmopolitan like chicken Kyiv or tikka masala, or Black Forest gâteau, dishes that nowadays were considered thoroughly British. She followed them along the hallway and into the living room, reassured by the homely cooking smell. Dolly expected to see a level of luxury she could never afford, with studded chaises longues, Jacquard wallpaper, heavy swag curtains, panelled walls…
Oh.
The sofa by the front window looked comfortable, in fact sunken in the middle. There was a teak, electronic ignition gas fire – she hadn’t seen one of those for years – with… a tabby cat stretched out in front of it? Bookshelves were cluttered with political and sporting memoirs, a guide to vintage cameras, and many well-thumbed novels. Framed photos, too, and an old-fashioned carriage clock. The television looked top of the range, with a gaming box and two consoles near it on the floor, plus she spotted an Alexa device on a glass table – all reflections of the man she used to know.
Phoebe directed her to the sofa; Fred sat down in an armchair and ran a hand through his thinning grey hair. He took off his large slate framed glasses, so different to his old round, John Lennon ones. He rubbed his eyes and put them back on, jigging them from side to side as he did. Perhaps some things never changed.
‘Wine, Dolly?’ asked Phoebe.
‘Better not as I’m driving. Any soft drink will do. Thanks, love.’ She fiddled with the citrine crystal bracelet around her wrist.
‘Where are my manners… Can I take your jacket?’ Fred went to get up.
A flicker of heat tickled her insides. He never used to be so polite when it came to removing clothes, undoing buttons and zips with ease. Not nearly quickly enough, she’d jokingly complain, in between kisses.
‘You said Greta threatened you…’
Hand through that hair again. ‘Why don’t we enjoy dinner before we talk about that?’
Phoebe came in and passed her a lemonade. ‘I’m dishing up. I thought we’d eat in the kitchen.’
Dolly shot her a grateful look as she left and then turned back to Fred. ‘Enjoy?You assume I’m pleased to see you again.’
He went over to the cat and ruffled its underbelly. ‘No Dolly. I’m simply trying to make this less of an ordeal, for both of us.’
She followed him into the kitchen – sleek and white, with digital displays flashing in all corners, on the cooker, microwave, the fancy American fridge-freezer, on the coffee machine, the scales, a Bluetooth player on the windowsill. In an instant she was closer again to the old Fred – until she looked outside at the garden. It had well-maintained borders with a wildflower patch in one corner. A fence at the bottom separated it from an overgrown field behind. A stroll in town, around Cathedral Gardens, was as near as he used to get to nature, back in the 1970s. As for a cat, shedding hairs on his furniture, he often used to shoo away the landlord’s. Although he’d get angry when the lad in the flat next door blew pot smoke into its face for a laugh.
Dolly must have changed too, even if she was still a foodie, still liked flicking through magazines and soul music. She no longer wore jumpsuits and maxis, nor coats with fringed edges; she’d got over her crush on Kojak. She sat down at the kitchen table, bigger than her dining-room one, and helped herself to cottage pie, being careful not to watch Phoebe eat, not wanting to make her friend self-conscious. The three of them talked about the weather, climate change, Middle Eastern politics, how back in the 1970s the issues were the Vietnam War, the Troubles in Northern Ireland and gay liberation.
‘Decimal Day was in 1971,’ said Fred.
‘D Day, as Greta called it. She supported the Save Our Sixpence campaign. She was furious when the milkman had trouble converting prices and rounded up the cost of a pint, and then when the local payphone jammed with the new coins.’
‘Didn’t the UK join the European Union in the early seventies?’ asked Phoebe.
Fred nodded. Was he pro Brexit or against? What did he think to the current government? Or immigration? Inclusivity? Would he consider the modern world too woke or be worried about far-right nationalism? He and Dolly used to be like the hung parliament that resulted from the February 1974 general election between Heath and Wilson – neither of them would win when it came to an argument about politics. They both had strong views but respected each other’s right to embrace different beliefs, as did most of their friends. These days, society felt so polarised.
‘Arctic roll for dessert?’ asked Fred, and he gave a tentative smile.
Dolly wiped her mouth and stood up, chair legs scratching against the natural stone flooring. ‘Sorry, Phoebe. This was a bad idea.’ She stalked into the hallway and put her hand on the front door handle.
‘Wait… Dolly…’
She turned around.
Fred threw his hands in the air. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know how to handle this.’
‘You expect me to be charmed that you’ve bought in a dessert we used to love all those years ago, when I had dreams of a shiny future? You think a sponge roll will make me forget how you upped and left? And how dare you blameyouletting me down onmysister?’
‘No, I don’t. Everything was my fault. Hear me out, then I’ll never contact you again.’
Dolly filled with a gush of emptiness. ‘There you go again – you think the answer is to drop a bombshell and then disappear, leaving me to pick up the pieces, like before?’
‘Please, Dolly.’
Phoebe hovered in the kitchen doorway, twisting a tea towel. Fred disappeared into the lounge. Phoebe beckoned to Dolly and the two of them went into the kitchen. They stood by the window. She explained that her granddad had never been that good with words. Like when her gran tried a fancy duck recipe once. It didn’t look the best and he asked if it was something the cat had turned down. He was mortified when she put his in the bin, couldn’t apologise enough – he’d meant to be funny.
‘That rings true,’ said Dolly. ‘I had a yellow floral mini dress when we were together. The first time I wore it Fred said it showed off my huge bottom. He didn’t understand why I was upset as he loved my curves.’
