Page 59 of Lost Luggage
‘First things first.’ Leroy pointed to the For Sale sign. ‘What’s all this?’
‘Can we not talk about it? Not tonight. Fancy eating together?’
The line of his jaw looked hard and tense. She reached up and touched his cheek. He breathed out, squeezed her hand and took out his key. ‘Tell me all about the charity shop.’
Whilst Leroy turned on the heating, she went into the kitchen and sat huddled at the table, in the dark until he came in and switched the lights on.
‘I’m in the mood for stir fry,’ he said. ‘It won’t take long; I’ve got chicken and vegetables. You peel, I’ll chop.’ Leroy poured wine; it almost flowed over the rim as he studied his friend. As they washed their hands and picked up knives, Leroy chatted about how Steve had approved his ideas for better employee engagement, including a well-being programme for staff and a rewards system. Dolly ate her meal in silence and when she’d swallowed the last mouthful, Leroy went around to her side and held her in his arms. He’d done that many times last year, when he’d entered her bungalow and waded through the litter. Her body shuddered and tears streamed down her cheeks. Leroy tightened his embrace.
‘I need a tissue,’ she croaked.
Leroy grabbed the roll of kitchen towel. She tore off a square and blew her nose loudly. She told him about the birth certificates. How her father’s details weren’t on hers.
‘Oh, flower, I’m sorry. It must be so disappointing.’
‘That’s not it.’ Her face crumpled again. ‘My mum wasn’t my mum. It explains so much. Why we were never close.’
‘What?’
‘It was Greta.’ Dolly twisted the damp square of tissue.
‘Greta? No.’
She nodded vigorously.
‘Honey, are yousure? Christ…’ He let out one of his low whistles.
‘Crazy, isn’t it?’ Her voice choked up. ‘But, then, it isn’t. I now know completely why Greta looked so unhappy in that photo by the beach. The last couple of years of her life had been turned upside down by giving birth.’
‘This explains why she didn’t want you to go to Paris. It wasn’t about France; it was to do with the paperwork – you’d have needed to see your birth certificate to get a passport. Where was it?’
Dolly told Leroy aboutThe Alchemist. Everything Phoebe had said.
‘Greta said her treasure was right at home?’ He rubbed her arm. ‘That means you. She was so proud of you, Dolly. Remember when you adapted the bungalow, to make it easier for her, with the arthritis? You had the conservatory built to raise her spirits? You stayed put to oversee the builders, but because of the dust and noise she’d spend the days at my place, whilst I was at work.’
‘What of it?’
‘I came home once and she was in low spirits. On her own, she’d been dwelling, I guess. She said you were the best sister anyone could have. That you’d never once complained about looking after her, never saw her as a burden. She worried that your life would have been so much better without her around.’
‘I wouldn’t be here without her, as it turns out,’ she said, stiffly.
‘But isn’t that the point? She could have… taken a different path, dangerous as that would have been back then. Or after the birth, had you adopted, that would have been understandable, especially in the 1950s, but she and your mu— grandmother worked it out. Despite all the hardships, they kept you as close as they could.’
‘Why not tell me? I don’t know who I am any more. Suddenly I haven’t got a sister, I’m an only child – and I never knew a grandparent, yet it turns out I did.’
Fred’s words about confiding in strangers stoked her memory. Dolly looked at her watch. Nine o’clock. Was that too late? Not if she hurried.
38
Dolly knocked on the rustic wooden door of the one-storey farm cottage. The narrow road was a fifteen-minute walk from the church and the only reminder of the village’s agricultural history. Ivy grew either side, clinging on like a small child. By an empty milk bottle, on the ground, stood a flowerpot in the shape of a boot, filled with daffodils. The voluminous lounge curtains were split in two by a crack of light determined to compete with the moon. Yet no one answered. Dolly rapped again and was about to leave when the door creaked open. Its entrance framed pinned up hair, a long floral dressing gown and velvet slippers.
‘Dorothy Bell? What do you want at this time of night?’
‘I’m sorry if it’s late. Can we talk? It’s about Greta.’
Edith switched on the porch light and squinted. ‘You’ve been crying?’
Dolly shivered and with a tut Edith jerked her head. Dolly slipped off her shoes and waited for Edith to bolt the door again, before following the old woman along the hallway. An automatic air freshener puffed as she walked past, and the smell of cedarwood escorted Dolly into the lounge. Unlike Edith, the room had no sharp edges with its curved sofa, spherical lampshade and circular decorative plates.
