Page 46 of Lost Luggage
Phoebe rolled her eyes. ‘I should be used to this, by now.’
Leroy got up, pulling Dolly to her feet too. He suggested the bump, so the three of them put their hands in the air and bumped hips together, in time to the music.
‘Maybe minimalist Leroy was better after all,’ whispered Flo to Phoebe.
‘What do I have to do to get a drink around here?’ called a voice from the bar.
Quickly Steve took their food order and left.
‘You’ve known him long?’ Leroy asked Phoebe, concentrating on his drink.
‘Steve’s lived next door, like, for ever. He and his husband, John, used to babysit me when my grandparents went out.’
‘I didn’t know he was married,’ said Dolly, Leroy listening intently. ‘The speed-dating evening…’
‘John died four years ago,’ explained Phoebe. ‘Steve has thrown himself into work since then. An insurance policy on John’s death meant he could update the pub. The two of them had been discussing a refurb for a while, so that felt like the best way to spend the money. Steve updated the menu, redecorated, and eventually it worked; business has really taken off this last year. Local companies often bring clients here for lunch. Then there are the themed evenings – for Valentine’s, Saint Patrick’s, Easter… they always go down a treat. He’s been able to relax more lately, think about his personal life – at least, until he had the staffing problems.’
Phoebe stirred her drink with the straw.
‘He regularly asks me if I’ll consider moving jobs, offers me good money. He went away to a conference for a week, recently, all about how pubs are having to reinvent themselves. He’s thinking about meal delivery. But however busy he is, Steve still comes around to ours to eat, once a week, and we play card games. He likes to cook and insists on taking over the kitchen and’ – she looked at Dolly – ‘he doesn’t take offence if I can’t finish the meal.’
‘Sounds like the perfect parent,’ said Flo, and glugged her Coke.
Leroy studied the queue forming at the till. Steve was red in the face and perspiring as if the pub’s temperature reflected its name.
‘Doesn’t surprise me he can’t keep the staff,’ said Leroy. ‘I got a call from work yesterday, asking if I’d be interested in going back to run the restaurant part-time.’
‘What?’ said Dolly. ‘I can’t imagine going back to Hackshaw Haulage, not now.’
‘Me neither. They threw me a big retirement party and everything. But my successor has left. They sounded desperate. The hospitality industry still hasn’t recovered from—’ The sound of shattered glass interrupted him. Steve stood behind the bar, looking flustered.
Flo questioned Phoebe about university – the cost of accommodation, something called a maintenance grant, how you didn’t begin paying loans back until the April after you graduated, how the monthly amount depended on your earnings. Phoebe thought it was cool that Flo wanted to study insects. A woman on her course had dated a guy studying entomology. In the summer of the first year he did a volunteering trip to Peru and monitored butterfly species. He came back satisfied he’d made a difference.
A waiter appeared with their food. Dolly had gone with the salmon, which prompted the conversation to move to Maurice and Fanny. Flo asked Phoebe how goldfish ate without teeth, fascinated to learn they had them at the back of their throats. She disappeared to the loo whilst Phoebe and Dolly planned their trip to Afflecks and then Leroy struck up a conversation with Phoebe about Man City’s latest game, when shouting cut through, as Flo came back.
‘This place is a joke! I’m not waiting an hour to eat,’ hollered a man by the till. He stormed out of the pub, his laptop case swinging from side to side. Steve’s gaze followed him as he flounced out, not hearing more patient customers ask him for a drink. Leroy chewed carefully as he finished his scampi, put down his knife and fork, then got to his feet. He collected his friends’ empty plates and marched over to the bar. He chatted to Steve for a couple of minutes. Steve shook his head vigorously but Leroy kept talking, until… he rolled up his sleeves and disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later Leroy reappeared and started taking drinks orders.
‘But Leroy can’t work on his birthday,’ said Flo. ‘What about birthday cake? I’ve got to be home, at the latest, by nine. We’re up early to go to Wales for the weekend. Dad reckons the school holidays traffic will be bad, and it’s a Friday.’
Leroy pretended to throw a glass over to Steve and the two men laughed.
‘Why don’t you help me and Dolly with our baking practice? We’re doing biscuits this time.’ said Phoebe. ‘And if we hurry, we can still get back here by nine and do Leroy’s birthday cake then, when it’s less busy. I only live five minutes away by car. Biscuits don’t take long, it’ll be icing them that needs more attention. Dolly could ring your parents, see if they’d mind you staying out a little bit longer, just in case you’re a few minutes late.’
Flo gave Phoebe a hug and the two of them linked arms as they headed outside, waiting in the porch for Dolly to tell Leroy of their plan. The baking session flew by and Phoebe said she’d tidy the kitchen later. The icing had been tricky. They’d put in too much colouring, the yellow chicks looked blinding, and the shortbread was so crumbly several biscuits had cracked. But Flo had announced they tasted as good as shop-bought ones. When they arrived back at the Rising Sun the food order rush had abated. In fact Leroy and Steve were sitting at their table in front of Jamaican Breezes. As the three of them went over, Steve headed for the kitchen, beckoning to Phoebe and Flo to follow.
‘How did it go?’ Leroy asked as Dolly sat down. ‘Was Fred there?’
‘He stayed in the lounge. Flo showed incredible restraint. I could tell she was dying to go in and introduce herself.’
‘And Flo is allowed to stay out a little later?’
Dolly nodded. She’d spoken to Mark. She still hadn’t told Leroy about him not being Flo’s real dad – it was obvious her young neighbour hadn’t meant to let that slip out. It didn’t make sense to Dolly; she’d always thought how alike they’d looked, with the same shaped nose.
‘But let’s talk about you.’ She jerked her head towards the bar. ‘What was that all about?’
‘Just helping out.’
Dolly pushed his shoulder. ‘Leroy Robinson, what aren’t you telling me? You look as if you’ve had the best birthday ever.’
