Sisterchicks on the Loose (21 page)

The problem was that having “emerged” so much during the past few days, I found it difficult to fall in line behind my trailblazing friend. If it had been my trip, I would have stayed the rest of the time with Marketta and Anni and let them show me the Finland they knew and loved.

But Penny and I were boarding a plane, and barring possible ice storms and layovers at unnamed airports, we would be in London before our next meal.

T
he best part
about our flight to Heathrow was that it was uneventful. I dozed with my head against the window. Penny fidgeted in the aisle seat. The middle seat remained empty, and I was glad for the invisible buffer between us. It seemed to me that everything the two of us had enjoyed so thoroughly for the past seven days could be overturned if this impulsive jaunt to England turned out to be a disaster.

I kept telling myself to relax and go along for the ride. Penny was a woman on a mission, and I knew there was no stopping her. As liberated as I felt, my role was still the cheerful cosmic DustBuster.

When we trudged through customs this time, Penny was the one who started singing to the officer. He joined in and sang all about the barber taking photographs and the pouring rain.

I stepped up to the window next, and the officer asked if I was traveling with Ms. Penny Lane.

“Yes, I’m with her.”

“Will you be paying a visit then to Tony Slavin’s?”

“Pardon me?”

“The barbershop. On Penny Lane. It’s still there, you know. Will you be paying a visit? Take a photo?”

“I don’t know. We might.”

He stamped my passport and handed it back. “Make sure you stop by the pub at the bottom of Church Street and have a pint. Tell ol’ Reggie that Jon hasn’t forgotten about ’im.”

“Reggie?”

“Yeah, Reggie’s the bartender. You tell that Scouser that Jon hasn’t forgotten about that fiver he owes me. You remember now, right, miss?”

I nodded, but I knew I wasn’t likely to remember his message and even less likely to go to Reggie’s pub.

Penny and I made our way through the long corridors that led to the ground transportation. Marketta’s daughter, Elina, had given Penny all the information over the phone that morning, so I didn’t know where we were going.

An idea took shape in the back of my mind as we walked.
We should go to Penny Lane. Penny needs a picture of herself standing on Penny Lane
.

I decided there, in that crowded terminal, teeming with travelers from every corner of the world, that I would surprise Penny. There’s a first time for everything, and this would be the first time I could surprise her with an early birthday present. She had bought me the gorgeous blue sweater set I was wearing. I could figure out a way to get her to Penny Lane.

All I needed was a tour book.

The disadvantage of not growing up in tune with the popular culture of my generation was that I had no clue where Penny Lane was located. I knew very little about the Beatles.
Penny would know, but then, where would the surprise be?

We exchanged some money and took a train to Paddington Station where we were to change to another train. I convinced Penny to make a quick stop at a newspaper stand inside the charming Victorian train station so I could buy a tour book.

Penny said, “Let’s hope we get more use out of this one than we got out of the one on Finland.”

I was sure that we would.

Settled on the train for our second ride, I thumbed through the tour book. The index section in the back listed Penny Lane, and that led me right to Liverpool. It was all there. A map, train lines, bus tours. The journey would take us a few hours out of London, but we could do it. Keeping it a surprise would be the tricky part.

“Where are we going?” I asked. Outside the train window I saw we were still in London’s suburbs. Billboards along the side of the road that paralleled the train tracks advertised shampoo and designer label clothing. Low clouds hung over the chimney tops from which an occasional spiral of smoke snaked a white rope up to the cushioned heavens.

“We’re getting off at some place called Twickenham,” Penny said. “Elina said to watch for the station because it sneaks up quickly.”

I found Twickenham in the tour book and shared the info. “It says here that Twickenham is by Richmond and Richmond is an ‘affluent riverside town along the Thames with alleys full of antique stores and boutiques.’ Good. Because if we have time, I need to do some souvenir shopping. I didn’t buy much in Finland for anyone else. Kaylee gave me a list, and I definitely want to find something for Joanie.”

“Joanie?”

“You remember Joanie from the Clip ’n’ Curl.”

“Oh yeah, Joanie. Okay. Let’s add shopping to the schedule.”

I was intrigued with Penny’s use of the word
schedule
, so I had to tease her. “And just what else would we have on our schedule?”

“Anything and everything we can fit in. That, and bonding with my cousin. That’s at the top of my list.”

“Marketta said Elina is our age, right?”

“Right. Hey, this is our stop. Grab your stuff.”

All day I’d been carrying my light luggage as well as one of Penny’s three bags so she would only have to wrestle with her wheeled suitcase and the oversized gym bag.

“You brought too much stuff, Penny.”

“Tell me about it! I’m getting rid of some of this junk tonight. What was I thinking when I packed all this?”

“You probably were thinking you didn’t know what to expect.”

“Exactly.” She looked at me wistfully as the train came to a lurching halt. “I almost wish my luggage had been lost, too, so I could reinvent my wardrobe the way you did.”

“Wardrobe? Five or so new items don’t exactly constitute a wardrobe.”

“But it all works,” Penny said. “You look great, and you’re traveling light. Look at me. I’m encumbered.”

As we stepped off the train, I laughed at Penny’s word choice. A woman in a red coat caught our attention and waved to us. I wondered if we obviously looked like tourists to Elina.

Elina wore her straight blond hair short the way her mother, Marketta, did. Her lips were deep red, like her coat. She greeted us with awkward hugs and offered to carry some
of the luggage for us. With a bag strapped over each shoulder, Elina led the way through the small train station to where her older model green car was parked in a crowded lot.

It began to rain as we drove away from the station. Elina pulled onto the left side of the road, and Penny pressed her hand against the dashboard and said, “Is this a one-way road?”

“No.” Elina put on her blinker and turned again into what would have been oncoming traffic on American roads.

“This is so bizarre!” Penny laughed. “I don’t think I can watch.”

“Oh yes. It must seem to you that I’m driving on the wrong side of the road,” Elina said. “The traffic laws took me a while to grow accustomed to, as well. You’ll find this feels normal in a day or two.”

Elina’s English vocabulary was broader than her mother’s. I could see why Marketta had said she would not be good at translating Elsa’s letters, but that her smart daughter, Elina, could translate them easily.

Penny asked all the usual questions like, “How long have you lived here?” and “How old are your children?”

Elina responded with short answers and returned the same questions to Penny. I couldn’t tell if Elina was uncomfortable with us in general or if she was simply an abrupt person.

If I were Elina, I think I would have been guardedly gracious as well. It’s one thing to surprise an older couple like Marketta and Juhani, who have the time to sip coffee at the kitchen table and recount the past for hours on end. It’s completely different to show up in the middle of the life of someone our age who is juggling three children, ages eight, eleven, and sixteen, and a husband who works swing shift. Considering, too, that all this had been thrust upon Elina with
such short notice, I thought she was being very kind.

“I’m afraid our home is rather small,” Elina said.

“Like I told you on the phone, we’re happy to stay at a hotel,” Penny said.

“It is a little late now to make such arrangements. You might as well stay with us at least this one night. The girls don’t mind sleeping in my room. I hope you will be comfortable in their room.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I said. “Thanks for opening up your home to us.”

Elina nodded but didn’t say anything. She turned down a straight street with old, two-story homes lined up like matching birthday candles on a cake of someone well over fifty. The houses were different colors, but they were all the same style.

A tiny patch of grass separated the sidewalk from the rounded front window of the house we stopped in front of. Three steps guarded by an iron handrail led to the front door.

Parallel parking appeared to be an impossibility, but Elina expertly maneuvered her car into a space with mere inches between the bumpers. I noticed that all the car bumpers were well dented, as if drivers here actually made use of them for something other than a place to post their children’s academic standing or to announce they had a baby on board.

The rain fell at a maddening pace as we pulled our luggage from the trunk and dashed to the house. Elina opened the front door and called out, “William! Cammy! Tara!”

Eight-year-old William was the only child to respond. He bounded down the hardwood stairs in stocking feet. “Mummy, have you brought the imposing cousins with you?”

I watched Elina’s face turn as red as her lips and coat.

“William,” she said sternly. “This is Mrs. Lane and Mrs.
Andrews. Mrs. Lane is my cousin. Say hello to the kind ladies, will you, son?”

“Hallo!” William held out his hand and shook with both of us. He was the picture of politeness. A sharp pinch twisted my mothering heart as I looked at bright-eyed William. I missed my Joshie. I missed all my kids. I missed Jeff terribly. I was ready to go home. I wanted to close my eyes, and when I opened them again, I wanted to be standing in the entryway of my home with the mud stains that wouldn’t come out of the carpet on the second stair and the small chip in the wall where Ben had rammed his remote control Jeep on Christmas morning five years ago.

I blinked, but I was still in England. My brain seemed to be driving on the wrong side of the road. Yesterday at this time, I was bounding along a gravel road in a car that reeked of halibut and listening to Juhani and Marketta argue in Finnish. I wasn’t ready for such a quick change in place and culture and sights.

But there I was, standing in the middle of a production of
Peter Pan
, complete with shadows on the wall and a grandfather clock at the end of the hall that was chiming the hour for us. Five-thirty.

I needed to sit down.

Elina rolled on as if none of us had heard William’s comment about the “imposing cousins.” I knew Penny would only want to stay for a short visit and then call a cab to take us to the nearest hotel.

“Where are your sisters?” Elina asked.

“Upstairs.” Turning to Penny, William added, “Would you like to see Miss Molly?”

“Sure.” Penny looked over her shoulder at me, as if I knew who Miss Molly was.

“Do wipe your feet when you come back inside, William. It’s raining.” Elina reached for Penny’s largest suitcase. “We can take the luggage upstairs, if you like.”

“All right.” I followed Elina up the steep, narrow stairway. The door was open to the first room on the right. Bunk beds filled one side of the room. A dozen mismatched posters of kittens and rock bands covered the other side. Obviously the two sisters who shared this room had different tastes.

“Cammy,” Elina called out, “please come get your satchel and your shoes.”

Eleven-year-old Cammy stepped out from the closet that was hidden by the door. “I’m right here, Mum.” She resembled Elina but had long dark hair pulled up in a ponytail. “I’m just collecting my dirty clothes.”

“Good. Where’s your sister?”

“She’s watching the telly in your room.”

“Cammy, this is Mrs. Andrews.”

Cammy smiled. I tried to make conversation about my children, but Cammy didn’t appear interested, so I dropped it and just told her thanks for letting us stay in her room.

“I’m going down to start dinner,” Elina said. “Cammy, did you put out clean towels in the loo?”

“Not yet.”

“Will you do that, please, and show Mrs. Andrews where everything is located.”

I followed Cammy to the loo, where she gave me instructions on how the toilet had to be flushed by pulling on a chain and holding it down until I could hear the sound of the water filling the tank. She introduced me to sixteen-year-old Tara, who had appeared suddenly. Tara had dark hair also. I guessed their father would be the one with the dominant dark genes.

“Sharon!” Penny called from the bottom of the stairs. “Sharon, you have to come down. You won’t believe this!”

The two girls got a head start on me and trotted down the stairs. I had to stoop so I wouldn’t hit my head on my way down. I followed the girls into the kitchen and there, in the middle of the linoleum floor, stood Penny with a big, fat chicken in her arms. A live chicken. A deep maroon, fluffed-out feathers chicken with dangling feet and a jutted-out neck, nervously looking about.