The Lost Ticket, page 8
“You really think people are gonna stop and read this?” Dylan said, and the smile disappeared from Libby’s face.
“I do, yes.”
“And you think they’re going to . . . what? Tell all their elderly female relatives about it? Tweet about it? Put their lives on hold to help with your search?”
Libby took a deep breath. “It’s not my search; it’s for Frank. Besides, not everyone is as miserable, mean-spirited, and misanthropic as you. Some people are actually altruistic and want to help strangers, rather than take the piss or shout at them on the bus.”
She stopped, waiting for Dylan to snap something back at her, but he didn’t say anything. When Libby turned to look at him, he was staring at his feet.
“Let’s get on with it, shall we?” he mumbled.
They carried on without speaking. After a while they settled into a sort of rhythm, where Dylan would take out a poster and position it and Libby would tape it into place. They’d then walk on to the next lamppost or bus stop, never making eye contact or touching. After about forty-five minutes, they’d put up around fifteen posters and still not said a word to each other, and Libby was exhausted from the frosty tension.
“That’s enough for today,” she said when they reached the bus stop near the Euston Road.
“I thought you said you wanted to do a mile in each direction?”
“I can’t today. I need to get back to Kentish Town.”
“Well, I’m going the other way.”
Libby felt a wave of relief that she wouldn’t have to spend another minute with Dylan. His height might make him useful for holding up the posters, but she’d much rather do the rest alone, even if it took three times as long. She turned and hurried toward the zebra crossing.
“Bye, then,” Dylan called after her, but she didn’t bother looking back.
CHAPTER
11
Libby, where are you?” Rebecca’s voice came hollering up from downstairs.
“Coming.”
Libby pulled on her jeans, wincing at how tight they’d become. She really needed to cut back on all the chocolate croissants from the café. She quickly checked Twitter, but there was still nothing with the “girl on the 88 bus” hashtag. Damn it.
Down in the kitchen, Libby found Hector eating his breakfast and watching something on the iPad. It turned out Rebecca’s no-screens rule didn’t apply when she was the one doing the childcare.
“I’ve had a text from Hector’s preschool,” Rebecca said, looking up from her phone. “Apparently there’s been a suspected gas leak on the grounds, and they’re having to close today while it’s investigated.”
“Oh, well, I’m sure he’ll be delighted to have a day off.”
“I have my Wednesday team meeting, which I can’t cancel, and Tom’s got a pitch, so you’ll have to look after him.” Having issued her command, Rebecca started to walk away.
“I’m afraid I can’t,” Libby said.
“Why not?”
“I’m busy. I have plans.”
Rebecca turned back and arched an eyebrow. “Leonardo DiCaprio and a family-sized bar of Dairy Milk don’t count as plans.”
“Actually, I’m—” Libby stopped. She was going on her second trip to put up posters this morning, but she could hardly tell Rebecca that. Her sister would have a field day if she found out Libby was helping a random stranger on a London bus find his long-lost love.
“You’re what?” Rebecca said.
“Nothing. I can look after Hex.”
Rebecca nodded and marched out of the kitchen to get dressed. Hector looked up from his iPad. “Can we go to the zoo?”
“Sure.” Libby went to switch the kettle on, then turned back to Hector. “Actually, how do you fancy going on a special adventure instead?”
“What is it?”
“I need to put up some posters, and you could help me by holding them. It will be our fun secret project—even your mum won’t know about it.” She tried to sound exciting, but Hector looked unconvinced. “We can go to the Lego shop when we’re finished.”
“Let’s do it!” he said, jumping up from the table.
They left the house at nine and walked up to the bus stop, Hector firing off his usual list of questions. “What killed the dinosaurs? Why do we have belly buttons? Would you rather be eaten by a lion or a shark?”
“Lion, definitely,” Libby said as they approached the bus stop.
“Why?”
“Because if a shark tried to eat you, then you’d also drown, and I hate the idea of drowning.”
“But a lion has really sharp claws as well as teeth, so it would hurt a lot.”
“Yes, but—” Libby stopped talking when she saw a man standing at the bus stop. A tall, cross-looking man with a Mohawk.
Dylan spotted her and she saw him blink, startled. For a moment, she thought he was going to turn around and pretend not to have seen her, but he must have realized that was impossible.
“All right?” he said.
“What are you doing here?” Libby realized how rude that sounded but she didn’t care.
“I’m on my way back from Frank’s.”
“Who’s this?” Hector had grabbed Libby’s hand and was looking up at Dylan, his eyes wide.
“This is Dylan,” Libby said with a sigh.
She saw a flicker of surprise on Dylan’s face when he looked down and saw the small boy.
“Hello. I’m Hector and I’m four and three-quarters,” Hector said, peering up at Dylan. “You’re tall.”
An 88 bus pulled up and Libby stood back to let Dylan get on first. The bus was packed this morning, every seat on the lower deck taken. Dylan headed toward the stairs, so Libby moved to stand in the wheelchair area downstairs. But Hector seemed to have other ideas.
“Hector, come back!” Libby called after him, but the boy had either not heard or pretended not to, as he was already climbing the stairs after Dylan. Libby followed him up. The top deck was a bit quieter, and she saw that Dylan had sat halfway down the bus and Hector had moved into the row directly behind him. Great.
Libby sat down next to Hector, conscious of Dylan’s tall, straight back in front of her, the tattoos crawling up his neck. She could sense he was as irritated by this proximity as she was. With any luck he’d be getting off soon, and until then they could ignore each other.
But Hector was having none of it. He gave Dylan a sharp poke on the shoulder.
“Why is your hair so strange?”
“Hector!” Libby said. “Don’t be so rude.”
She waited for Dylan to explode in anger, but to her surprise he glanced back.
“It’s called a Mohawk.”
Hector wrinkled his nose. “Why do you have it?”
“I’m a punk.”
“What does that mean?”
“Hey, stop being so nosy,” Libby pleaded, but Dylan was turning round in his seat to face the boy.
“Punk is a subculture that started in the seventies. We reject authoritarianism, corporatism, and consumerist culture. Plus, we like really loud music.”
Hector’s eyes lit up. “I like loud music too. Sometimes, I play it so loud that the lady next door bangs on the wall to complain.”
“That is very punk,” Dylan said, and Libby saw a flash of amusement in his eyes.
Hector beamed with pride. “Will you come to my house and play me your loud music? I always have to listen to Libby’s music, which is so soppy and boring.”
“No, it isn’t,” Libby said.
“Yes, it is. It’s all moany and sad.”
“I’m sure your mum’s music taste isn’t that bad,” Dylan said.
“Libby isn’t my mum!” Hector threw his head back in laughter. “She’s my auntie.”
“Oh, I thought . . .” Dylan looked between Hector and Libby.
“I’m looking after him today because his preschool’s closed,” Libby explained.
“She’s staying at my house,” Hector said. “Uncle Simon broke up with her and she doesn’t have anywhere else to live.”
“Hector!” Libby gasped.
Dylan looked out of the window, clearly horrified at having that personal information shared with him.
“I want to be a plunk like you,” Hector said, oblivious to the embarrassment he’d caused. “How do I become one?”
“Anyone can be a punk if they want to,” Dylan said. “You don’t even have to have strange hair like me.”
“What job would I have to do?”
“Any job you like.”
“What job do you do?”
“I’m a carer.”
Hector squinted at him. “What’s a carer?”
“I look after people who need a bit of extra help at home.”
“What, like my nanny, Rosalita?”
“A bit like that, yeah,” Dylan said. “I usually help older people, though not always.”
“Do you have to wipe their bums?”
Dylan smiled then, and it was so extraordinary that Libby did a double take. His whole face had transformed, his eyes sparkling and laughter creases round his mouth.
“I don’t usually wipe bums, but I would if someone needed me to,” Dylan said, and Hector groaned.
“That sounds like a rubbish job. Why would you do that when you could be an astronaut or a racing car driver?”
“Because I enjoy it. I like meeting different people and hearing their stories.”
“But old people are really boring.”
“Hector, don’t say that,” Libby said, glancing round to check there were no older passengers nearby who might have heard this.
“You know, I used to think that too. But let me tell you a secret . . .” Dylan lowered his head and Hector leaned forward to listen to him. “Old people might seem boring, but that’s ’cos you’re not listening to them properly. Take my mate Frank. He’s really old, but he told Libby an amazing story, and now because of that, she’s on a mission to help him. That’s not boring, is it?”
“I suppose.” Hector looked unconvinced. “Does your job make you rich?”
“Nah, but it does make me happy, and I think that’s more important.”
The boy’s brow furrowed as it always did when he was thinking hard. “My mummy’s job makes her angry, not happy.”
“Oh, Hexy,” Libby said, and she reached out to ruffle his hair. “I think your mum loves her job too, but it can be quite stressful.”
“Some people like having stressful jobs,” Dylan said to Hector. “And some people like jobs that are really creative or mean they can be outdoors all day. Everyone’s different. I like working with people and helping them—I think it’s the best feeling in the whole world.”
“Hmm . . .” Hector was still looking thoughtful.
“What about you? What do you want to be when you grow up?” Dylan asked him.
“An astronaut and a footballer,” Hector said quickly. Then he paused. “Do either of those jobs help people?”
“ ’Course they could, if you want them to. You could be a helpful astronaut or a helpful footballer.”
Hector looked pleased with that and sat back in his seat, satisfied. Dylan turned round to face the front again and Libby stared at the back of his head, utterly confused. Of all the things she would have predicted about this man, being great with four-year-old boys was definitely not one of them.
CHAPTER
12
Dylan, which football team do you support? Have you ever been to London Zoo? Do you sleep with your hair like that?”
For the past ten minutes, Hector had been grilling Dylan, and now Libby knew he liked pasta more than pizza, had never seen Cars but had seen Toy Story 2, and would rather be eaten by a lion than a shark. Hector had even moved forward to sit next to Dylan, leaving Libby to ride in relative peace.
“Do you like Lego?” Hector asked.
“I love it,” Dylan said. “I still have the original Lego X-Wing Starfighter I was given for my twelfth birthday.”
Libby rolled her eyes. Of course Dylan was a grown man who still had Lego.
“Cumberland Terrace,” the electronic bus announcement said.
Libby looked out the window and saw they were pulling up at a stop on Albany Street, the road where she and Dylan had put the posters up on Monday. She leaned forward to see her poster, but the one on the bus stop had disappeared. Libby kept looking as the bus moved off down the road, but there wasn’t one on the lamppost either or on the next bus stop. They’d all gone.
Dylan must have been looking too, because he turned back to face her. “I see not many of your posters survived.”
There he was, the Dylan she knew: not the sweet, child-entertaining one, but the know-it-all, thought he was better than everyone else, delighted to point out her failure one.
“Are you going to say ‘I told you so’?” Libby said, crossing her arms.
“No, I—”
“I know you think this is a terrible idea, but I’m not going to give up at the first hurdle.”
“I never said you were,” he said, although Libby was pretty sure that was exactly what he was thinking.
“You may be completely unmoved by Frank’s search, but I happen to think it’s an amazing story. And I want to help him try and find this woman, before his daughter locks him up in some old people’s home.”
Dylan scowled. “I’m not unmoved by his story.”
“Then why are you so against what I’m doing? Surely, if you care for Frank, you’d want to help him too?”
“Of course I care about Frank,” he said, and there was a sharpness to his voice. “It’s just more complicated than you realize.”
“Why?”
Dylan paused and ran a hand over the shaved part of his head.
“The thing is . . . Frank’s got dementia.”
Libby’s eyes went wide. “What?”
“He was diagnosed last year but he refuses to admit it. That’s why his daughter employed me, so there’s someone to check in on him twice a day, make sure he’s taking his meds and eating properly. But recently he’s been having these episodes where he blanks out.”
“Oh my god.”
“And that’s why Clara wants to get him assessed, ’cos she’s worried he might have one of these episodes when he’s at home alone or out on the bus, and then who knows what could happen to him?”
Libby had realized Frank was a bit forgetful, but she’d had no idea it was as bad as dementia. “Surely that’s all the more reason to try and find this woman, before his dementia gets much worse.”
“Do you really, honestly believe that a couple of posters are gonna help track down one eighty-year-old woman in a city of nine million people?”
Libby felt a prickle of anger at his defeatist tone. “But isn’t it better to try than give up? I mean, even if there’s only the tiniest chance of me finding her, surely that hope is better than nothing.”
Dylan sighed. “I’m just worried about Frank’s expectations. He’s convinced himself that you’re going to find his woman and that will solve all his problems and they’ll live happily ever after. You should have heard him this morning, talking like it was a matter of days before they were reunited. And I’m worried that when that doesn’t happen, he won’t be able to cope with the disappointment. His mental health is fragile enough as it is.”
Libby felt a sinking sensation. “So are you saying I should stop looking for her?”
“No, I’m not saying that,” Dylan said in a gentle tone she’d not heard him use before. “I know you want to help Frank, and that’s brilliant—he’s been more cheerful this week than I’ve seen him in months. I’m just saying we need to be careful to manage his expectations so that when you inevitably don’t find his girl on the 88, the disappointment doesn’t crush him.”
Libby didn’t say anything as Dylan’s words sank in. Frank had been so excited when she’d offered to help him. But what if Dylan was right and she didn’t trace Frank’s woman? She’d had no idea he was unwell; what if her search failed and made him worse? Libby took a deep breath. She would have to make sure her search wasn’t a failure, then; the alternative was too awful to consider.
“Hector, the next stop is ours,” Libby said as the announcement came over the loudspeaker that they were approaching Oxford Circus.
“Isn’t Dylan coming too?”
“No, he isn’t.”
“Oh, please!” Hector grabbed Dylan’s arm. “Libby says once we finish putting up posters, then we can go to the Lego store. We could look at the Star Wars Lego together and I could show you the Ninjago one I want for my birthday?”
“Hector, Dylan has somewhere he needs to be,” Libby said firmly.
“Actually, I don’t,” Dylan said.
Libby looked at him, aghast. “It’s fine, honestly; you don’t have to humor Hector.”
“Yay, come! Come!” Hector said, bouncing up and down in his seat.
“I don’t have to be at my next job for a couple of hours,” Dylan said. “I don’t mind helping you for a bit. If you want?”
Libby frowned. The last thing she wanted was to spend more time with Dylan, when their first effort at putting up posters had been so awkward and hostile and—
“Okay, fine.”
Libby thought she saw the tiniest hint of a smile on Dylan’s face, but he stood up too fast for her to be sure and rang the bell to stop the bus.
* * *
• • •
IT took them almost two hours to walk from Oxford Circus to Piccadilly Circus. Dylan completely ignored Libby’s spreadsheet, and rather than doing one side of the road and then the other, he zigzagged them back and forth across Regent Street to post up posters on either side. They were also slowed down by Hector, who insisted on taking them on a detour to Carnaby Street and then into Hamleys toy shop. Libby was impatient to hurry up so they could finish today’s section of the route and get home for lunch, but once Hector had found the Lego floor, he and Dylan spent half an hour exclaiming over the different sets. Eventually they made it out of the shop, but then two separate sets of tourists stopped Dylan and asked if they could have their photo taken with him. Libby waited for him to roar at them, but to her bewilderment, he obliged. By the time they made it down to Piccadilly Circus, it was well past twelve.
