Lost Property

[JellyMan]

Romantic, PVC raincoat, not explicit.

The day had been very slow and dull. A couple of mobile phones handed in and a lost dog harness - who loses a dog harness but not the dog? The lost property office air conditioning kept the cavernous area of mislaid items comfortable on a very hot July day. When things were slow I would go to the area at the back of the warehouse behind the counter; the bit the public didn’t see. There was a rail of lost raincoats which was a favourite place to ‘accidentally visit’ when possible.

I was leaning with my elbows on the counter, reading a free copy of The Metro, when a stern looking woman coughed loudly to get my attention, “6:15 from Basingstoke, found it in the front carriage, chop chop my man, I am very busy”.
She threw a shiny black mass onto the counter unceremoniously, before moving off, “6:15. Basingstoke. Got that?”, she repeated as she left.
I picked up the raincoat. It was the softest and shiniest PVC I had ever felt and inside was lined with dark grey latex. The mack had red piping all around the edges, a good sized collar and matching belt. The label said ‘Size 18’.
“Who would be out and about in this heatwave in a plastic raincoat?”, I wondered, my mind drifting to the possibly of the owner coming to claim the raincoat and us ending up in rainwear heaven together.
Then I realised that no paperwork was completed as the finder had beat a hasty retreat. It was not in the system. Dare I say the lost property might be doubly-lost, possible only to be found hanging in my own wardrobe?
But I was a professional, this was my job, and reuniting items with owners had long given me a sense of satisfaction. Plus I wanted to know who owned such a lovely item.
I was on shift alone for the rest of the week, so I stored the mack, folded carefully and slightly reverently, under the counter; it remained off the books but available for return, should the owner contact lost property.
Every woman than visited the counter made my heart skip a beat, “could this be the raincoat owner?”, I wondered.

Friday afternoon came around. I looked at the clock. Only two hours to the end of my day and the end of the shift, so I needed to decide what to do. My instinct was to take the raincoat home if it was unclaimed, but also I could enter it on the aged computer terminal, and hang it up officially with the other rainwear. Something told me to do the right thing, so somewhat reluctantly I tapped the details into the system. It was officially logged, and no chance for it to find a new home in my house.

I was packing up and had turned off the warehouse lights already, ready to pull down the heavy metal roller blind to signify lost property now closed. My hand was on the metal handle, when I spotted a girl running awkwardly through the crowd. I paused, but she veered off towards the exit to the high street.
“Clunk”, the blind was down. My weekend was starting and the raincoat would do it’s time in storage.
I locked the side door and started to walk away.
“Excuse me!”, came a voice behind me.
I turned.
All I could focus on were the locks of long curly bright-red hair and those dreamy eyes. But I soon clocked the shiny red mack that she was wearing. So out of place in a sea of tee shirts and shorts, but utterly lovely.
“I know I’ve missed you, I was so trying to get here in time, but you see…”, she stammered in a smooth Scottish accent that he thought was From around Edinburgh.
“Lost your raincoat on the 6:15 to Basingstoke?”
She looked at me in utter bemusement.
“Er… how…. How did you know?”
I returned to the door and unlocked it, smiling to signify that this was her lucky day, but possibly mine as well.
“Ordinarily, once the door is locked it would be a case of ‘come back Monday’, but I have 30 minutes until my train”, i explained,
“Oh thank you so much”, the girl said, “I really wanted the raincoat for this weekend”.
My mind spun with all the possible scenarios of that weekend, it was set to be even hotter than the rest of the week, so why on earth did she need it so urgently?
As we approached the rail she skipped ahead and grabbed the raincoat like an old long lost friend, snuggling her face into it.
Her red shiny mack glistened against the weak lighting that I had put on, just enough so that we could see our way around.
“Thank you, thank you!”, she beamed.
Ordinarily I needed proof of ownership, but somehow I knew this was a genuine reuniting.
I tapped off the lights, and she was about to leave.
“Sorry, I just need to fill in some paperwork before you go”.
I tapped the terminal slowly, watching the girl out of the corner of my eye, wishing the moment would never end.
Then she turned towards me and said nervously, in that gorgeous accent, “I don’t suppose you have time to go for a coffee, you know, before your train?”

The End

[furryhood]

Nice one JM. A proper mackintosh story. More please!

[hotwilly]

Nice story

[wetrainwear]

Great short story

[Mydreamhascometrue]

JM do you have a connection to basingstoke?

[JellyMan]

JM do you have a connection to basingstoke?

Alas no, I just picked a town out of my head that I knew had a station.

Thanks to everyone for the kind words, there is a sequel in the making.

JM

[Rubadubdub]

Lovely situation. Hope you enjoyed the coffee!

[Sbr.and.vinyl]

Nothing like a little romance to cheer you up. Nice one.

[Raincoated]

What a lovely story. I hope he said yes to the coffee. Perhaps she would get him to wear the shiny black mac as she was already wearing her shiny red one!

[Jennifer987]

Great story Jellyman, I would love to be the girl wrapped up in the PVC and having the devoted attention of the young lad. BLISS.
Jennifer