Page 45 of Lost Luggage
‘I’m here early to give you this…’ Dolly slid a bag across the bar. Flo stood on tiptoe as Steve looked inside. She’d helped Dolly ice it.
‘Cake, candles…’ Steve looked up.
‘For our friend Leroy. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if…’ She pulled out decorations.
‘Go for it,’ he said. A woman stood tapping her long nails on the bar’s natural wooden counter. Steve shot her a tight smile.
‘Still got staffing problems?’ Dolly asked in a low voice.
‘I don’t know how much longer I can cope, to be honest.’ He straightened himself and picked up the cake. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you have a fantastic evening. Music choice?’
‘Leroy likes a band called Earth, Wind and Fire,’ said Flo.
‘Anything you can dance to,’ said Dolly.
Steve explained how one of his favourite playlists was a 1970s disco medley and despite a sour look from the woman waiting he started doing the Funky Chicken. Flo covered her mouth with her hand, unable to hide her laughter. He pointed to table in the far right-hand corner of the room, the brickwork interior there almost hidden by trailing ivy. Flo scattered the multi-coloured glitter, whilst Dolly tied a silver balloon to a chair. The cardboard centrepiece looked as if a firework had burst into stars and suited the animated chat from the crowd at the neighbouring table drinking champagne.
‘You must like the drinks in this place, Dolly,’ said Flo, bopping the balloon. ‘You haven’t brought your turquoise tea flask.’
At that moment Phoebe appeared, wearing a bold striped sweatshirt and jeans, hair let down, long and glossy – no one would ever guess she’d been so ill. Greta had always taken people at face value. If a stranger was rude she thought it was because they were simply uncouth, whilst Dolly preferred to look deeper, to work out the hidden reason. Yet with Fred, Greta hadn’t trusted what everyone else saw, the kind smile, the popularity, the courteous manner. Or was it only Dolly who’d been blind to the designer clothes his day job could never have afforded, to the mysterious weekends and evenings away he never really talked much about?
Flo announced she’d already decided to have the beef burger; her mum only bought veggie ones these days. She showed the menu to Phoebe and the two of them sat down. Leroy appeared in the doorway, wearing his favourite lime-green anorak, as the song ‘Midnight Train to Georgia’ came on. Flo looked up and waved. He came over, moving his hands in a chugging train motion.
‘Great moves,’ called Steve from the bar. Leroy looked over and gave a little bow.
‘Wow! I should have worn sunglasses,’ he said and stared at the table decorations before giving Dolly a hug. He smiled at Phoebe and said, ‘Nice jumper, Flo.’
Flo looked so grown up in her pink-and-blue animal-print top, with jeans and a little suede jacket. Over the last year a change had taken place: cute bobbles and hair slides had disappeared, Disney character clothes were replaced with more adult options. The little girl who liked long cuddles and chats with Maurice was slipping away to make room for a confused teen.
‘Happy birthday, Leroy!’ Flo said and shyly pulled out a parcel from her rucksack. Leroy took off his coat, dark shadows prominent under his eyes.
‘I’ll go up to the bar and get drinks, it’ll save Steve having to come over,’ said Phoebe.
Leroy sat opposite Flo and tore off the shiny paper.
‘It’s a card trivia game about music in the seventies,’ she burst out. ‘You could play it with Dolly.’
‘We haven’t had a games evening for a while.’ He raised his hand in the air and Flo high-fived it. ‘I’ll put it with my other games. I’ve brought them all back down from the loft.’ Dolly pushed over a thin envelope. Leroy ran his finger along the seal and tugged out… ‘A voucher for…Jammin’?’
‘It’s a Jamaican food restaurant. I didn’t know we had one in Manchester. It’s not far from The Printworks. They’ve got takeout sweet treats, like that rum cake you were saying Winston baked.’
‘Here’s my present,’ said Phoebe, arriving with a tray of drinks. ‘I told Steve about your trip to the Caribbean and he made you a Jamaican Breeze cocktail, with honey, vanilla, spices and orange.’
‘Thanks. All of you.’ He looked around the table. ‘These presents are spot on.’ Leroy closed his eyes as he sucked on the straw, then took off the chunk of fruit and bit off the flesh. Flo jumped up and stuck the paper parasol behind his ear. He twirled it with his fingers. ‘The new sophisticated me really didn’t last long.’
‘You could order a fancy meal instead… like Steve’s pesto salmon,’ said Phoebe.
Leroy looked at the options. ‘Scampi and fries ina basket? I’m impressed. I haven’t had that for decades. It’s far moreme.’
‘Steve likes to play around with the menu, keeping it relevant but sometimes going retro.’ Phoebe pointed on the menu. ‘There’s even a prawn cocktail, jazzed up with sticks of avocado.’
Rubbing his forehead, Steve came over. He kept glancing back at the bar.
‘Happy birthday, train man… Leroy, isn’t it?’ He gripped a handheld electronic order pad. ‘I’ll have to duck if “Heaven Must Be Missing an Angel” comes on – you might take flight.’
‘Can’t resist a catchy beat, I’m afraid. Are’ – he scrutinised Steve – ‘the eighties more your decade?’
‘Any decade that gets my feet moving. If there are hand movements to boot, all the better.’ He walked to and fro, doing the hustle dance routine, clapping his hands in the appropriate places.
