Page 52 of Lost Luggage
Dolly placed her hand under Phoebe’s chin and lifted her head until their eyes met.
‘Do you trust me?’ she asked.
‘Apart from the luggage theft, prying and stalking? One hundred per cent.’
‘You look no different than when we were at the Trafford Centre last week.’
‘You’re just being nice.’
‘But you and I, we don’t do that, Phoebe, layer what we say with unnecessary decoration. Our conversations are like a plain sponge cake without the butter icing and sprinkles. I speak the simple truth. Surely you’ll feel even worse on your own? Also, didn’t Susan say you mustn’t over exercise? What did she say to do after a binge day?’
‘Carry on eating as normal,’ she mumbled, ‘that if I starved myself, the bingeing would come back.’ Her voice wavered. ‘I can’t believe this has happened. I’ve been doing so well.’
‘What have you had for breakfast?’ Dolly raised an eyebrow.
Her eyes welled up. ‘I’ve gone and undone all my hard work. It’s been weeks since my last binge.’
Dolly tucked her arm around Phoebe’s waist. ‘How about a small roast? I’ll knock up a fruit salad as an alternative to your Granddad’s dessert? That will keep us both on track.’
‘You’re sure I don’t look puffy?’ she asked, in a whisper.
‘Do I look okay?’
Her eyebrows knitted together. ‘Of course.’
Dolly pulled her close and squeezed. ‘See? People aren’t too bothered about the detail of how others look.’
As they walked back to Dolly’s bungalow, and stopped outside the front door, she told Phoebe about a packer at Hackshaw Haulage. He’d lost his previous job, took to drinking, ended up losing his home and partner. He got into rehab and was three years sober when he joined the trucking company. Six months in and he had a relapse. It lasted a week. Dolly’s boss gave him another chance, he was a good worker usually. They chatted over lunch once, and he told her how much AA helped. His friends there insisted relapses weren’t the end of a journey, they were part of it. That he had to play the long game and the main thing was to get back up and carry on, one day at a time.
Dolly went to push open the door. ‘So the last couple of days, love – it’s just a blip and goodness knows we all have those.’ She hesitated. ‘What was stressing you? Anything I can help with?’
‘Granddad was under the weather, he must have had a bug, but it got me thinking… how would I ever manage without him?’
‘Oh, love.’
‘I know it’s silly. I’m grown up now.’
‘Not silly at all, although I can’t see Fred going anywhere soon and for what it’s worth, you’ve always got me. I mean…’ Dolly pulled at the sleeve of Phoebe’s top. ‘We’re friends, right?’
Phoebe slipped her arms around Dolly’s neck and gave her a tight hug, before hurriedly pushing open the door. ‘I Will Survive’ by Gloria Gaynor welcomed her inside. She slipped off her rose-gold-heeled trainers and disappeared along the hallway. Dolly ran her fingers over her neck. It felt good to be useful; to have someone to care for, apart from Maurice. She went into the lounge and crouched by the tank. He swam over and bobbed in front of Dolly, whilst Fanny carried on pecking at gravel.
‘Look at us,’ murmured Dolly. ‘With new friends. A new life.’ A memory shot through her, like a fast-forwarded film in her mind, about her days last year in front of the television eating takeout in clothes that hadn’t been laundered, speaking only to Maurice, keeping the curtains closed. She and Maurice stared at each other, water in both their eyes, but in a good way, this time.
That was the difference between her and Phoebe – or, rather, Phoebe’s illness. Dolly assumed all people were like Maurice, in that her appearance didn’t register with them – unless they were losers like the men at that speed-dating evening. Whereas the voice in Phoebe’s head told Phoebe that she was the centre of their attention; that every aspect of how she looked mattered to strangers.
For a person who was so down-to-earth and no-nonsense, it was odd that Greta had obviously wanted to make a good impression too. Her sister didn’t care what people thought of her opinions and was unwavering in an argument. So why had she cared so much about looking smart and respectable? Dolly understood Phoebe’s concern about being left without Fred; Dolly used to wonder what life would be like without Greta. She’d always imagined her sister’s death would be like the ending of a movie about two sisters who’d led unremarkable lives. She hadn’t expected a sequel full of intrigue.
‘Come and get it,’ Flo called in a grown-up voice.
Dolly hurried into the kitchen and grabbed an orange, banana and two apples. She rifled in one of her cupboards and found a tin of peaches in the back. She chopped the fresh fruit and squeezed a lemon over the chunks. Phoebe and Fred were in the conservatory, Flo had insisted they wait there, once Leroy had served drinks, being that it was sunny and important guests deserved the best seats.
‘Cheers everyone,’ said Leroy when everyone sat around the dining-room table.
‘Happy Easter,’ said Fred.
‘They… weren’t all happy.’ Dolly shot Fred a look. ‘Easter can get rather messy.’
A tentative smile formed on Fred’s lips as he caught her eye. ‘Ah, yes. Best forgotten.’
