Page 63 of Lost Luggage
‘This is where it all started,’ she said. ‘The lost luggage. The notebook. The challenges Greta helped create. I don’t know why I haven’t given this back yet.’ She pushed it over to Phoebe. ‘You’ll need it for our trip to Paris.’
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Funny, how an item of lost luggage had led Dolly to packing her own, and for the same destination. She sat on the bed and gazed at the copy ofMatildanext to the flamingo lamp. The first challenge of Phoebe’s that Dolly had completed had involved going up in a fictional balloon. All these months later she was flying again, but this time for real. She turned her attention to the wheeled pink duffel lying next to her. It was from the auction she and Greta had attended in 2013. It had contained a hardly worn sparkly plum jumper perfect for Christmas Day, along with suspenders and open hole crotch panties. Dolly hadn’t liked to laugh at Greta’s icy expression that could have snuffed out the flame on top of any plum pudding. It was the last week of May and cheaper to go midweek, so they were flying out tomorrow, Tuesday, and coming back Friday. She picked up the notebook where Greta had always listed the items they landed from each auction, overtaken by an urge to add an inventory of what she’d packed for Paris.
One striped jumper I bought on a shopping trip with Leroy who’d wanted to buy a new outfit for a party that Steve has invited him to. Wit woo.
A practical shirt to go under a new woollen tank top that Phoebe says is all the rage now.
Floral blouse with fancy cuffs and lowish neckline in case we treat ourselves to dinner out – worn on a night in Manchester with Fred, last week. He called it a date.
One pair of jeans that didn’t fit a few months ago.
Four pairs of socks – an extra pair for emergencies.
Pants and bra.
Toothbrush. Talcum powder. Deodorant. Hand cream. Vaseline. Paracetamol. Ibuprofen. Anti-allergy pills. Plasters. Mosquito repellent. Sun cream. Aftersun lotion.
Dolly hoped she hadn’t forgotten anything.
Small make-up bag containing mascara, lipgloss, concealer and blusher – modern brands purchased after experimenting during a girls’ night with Flo and Phoebe over the early May Bank Holiday weekend.
My best silk scarf in case my luggage gets lost – a nice surprise for the winning bidder.
Dolly had already packed her rucksack, having thoroughly examined her passport, gripping the dark blue and gold cover tightly. Phoebe was right, they’d been able to fast-track it. She’d bought a French handbook and had been practising over the last month. Dolly had never needed to learn foreign words before. Or bought foreign currency – she went through the colourful Euro banknotes again, physical proof that she was really about to leave the UK. Flo had checked everything and suggested a packet of boiled sweets to suck as her ears always popped on an aeroplane.
Determined to get an early night – their flight left before sunrise – as a last check Dolly took out one particular item from her case. No one knew she was taking it. She held it to her cheek for a moment before putting it back.
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Dolly peered out at the sky, on a high that wasn’t due to their altitude. As the aeroplane lifted its nose in the air, she recalled Greta’s supposed fears about engines failing or turbulence.
However Dolly agreed with Phoebe that flying was fucking fantastic.
It reminded Dolly of the first time she’d had sex. With Fred. Greta had always drilled into her to wait until she was married, that you could catch an STD or get pregnant, and no man would hang around after that. Back then, more than once, Fred had held off, sensing Dolly had reservations. But like the plane’s take-off, when it finally happened, sex with him had made her feel like the best version of herself, a woman with adventures on the horizon, and apparently a bottom to die for.
The announcements over the tannoy were in French as well as English; Dolly swelled with pride at recognising the wordss’il vous plaît. She wore a new blazer with gold buttons. It didn’t suit her baggy trousers or comfortable walking shoes, and she’d got a roll-up anorak in her rucksack. But this was Paris! Phoebe had insisted Dolly take the window seat. Last year the television screen had provided Dolly’s only view of life outside the bungalow. Now, she couldn’t take her eyes off the floss of cloud, and billowing sea far below. Maurice would have been equally captivated, no doubt preferring the reassuring hum of the engines to the sound of soap actors arguing.
‘Flo was right about ears popping during take-off.’
‘I’m not sure we’ll manage to get the photo she wanted, of that stink bug species that has recently invaded Paris.’ Phoebe pulled the top of her hoodie off her head. Over the sweatshirt she was wearing the dusty-pink Zadorin gilet with the maroon collar that Dolly had found in Phoebe’s luggage all those months ago – an extravagant present from Fred, it turned out, to lift Phoebe’s spirits during an especially rough patch.
‘Oh, she’ll be too excited to think about that anyway,’ said Dolly. ‘Summer half-term starts this weekend. Mark and Kaz are taking her to the bug displays at the Manchester Museum that they were due to visit at the beginning of April.’
‘Has she forgiven you yet?’
‘If the strength of her goodbye hug yesterday was anything to go by, I’d say yes.’
According to Mark, Flo had been very angry at first. She’d run to her room and slammed the door when they’d mentioned the word ‘adoption’. But the smell of waffles tempted her out, to face a tearstained Kaz. Flo had told Dolly afterwards how she hated seeing her parents cry, like when her granny died or the news channel showed harrowing war scenes. Waffles getting cold and Flo kicking her feet under the kitchen table, she’d eventually listened. Firstly, the red hair: it was perfectly possible not to have parents with the same colour. Something to do with recessive genes. Flo googled it afterwards. As for all the activities, pushing Flo to make friends… her parents finally opened up to Flo about them being shy at school years ago, and wanting their daughter to have an easier experience. Mark and Kaz admitted they’d never considered that Flo could be genuinely content with her few friends, her insects, her reading. As for those insects, Kaz said that as cleaners, Flo’s interest was hard to comprehend; bugs were an inconvenience at best and an expensive problem at worst. Yet she and Mark admitted Flo had provided an alternative view and that, on closer inspection, even cockroaches had handsome features, with their fine antennae and cherrywood shells.
Strange how, going against the logic of there being billions of people on earth, and billions of job or relationship possibilities, parents assumed life would treat their offspring exactly the same as it had them. Dolly’s mother and grandmother never once considered that she would find a decent man. Dolly had assumed Maurice was happy leading the life she did – until he’d jumped out of his tank. She should have taken drastic action years ago – jumped out of her life in Knutsmere and moved away from the domesticity she shared with Greta baking, doing charity work, gardening; she should have shown green-fingered Greta that she had roots of her own that sprouted from a different seed altogether, that she wasn’t simply a cutting from their family.
‘Fasten your seatbelts.’
They were approaching Charles de Gaulle airport. Dolly offered Phoebe a boiled sweet. Yesterday Fred had come around for lunch. He’d talked about how tourist aviation had changed. Back in the day, passengers all watched a big screen at the front, then personal screens came in, one for each seat. Now in-flight entertainment was changing again as everyone brought their own devices. Back in the 1970s the departure lounge was like a fancy hotel and there was more freedom to walk up and down the plane, even during slight turbulence. Until the 1990s smoking was allowed on flights.
Fred had apologised for rambling and moved around the kitchen table for a kiss.
