Page 50 of Lost Luggage
‘Welcome, everyone!’ cut in a breezy voice belonging to a man in a white chef’s jacket and chequered trousers. The party people at the back stopped passing around the bottle Dolly had spotted. ‘My name’s Dan and I’ve run my own bakery since I was thirty. The last few years the business fell on hard times and I came up with the idea of running these bake-off sessions. Countless inexperienced participants have contacted me afterwards saying an afternoon here inspired them to carry on baking.’ He gestured to the room in a welcoming fashion. ‘Food is about fun. Eating’s not only about feeding your body. It’s about taking time out of life, during your day, to leave stress behind and savour delicious flavours and textures. It’s about cooking for loved ones, nourishing your soul by creating a dish from scratch.’ He smiled. ‘Of course, we all enjoy convenience food or takeout now and again, but what I’m trying to say is… I hope today helps any of you who, for whatever reason, are fearful of cooking.’
Dolly stole a glance at Phoebe who was hanging on every word.
‘Right!’ Dan clapped his hands. ‘Those keen amongst you might have given it some thought and suspected we’d go with an Easter theme today.’
The middle-aged couple nodded at each other.
‘Remove the tea towel covering the basket in front of you.’
Dolly and Phoebe stared at the ingredients – sugar, eggs, bread flour, yeast…
‘Hot cross buns!’ he announced.
‘I didn’t think of that as being special to Easter,’ whispered Dolly. ‘I eat them all year round.’ This was going to be a disaster. Proof that not only had Dolly never had a long-term relationship, a family of her own, never travelled much, but that her baking skills weren’t a real achievement either and Greta had only pretended to love her cakes and biscuits.
She shook herself.Get it together.
‘On the bench, at the back, you’ll find an array of ingredients,’ said Dan, striding past the workstations. ‘Fresh and dried fruit, icing sugar, colouring, sprinkles, custard powder, spices… You must make six basic buns, according to the recipe I’ve given you. Then use your imaginations. They can be filled or iced or both. All I ask is that they are round and risen.’ He looked at the clock. ‘You’ve got two hours. You must leave the dough to rise for forty minutes, thinking time for how to add a little magic.’ He looked the clock. ‘Right, go for it…’
Almost three hours later Dolly groaned with pleasure, sitting at a large circular table in a room adjacent to the big kitchen. Coffee cups littered the table along with plates of buns, and sugary, spiced smells hovered temptingly in the air. Chat filled the room along with drunken laughter. ‘This dark chocolate bun made by the couple next to our workstation is so moreish.’
‘But not as good as those fancy salted caramel ones – the filling oozed out of them,’ said Phoebe. ‘They deserved that trophy. I still can’t believe Dan said our humble, healthy orange and honey buns were a close second.’
In a celebratory mood, Dolly drained her cup; it was her third. Phoebe had suggested the orange and honey flavour and thought up how to decorate the buns’ tops, whilst Dolly made sure the dough was mixed thoroughly and that they didn’t over-knead it. The sensation of ingredients between her fingers had reminded Dolly of why she used to enjoy baking: the sense of mindfulness, the physicality, the satisfying sweet homely smells and flavours. Just because Greta had gone, that didn’t mean Dolly shouldn’t bake; she could freeze bigger batches and take treats around to Leroy and Flo.
‘Look at you, Phoebe. The bits you’ve eaten. How have you found sitting here in front of all this food?’
‘That’s what I like most about you, Dolly. You talk about the stuff that matters. You don’t tiptoe around me. Don’t judge. When I was ill at uni, I tried talking to friends but they didn’t get it – and I don’t blame them, it’s hard to understand, and they all had problems of their own… but with you, I know I’m not imposing and I don’t have to hide anything.’
A lump formed in Dolly’s throat. She wanted to say that was down to Greta, who’d always been forthright, or so Dolly used to think.
‘I can’t stop going over everything Dan said,’ continued Phoebe. ‘I might try cooking more. If Granddad allows me.’ She smiled. ‘He loves busying himself in the kitchen.’
‘Back in the day it was meals out or sandwiches. He never learnt any cooking skills in the children’s homes.’
‘He makes a great Thai chicken curry and even better pancakes than Gran’s.’ Phoebe fingered the ring hanging from her neck. ‘If I chose and prepared ingredients myself, I might have a different outlook on food.’
Phoebe gazed around the table and smiled at the young woman who’d come with her mother. She and Phoebe had talked whilst the hot buns were being brought in. Zoe had recently moved back home after losing her job in a bookshop and didn’t live far from Lymhall. It had been a great afternoon but the best part for Dolly had been listening to Phoebe laugh.
‘I couldn’t have done this without you, Dolly.’ She sighed. ‘I wish my friend Maisie had got in touch. She’d love to hear how this went.’
‘There’s really no way you can find her?’
‘Not that I can think of. I reckon she’s gone abroad. Maisie would talk about her trips and ask how my counselling was going. We didn’t dwell on it but she made me feel… seen. As if she got why I was struggling; she could see behind the facade.’
‘I’m sure she, and your gran, would be very proud.’
Dolly had never seen those green eyes shine quite so brightly.
‘How’s it going sorting through Greta’s room? Have you found anything? Granddad mentioned the portable box file.’
‘No – nothing but bank statements, council tax statements, receipts for big purchases. I can’t find my birth certificate, nor Greta’s. It’s weird.’
‘Granddad’s been in a weird mood since he came back from yours last week, especially after meeting up with his old boss a couple of days ago. He also grew up in care.’ She sighed. ‘It makes me sad that he still thinks about that awful time. Gran used to encourage him to talk about it, but she isn’t around any more.’
‘I know bits but Fred used to prefer to focus on the present, when I knew him.’ Occasionally he’d talk about the children’s homes he’d lived in, when they curled up together, after an early night, saying how happy it made him to have finally found someone like Dolly.
‘Granddad said he never really made many friends until the last home, when he was a teenager. He hated that place when he first moved in. A staff member told him it would either make or break him. Those first nights he cried into his pillow, trying to shut out the shouting and arguments. But eventually he made good friends and things got better. He tried to track them down when he came out of prison.’
