Lost Property

Day two of Reception started exactly as day two of Reception was supposed to start.

With chaos.

Not enormous chaos. Not the sort of chaos involving fire engines, helicopters or a goat stuck in a tree.

Just the ordinary, everyday chaos that happens when two four-year-olds are expected to leave the house wearing shoes, carrying bags and remembering things.

Which, frankly, was asking quite a lot.

Barry Brand stood in the kitchen wearing one sock.

“Where’s my other sock?”

Mrs Brand looked at him.

“It was on your foot yesterday.”

Barry considered this.

“Yes.”

“So where did you put it?”

Barry shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

Of course he didn’t, although the right answer would have been, ‘I put both in the washing basket’, but that obviously hadn’t happened either. 

This was Barry, after all.

Behind him, Marmaduke Jackson was attempting to put his jumper on backwards.

“Marmaduke,” said Marjory, “your label goes at the back.”

Marmaduke looked down.

“It says ‘Marmaduke’.”

“Yes.”

“So it knows where it goes.”

Marjory closed her eyes briefly.

Parenting was such a joy.

Sometimes.

Mostly.

Occasionally.

Mrs Brand was already thinking about work. Mr Brand was answering an email on his phone while simultaneously trying to make toast. Alfie was sitting at the table eating breakfast calmly, fully dressed, bag packed and shoes on.

He looked like he had been manufactured in a factory called Sensible Children Ltd.

“I have everything,” he announced.

“We know, Alfie,” said Mrs Brand.

Alfie nodded.

He always had everything.

He had never lost a coat.

Never misplaced a water bottle.

Never left a lunchbox somewhere mysterious.

Never brought home somebody else’s trousers.

He was eight.

Barry was four.

There was a difference.

A very large difference.

“Right,” said Mrs Brand. “Barry, bag?”

“Bag.”

“Coat?”

“Coat.”

“Shoes?”

Barry looked down.

One shoe was on.

The other was in his hand.

“Nearly,” he said.

Mrs Brand sighed.

Then something suddenly occurred to her.

“Barry!”

“What?”

“Your sports T-shirt!”

Barry stopped.

Everyone stopped.

There was a moment of silence.

The sports T-shirt.

The beautiful, brand-new sports T-shirt Mrs Brand had packed yesterday.

She had packed it because it was Barry’s first ever day of school, and she had thought there might be PE.

There hadn’t been PE.

Obviously.

Because schools like to tell parents to send children in with everything except the kitchen sink, and then spend the entire day doing something completely different.

Still, Mrs Brand had packed the shirt.

Barry had gone into school with it.

And it had not come home.

“Where is it?” she asked.

Barry thought very hard.

“It’s at school.”

“Yes, I know it started at school.”

“Maybe it’s still there.”

“That is what I’m hoping.”

Marmaduke suddenly became interested.

“Did you have a sports T-shirt?”

“Yes.”

“Did you bring it home?”

“No.”

“I did.”

Everyone looked at Marmaduke.

“You brought yours home?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it?” asked Marjory.

Marmaduke pointed towards the hallway.

“It’s in my bag.”

He had, in fact, brought home his sports T-shirt.

Folded neatly.

Mrs Brand stared at him.

“How?”

Marmaduke shrugged.

“I put it in my bag.”

Astonishing.

A four-year-old had successfully remembered to bring something home.

This was a landmark achievement.

Perhaps Marmaduke would one day run a multinational company.

Barry, meanwhile, had apparently decided that his T-shirt had simply ceased to exist.

“I don’t know where mine went.”

“Did you put it in your bag?”

“I think so.”

“Did you give it to your teacher?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you wear it?”

“No.”

“Did you leave it somewhere?”

Barry brightened.

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

Excellent.

A clue.

An entirely useless clue, but technically a clue.

When they arrived at school, Mrs Brand mentioned the missing shirt to the teacher.

“Oh, I’m sure it will turn up,” she said cheerfully.

Mrs Brand smiled.

“Yes.”

She did not feel cheerful.

Because every parent knew what “it will turn up” meant.

It meant:

Prepare yourself for Lost Property.

And Lost Property was not a place.

It was a wilderness.

A dark and frightening wilderness filled with the possessions of thousands of children.

There were boxes.

There were baskets.

There were rails.

There were piles.

There were things hanging from things.

Nobody knew where anything came from.

Nobody knew how long some of it had been there.

Nobody wanted to know.

At the end of the day, Mrs Brand returned to collect Barry.

Marmaduke was waiting too.

“Did you find my T-shirt?” asked Barry.

“No.”

Barry nodded.

“Okay.”

Mrs Brand stared at him.

“Don’t you want to find it?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t seem very worried.”

“I’ve got another one.”

Mrs Brand stared at him again.

“You have?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“At home.”

“Well, that’s something.”

Barry smiled.

“I don’t know where that one is either.”

Of course.

Naturally.

That evening, the three adults and three children gathered around the kitchen table.

Well, the adults gathered.

Barry and Marmaduke were underneath it.

They were pretending to be spies.

Alfie was reading a book.

“We need a plan,” said Mrs Brand.

“Search the school?” suggested Mr Brand.

“Excellent idea,” said Marjory. “How?”

“Ask the teacher?”

“Already done.”

“Lost property?”

Mrs Brand sighed.

“I suppose so.”

Alfie looked up from his book.

“Lost property is horrible.”

“Quite,” said Mrs Brand.

“It smells.”

“Thank you, Alfie.”

“And some of it is disgusting.”

“Even better.”

Barry crawled out from under the table.

“What is lost property?”

Alfie looked at him.

“It’s where they keep all the things children lose.”

Barry thought about this.

“Can we go there?”

Mrs Brand frowned.

“Yes.”

Barry grinned.

“Adventure!”

“No,” said Mrs Brand. “Not an adventure.”

Marmaduke popped his head out from beneath the table.

“Treasure hunt?”

“No.”

“Monster hunt?”

“No.”

“Shirt hunt?”

“Yes.”

Barry cheered.

The next morning, Mrs Brand went to the school office.

“I’m looking for a sports T-shirt.”

The receptionist smiled sympathetically.

“Of course. What size?”

“Reception.”

The receptionist paused.

“Ah.”

That was not encouraging.

She led Mrs Brand towards the Lost Property area.

And there it was.

A mountain.

A vast, terrifying mountain of childhood incompetence.

There were coats.

Hundreds of them.

There were jumpers.

Dozens of jumpers.

There were shorts.

So many shorts.

There were school ties.

There were vests.

There were PE kits.

There were water bottles.

There were lunchboxes.

There were gloves.

There were hats.

There were socks.

One sock in particular caught Mrs Brand’s attention.

It was white.

Or perhaps it had once been white.

It was now a shade that could only be described as “school.”

Next to it was a pair of pants.

Nobody appeared to want to discuss the pants.

There were two pairs of snorkelling masks.

Then there was a single shoe.

Just one.

It sat sadly on top of a pile of PE shorts.

Mrs Brand stared at it.

“How does a child lose one shoe?”

The receptionist shrugged.

“More often than you’d think.”

Mrs Brand looked horrified.

“Do you give out latex gloves?”

The receptionist laughed.

“We probably should.”

Mrs Brand began rummaging.

She found a dinosaur jumper.

Not Barry’s.

A football shirt.

Not Barry’s.

Three pairs of identical shorts.

Not Barry’s.

A tiny cardigan.

Not Barry’s.

A pair of trousers with someone’s name written inside.

Not Barry’s.

A swimming hat.

Not Barry’s.

Another sock.

Not Barry’s.

The lonely shoe.

Still not Barry’s.

Then she found something yellow.

She pulled it out.

“That’s it!”

No.

It was a yellow T-shirt.

Barry’s was blue.

She sighed.

“How many children are in this school?”

The receptionist smiled.

“A lot.”

“And how many things are lost?”

“Even more.”

Mrs Brand looked around.

This was the true mystery.

How could a child walk into school wearing a complete outfit and somehow leave with only half of it?

Where did the missing items go?

Was there a secret tunnel?

A sock dimension?

A parallel universe populated entirely by lonely PE shorts?

That afternoon, Barry and Marmaduke were discussing the missing shirt.

“I think a dinosaur took it,” said Marmaduke.

“There aren’t dinosaurs at school,” said Alfie.

“There might be.”

“No.”

“Maybe a T-shirt monster.”

“No.”

“Maybe Barry ate it.”

“I didn’t eat it!” shouted Barry.

Alfie looked at him.

“I didn’t say you did.”

“I don’t eat T-shirts.”

“Good.”

“I eat toast.”

“Also good.”

Barry suddenly went quiet.

“I remember.”

Everyone looked at him.

“What?”

“The shirt.”

Mrs Brand leaned forward.

“You remember where it is?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

Barry pointed towards Marmaduke.

“Marmaduke had it.”

Marmaduke’s eyes widened.

“I did not!”

“You did.”

“I didn’t!”

“You did.”

“I didn’t!”

Marjory intervened.

“Okay, let’s think carefully. Marmaduke, did you have Barry’s shirt?”

“No.”

“Barry, why do you think he did?”

“Because he put it in his bag.”

Marmaduke looked horrified.

“That was MY shirt!”

Barry frowned.

“Oh.”

There was silence.

Then Marmaduke started laughing.

Barry started laughing.

Even Alfie smiled.

Mrs Brand did not.

She had just spent fifteen minutes crawling through the Lost Property mountain.

She was not yet emotionally prepared to laugh.

Then Marmaduke suddenly said:

“Wait.”

Everyone looked at him.

“I know where Barry’s shirt is.”

“Where?”

“At school.”

“We know that,” said Mrs Brand.

“No,” said Marmaduke. “I mean exactly where.”

He pointed at Barry.

“Yesterday, Barry took it out of his bag.”

Barry looked confused.

“Why?”

Marmaduke shrugged.

“He said it was a superhero cape.”

Mrs Brand slowly turned to Barry.

“Barry.”

Barry smiled.

“It was a very good cape.”

The teacher confirmed it.

Barry had taken his sports T-shirt out of his bag, put it around his shoulders and spent ten minutes pretending to fly around the classroom.

Then, when the teacher asked him to put it away, he had apparently put it somewhere very safe.

Unfortunately, nobody knew where.

Until now.

It was hanging behind the classroom reading corner.

Perfectly safe.

Perfectly clean.

Completely forgotten.

Mrs Brand collected it.

Barry was delighted.

“I found it!”

“Yes,” said Mrs Brand.

“I knew where it was.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I remembered.”

“Eventually.”

Alfie smiled.

“That’s what Lost Property is for.”

Mrs Brand looked at him.

“No. Lost Property is what happens when children don’t remember.”

Alfie nodded thoughtfully.

“I’ve never used it.”

“We know, Alfie.”

Barry put his arms around his brother.

“Alfie never loses anything.”

“No,” said Alfie.

Barry thought for a moment.

“Can we lose him?”

Alfie frowned.

“No.”

“Can we put him in Lost Property?”

“No.”

“Can we—”

“No.”

Barry grinned.

Marmaduke giggled.

Marjory laughed.

Mr Brand finally put his phone down.

And Mrs Brand looked at the sports T-shirt.

Found.

Returned.

Crisis over.

Until she noticed something else.

“Barry?”

“Yes?”

“Where’s your water bottle?”

Barry froze.

Marmaduke looked at him.

Alfie slowly closed his book.

Mrs Brand sighed.

Somewhere, deep inside the school, another adventure was beginning.

And in the Lost Property cupboard, the lonely shoe waited patiently.

It had all the time in the world.

After all, someone was bound to lose its other one eventually.