legends · 4 min read ·
Claimed Before Lost
A clerk at a station lost-property office receives claims for items before they are lost, and a ring he has kept for forty years.
**Hollins Cross Station — Lost Property Office. Ledger, Vol. 12.**
*Items logged on receipt; claimed items struck through with date. Clerk: M. Yeoman.*
· · ·
**Mon 3 Sept.** Umbrella, black, gents. Left on 17:40 from the city. Claimed Tues.
**Mon 3 Sept.** Scarf, red wool. Hand-knitted. Unclaimed.
**Tue 4 Sept.** Thermos flask. Claimed.
**Tue 4 Sept.** Suitcase, brown, locked. Contents unknown. Unclaimed.
**Wed 5 Sept.** Spectacles, case, prescription. Unclaimed.
· · ·
**Thu 6 Sept.** A woman called at 10:20 to claim a green umbrella. She described it fully. Handle, a duck's head. A small tear near the ferrule. She said she'd left it on Tuesday.
I checked the ledger. Nothing green. I told her I had no record.
"It'll be in tomorrow," she said, and rang off.
**Fri 7 Sept.** A green umbrella with a duck's head handle and a small tear near the ferrule was handed in at 08:15 by a guard, who found it on the 07:50. I logged it. At 10:20 the woman called to claim it. I said it was here. She said, "Thank you. It always comes in the day after."
· · ·
**Mon 10 Sept.** A man called, very distressed, to ask about a briefcase containing documents he had not yet lost. He said he would leave it on the 18:05 on Thursday. He asked if I could set it aside.
I said I could not set aside what had not been handed in. He said, with a note of reproach, "I'd have thought you would be grateful for the notice."
**Thu 13 Sept.** Briefcase, black leather, found on the 18:05. Logged 18:40. Claimant called Fri 14th. He was courteous. He said I was very efficient.
· · ·
**Mon 17 Sept.** I have been looking at the ledger. In the past three weeks there have been forty-one claims made before the corresponding item was logged. Umbrellas, scarves, a set of false teeth. Claimants call in advance and are always right. I have asked colleagues. None of them has noticed. They say it's a well-run office.
**Tue 18 Sept.** A call. A woman, very young-sounding. She said she had lost her mother's ring on the platform last Friday. I explained that I had no record. She said, "No, you wouldn't. I haven't lost it yet."
"When will you?" I asked.
"Tomorrow," she said. "At about ten past six. I'd like to ask you to be on the platform. I'd like you to catch it before it falls through the grating. I think I can still be stopped."
I said I wasn't able to leave the office. She said, "Please."
**Wed 19 Sept.** I went. I stood at the end of platform 2 from five to six with my coat on. It was dark and wet and the trains went by with their lights smearing. At ten past six, a young woman in a green anorak came down the steps, running, and tripped on the lip. Something small and bright flew from her hand, bounced, spun. I stepped forward and put my foot on it.
I picked it up. A thin gold band. A woman's ring.
I held it out. "Excuse me, miss. I think you've dropped—"
She was gone. The platform was empty. The train, which had been standing in the station, was moving off, with a long quiet rush.
I logged the ring. I took it to my desk.
**Thu 20 Sept.** The woman called. "Oh, thank you," she said, in a warm voice. "I'd like it back now."
"It was you on the platform?"
"No," she said. "That was me earlier. A good while earlier. I'm much older now. I've been wanting to call you for forty years, but I could only call you in the past."
I took a long breath. "Why me?"
"Because you're the one who kept it," she said. "It's in the ledger. Forty years of ledgers. It was handed in to Hollins Cross, and you kept it. You've been keeping it ever since. You've never given it back. That's why I had to ring ahead."
I said, "I don't understand."
"No," she said. "You will. When the office closes. When the next clerk takes over and finds the ring in the drawer."
· · ·
**Fri 21 Sept.** I have been through the drawers. There is a ring in the back of the third one, in an envelope, with a label in my hand, that says: *Found 19 Sept. Platform 2. Unclaimed since.* The date on the label is 1978. I am forty-four years old.
The envelope is brown with age. The ring is bright. It fits my finger, and does not come off.