Three days later, ridiculously early on the Saturday morning, Juno was at Wakefield train station with a good twenty minutes to spare before her train to King’s Cross was due.
She’d left the kids in bed, anxiously waiting for Ariadne to arrive and take over before jumping into her Mini, overnight case and laptop in the boot, at 5.30 a.m. It was Ariadne herself who’d said she must go, must take up the offer of a weekend away and she, Ariadne, would move in and be a proper aunt for once in her life.
‘You won’t know what to do,’ Juno had argued, when she’d mentioned, in passing, the weekend conference to her elder sister over the phone, and Ariadne had immediately offered to move in and be at the helm for two days.
‘How hard can it be? Your two are not babies anymore. I don’t have to mix formula or change nappies or make sure they’re in bed at a certain time.’
‘Well, yes you do.’ Juno had frowned to herself. ‘They do have set bedtimes you know.’
‘Do they? Well then, that’s fine. I’ll adhere to that. It’ll be fun, I can take them to the cinema on Saturday evening. We can go out for pizza. You know, we can do what teenagers left with their aunt are supposed to do.’
‘Gabe will probably just grunt at you.’
‘Great stuff, I’ll just grunt back. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll get Mum over to help.’
‘I’m not sure that makes me feel any better,’ Juno had said down the phone. ‘And you know you’ll have to take her home. She won’t stay overnight.’
‘Juno, stop it. I’m a grown woman. You’re a grown woman. Now, for heaven’s sake, take up the offer of a fabulous hotel room, take an early train down and have a couple of hours shopping before the conference.’
Juno had wavered as excitement at the possibility of a bit of an adventure began to stir. ‘It’s very good of you, Ariadne. It’s daft really, I was actually born in London and yet I’ve only ever been down there a couple of times since – once with you when we went down to find Lexia – do you remember? Are you sure about this?’
‘Listen Juno, you sometimes appear to be sinking into a life of middle-aged suburbia.’
‘I’m not…’ Juno had protested, stung at Ariadne’s outspoken words.
‘Look, just hear me out,’ Ariadne went on. ‘I can say this over the phone when you’re not in front of me to thump me one. You were always such a jolly, frivolous little girl, full of life, really funny…’ She paused. ‘But you seemed to lose it all when you decided to marry Fraser.’
‘I decided?’ Juno snapped. ‘I didn’t decide, it was all sort of decided for me.’
‘You were an adult, Juno. Lots of women get pregnant and have their baby without marrying the father.’
‘But I loved – I love Fraser – I don’t know what you’re implying, Ariadne.’ For some reason Juno felt tears start and she took a deep breath while Ariadne continued.
‘If that’s the case, then wonderful. I’m sorry I said anything. It was crass of me and I apologise. OK, let’s move on. I’ll have an early night and be at your place early on Saturday morning. I’ll bring my marking and some strong coffee and then by the time the kids are up I’ll have breakfast ready for them. What do kids eat these days?’
‘Honestly? Are you sure about this, Ari?’ Juno had hugged herself at the thought of a little outing by herself. ‘I’ll leave a long list and timetable for you. Gabe will need dropping at football practice and Tilda’s probably got another party or sleepover or something.’
‘It will be fine,’ Ariadne had said. ‘Leave it all to me.’
Leave it all to Ariadne? Juno tutted as she bought herself a coffee and a copy of The Telegraph in order to look a bit more grown up than she actually felt. Ariadne had been twenty minutes late, giving Juno no time to explain where everything was, and had, instead, airily shooed Juno down the garden path into the still dark morning and on into the Mini.
Once the train was on its way, Juno settled back, tried to stop worrying about the children – they certainly hadn’t been concerned about being left – and, instead, concentrated on the novelty of two days of freedom and her own company.
The train journey south was only two hours, giving Juno a good five hours until she had to be at the medical conference somewhere in Holborn. Her plan had been to go directly to the Clarion hotel and leave her case and laptop there before heading for the retail delights of Kensington High Street and Knightsbridge as suggested by one of her patients at the surgery. When she realised she would be going miles out of her way to the hotel near St James’s Park, Juno made the decision, instead, to leave her little case at left luggage in King’s Cross, changed into flat walking shoes and then, unhampered by bag or heels, set off.
After treating herself to a most delicious breakfast in Le Pain Quotidien (porridge with granola and compote and a big mug of Earl Grey) on the concourse of St Pancras, all the while marvelling at the surrounding Victorian architecture, Juno headed for Knightsbridge, walking briskly and enjoying the sights and sounds of a busy Saturday morning in the capital. Harrods and Harvey Nicks were everything she’d imagined and, after sighing over and stroking the exorbitantly expensive dresses in Harrods, she settled on buying Ari and her mum a beautifully presented pack of pastel-coloured macarons apiece and then set off once more. Juno glanced at her Fitbit (15000 steps already) and decided she’d save time – and her feet – by jumping on a bus to Kensington High Street.
Juno reached for her purse and, horrified, realised it wasn’t in her bag.
It had to be.
It wasn’t.
The bus driver set off, waving her to one side of the bus while she stood, continuing to scrabble through the packs of macarons, her reading glasses, directions to the conference and all the other detritus a woman has in her handbag for a weekend in the big city.
The purse wasn’t there. For heaven’s sake, she’d been off by herself for just five hours and already here was proof she was the scatter-brained idiot Fraser always said she was: the woman who wasn’t fit to leave the sticks by herself. Juno’s heart began to pound. As soon as the bus stopped at the next stop she jumped off, retracing her steps back to Harrods, her nose to the ground in the hope of spotting the brown Ted Baker leather wallet Gabe and Tilda had clubbed together and bought her for her last birthday. Losing her children’s present to her was bad enough, but everything was in there: cards, money, all she’d brought with her.
The sales assistant in Harrods just looked vague, shrugging unhelpfully when Juno managed to get her attention and ask about her purse. Nothing had been handed in. No one had seen it.
Juno tried to think rationally: what does one do in London without a penny to one’s name? She needed to get back to King’s Cross and retrieve her luggage and laptop. That would be a start. Taxi? Nope, no money and she’d never set up one of those Uber app thingies.
Bus? No money.
Tube? No money.
Walk? Juno realised she’d just have to walk. There was nothing else for it. She took a deep breath, tapped in Harrods to King’s Cross on Google Maps and set off holding her phone aloft in the direction indicated by the red arrow on her phone. Past Park Lane on her left and on towards Piccadilly. There was Green Park on her right, and then onwards and up Shaftsbury Avenue. Thank goodness she had her comfortable walking shoes on.
Half an hour into the walk, it started to rain. Not pouring down, but that miserable fine spray stuff that you don’t realise is actually coming down until your new hair-do is ruined. Tutting, Juno pulled her brolly from her handbag, endeavouring to balance handbag and phone in one hand while shooting up the multi-coloured spotted umbrella. Obviously with too much force – the cheap brolly she’d bought on the market in her lunch hour the week previously shot up… and carried on shooting up, the top leaving the metal stick with a flourish only to descend like some shot-down tropical bird onto the pavement a second later. Gritting her teeth and trying not to cry, Juno picked it up and left it, abandoned, in the nearest bin.
One hour and twenty-three minutes later she’d covered the four-mile distance and King’s Cross was ahead of her. Was someone already using her bankcards? She needed to cancel them all. Oh hell, what else was in there? Her driving licence, library card and gym membership. Admittedly she’d not been for months but that, absolutely, was not the point.
Juno reached left luggage towards the back of the concourse and joined the queue there. Who should she ring? She Googled her bank for the lost card number just as she was called forward, and automatically reached for her purse and the Left Luggage receipt.
In her lost purse.
‘Look, I’ve had my purse stolen, or I’ve lost it. I’ve no ticket.’ Juno looked the attendant, who must have been quite a few years older than herself, straight in the eye, to show what an honest, upstanding member of the community she was.
‘Can you describe the case?’
‘Yes, yes I can. It’s bright purple with an American Express logo and – very helpful, this – the metal handle has been sawn off, leaving two metal sticky-out bits on which to rip your fingers and ladder your tights.’ Juno smiled, willing him on to her side. Surely, no one else owned a case like that, never mind depositing it in King’s Cross left luggage that very morning. It was pretty embarrassing owning a purple case with a sawn-off shotgun (handle, Juno, handle) but Fraser had taken all the best cases and she’d not had time, or to be honest, even thought about going to buy a new one. The man peered at her over his spectacles and went off into the back, reappearing just a few seconds later.
‘That’s it. Thank you. That’s the one.’ Juno reached for it gratefully, but the man put up a hand like a traffic officer and she stepped back.
‘Can you tell me what’s in it?’
‘What’s in it? Erm, yes, well, there’s my laptop, and a white nightie wrapped around a Babyliss hairdryer.’
The man unzipped the case, peeping in, but not allowing Juno to have sight of its contents. ‘And?’
‘And? Oh, golly, erm, a green spotted bra and two pairs of matching knickers.’
He nodded, sagely, looked Juno up and down before delving into the contents of the case once more. ‘Tell me the name of all your makeup?’
‘What? Right, well there’s an Hourglass mascara… It’s new and cost me an arm and a leg. Then the rest is Charlotte Tilbury, although I think there’s a Rimmel lipstick. Yes, pink, Pink Glow, if I remember rightly. Look, is this all necessary?’
‘Name of toothpaste?’
‘You’re kidding me?’ Juno felt the stirrings of a headache and massaged her forehead. ‘OK, it’s wrapped in a green spotty – matches my knickers – shower cap and is Sensodyne Total White’
‘Correct.’
It was, Juno thought, a bit like playing that game at a party when you have to remember what’s on a tray before it’s whisked away. She’d obviously passed her A level in left luggage and – heavens be praised – after finding a tenner lurking in the mirror compartment of her handbag, decided to sit with a coffee and decide what to do. ‘Just off for caffeine,’ she told the left luggage inspector. ‘It’s a bit unwieldy this case. I’ll leave it here instead of dragging it with me into a café and be back again to pick it up in half an hour once I’ve decided what to do, if that’s OK?’
*
The large cappuccino was a godsend and, while she slowly sipped, savouring the caffeine reaching her brain, Juno tried to work out the best course of action. She had, she assumed, enough money left from the tenner for a tube ticket to where the conference was being held. Once there, surely, she could throw herself on the mercy of the organisers; they’d all taken the Hippocratic Oath hadn’t they, and were meant to help others?
Feeling slightly more confident Juno retraced her steps to reclaim her purple case.
‘Hi, me again,’ she smiled. ‘Could you pass me over my case now?’
‘Can I see your ID?’ The same man looked at Juno through narrowed eyes and folded his arms.
‘What? We’ve been through all this, ten minutes ago. You’ve seen my toothpaste and nightie, you’ve had a good root through my knickers. Just pass my case over, would you? I’ve really had enough of this.’
‘Sorry, I need some ID.’
‘A letter in my bag?’
He shook his head. ‘Your driving licence will do.’
‘It was in my purse. It’s been stolen.’ Juno felt her teeth clench as she spoke.
‘Your passport?’
‘I’ve travelled to London not Outer Mongolia… although you’re beginning to make me wish I had. Why the hell would I have my passport with me? Please, come on, you’ve identified me once. Just give me the case.’
‘Sorry, it’s policy never to hand over luggage to someone without any ID.’
‘So why didn’t you tell me this two hours ago when you were rifling through my makeup and knickers? What are you? Some sort of pervert?’
‘Accusations like that won’t help your case.’ The man obviously had damned cases on the brain. He turned to serve the people behind Juno and, furiously, she shook his arm.
‘I am a doctor. Do I look like some sort of criminal? Give me my case.’
The man continued to attend to the German couple at Juno’s side but simultaneously pointed to a notice on the counter. ‘It’s here in black and white,’ he said calmly. ‘No ID, no case release.’
‘I’m getting it.’ Juno moved swiftly towards the counter. ‘Just try and stop me, you pillock.’
‘No, you’re not.’ He didn’t look at Juno but calmly shifted her case away once more into the depths of the room behind.
‘So, what do you suggest?’
‘It stays here at £12 per day until you come back with ID. Now, could you just move yourself, people are trying to sort their luggage.’
‘Juno?’
Juno swung round. Had she imagined someone calling her name? She narrowed her eyes, searching the small knot of people gathered at the entrance to left luggage.
Now, what on earth was he doing here?