Page 9 of Lost Luggage
‘This is so exciting!’
It was?
‘The best thing to happen in Pingate Loop since that flash flood. Can I take a look? I won’t read it.’ Dolly hesitated before handing the notebook over. Flo ran a finger over the shiny flowers on the front. She walked to and fro, holding it out as if carrying the Crown Jewels. ‘It must have been hard to get her list of firsts down to twelve ’cos there are loads of amazing ones I’d want to do, like sail around the world, meet Ariana Grande, beat Dad to the last custard cream.’ She stopped pacing. ‘How about you?’
Dolly hadn’t felt like doing any since Greta died. Doing lasts had been more appealing, bit by bit letting go of her old life, the invites from former colleagues, the trips to the swimming pool, cinema outings with Leroy. She tried to think of a first she’d always fancied doing but that kept taking her back to the past and how it was all too late now.
‘I can’t think of one.’
‘Then this notebook is perfect – Phoebe Goodbody has done all the thinking for you.’ She put it down and grabbed Dolly’s hands. ‘You’ve got to stand up.’ Flo’s eyes shone as Dolly got to her feet and she swung their arms from side to side, the little girl’s ginger ponytail moving in time. ‘It’s a thing I do with… I mean,usedto always do with Teddy,’ she added hastily, ‘whenever there’s good news like no homework, or pizza for tea.’
‘I really don’t think—’
Flo gave her a sharp look. ‘I wish the notebook was mine. You can always start doing the firsts but stop if you don’t like it much. This time next month you could be flying on a trapeze in a circus tent. Imagine that!’
Dolly would rather not. Nor regarding any other of Flo’s other suggestions such as trekking through a rainforest, taking singing lessons, or piercing her nose. As their arms continued to swing, a heaviness infused Dolly’s until they fell to her sides. She sank into her wicker chair.
Flo put the notebook down. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t push. I hate it when Mum and Dad do that. Other people don’t always know what’s best for us.’ She sighed. ‘We had another big argument last night.’
Dolly shot her a curious look.
Flo blotted the crumbs on her plate with a wet finger and licked them off. ‘Tell me a lorry story,’ she said, and sat down.
Dolly leant back. From leaving school at sixteen, until she retired, she had been employed by the same trucker company, Hackshaw Haulage. Greta had worked there as a receptionist and loved it, especially the stories the drivers used to bring back from the continent. Strange really, as Greta had no inclination to travel herself, and stranger still that Greta left to work in a car showroom shortly after… that event… in Dolly’s twenties. Teenage Dolly had thought the work sounded so boring, but grew to love it. Over the years her job title changed from secretary to personal assistant; the paperwork about insurance, mileage, routes and billing all got transferred to a computer database; and transportation law became more complex. She was grateful to have retired before Brexit. Yet some things never changed, like the Christmas and birthday gifts from Mr Hackshaw, and the banter of her colleagues. After so many years the company had become her wider family.
Harry was one of Dolly’s favourite drivers; they had the same sense of humour. If he went overseas he always brought her back a different chocolate bar. One summer night he pulled over by a field in the north of France. It was dark, it was humid, he was tired and after a quick wash he turned the lights in his cabin off. He lay there for a while, tossing and turning, and was very nearly asleep, only half-conscious, when he thought the passenger door slid open, a pungent aroma wafted in, like strong cheese, along with a chilly breeze. The next morning he decided he must have dreamed it, as the passenger door was still locked.
Flo nodded her head vigorously.
‘But when Harry climbed out to stretch his legs, before driving off again, he saw a bunch of flowers tied to a nearby lamppost with a newspaper article attached. He had enough French to work out that a man had recently been killed at that exact spot by a speeding lorry. The man was a well-known local cheesemaker.’
Flo gasped. ‘That’s the only reason I’d join Guides, the Investigating Badge sounds really cool.’ Silence fell and she folded her arms. ‘Not that it’s going to happen. No way.’
Dolly sipped her drink. ‘I was a girl guide, in the sixties. I didn’t want to go either, none of my friends went and Mum didn’t seem bothered. But Greta offered to volunteer. She thought it would be good for me.’
‘She was the best older sister. Wish I had one.’
Dolly tried to imagine her past life without Greta. It was easy to forget not everyone was lucky enough to have had a sister. She closed her eyes for a minute.
Flo unfolded her arms. ‘The uniform I’d have to wear looks stupid. It’ll make me look like a Domino’s Pizza worker.’
‘We wore brown dresses and berets, a bit dull but I liked it. Money was tight at home, there was never much for fashion, but at Guides I looked like everyone else.’ Dolly’s voice softened. ‘Is this what you’ve been arguing about?’
‘Why do my parents worry about me not having enough friends? I’m happy with my phone games, my drawing pencils, and my books about insects. And I’m never alone in the playground – Mrs Jones who supervises is really nice. Sometimes I play tag with Callum from over the road.’ She sighed. ‘Mum and Dad both say I’m going to need to make more of an effort to be sociable at high school.’
Mark had told Dolly once how building the business took so much time and energy and this meant he and Kaz hadn’t been able to be playground parents, easing the way for Flo to join friendship groups. Perhaps it was lucky Dolly had never been a parent. The ones she knew always blamed themselves for things she considered out of their control.
Dolly reached out and gently took Flo’s hand. ‘A very wise little girl once told me “You can always start but stop if you don’t like it much.”’
Her bottom lip jutted out. ‘That’s different. A year of firsts sounds exciting and you won’t be under pressure to make new friends.’
‘Guides is exactly the same – challenges, trying things you haven’t done before, and doing the firsts would mean I’d have to meet new people as well.’
Flo lifted her chin defiantly. ‘But if you’re too scared to go for it, why should I bother?’
Dolly gazed at Flo and the years fell away. Instead she saw her as the four-year-old who’d cried when Greta had poured gravy from the weekend roast on to her ice cream, thinking it was the chocolate sauce Dolly had made for the pudding. Then the seven-year-old who’d broken her arm falling off a climbing frame; she’d rushed around for the two sisters to sign the plaster, upset forgotten with all the attention. Flo’s parents sharing their daughter had made up, a tiny bit, for Dolly losing the life she thought she might lead before everything went wrong and she’d moved in with Greta. It was time to reward their generosity, to stop the family arguing, to help lovely Flo make new friends. Dolly had never made many, hadn’t put in the effort. Life without her sister now might have been easier if she had a well-thumbed address book.
But could Dolly really face standing in an imaginary balloon and talking in front of strangers? She glanced at Flo’s downturned features and held out her little finger.
