The Unforgotten Coat

by Frank Cottrell Boyce

  We carried on making our way through the field until we came out the other side. Now it was just sand in front of us, all the way to the sky.

  “The desert,” said Nergui.

  “We are back in the desert, where we belong,” said Chingis.

  I said, “I think this is the beach, to be honest.”

  “If it’s the beach, where’s the sea?”

  “Over there, behind the dunes.”

  “Honestly, this is the desert. Welcome to our desert!” And he took another picture – and he turned the beach into the desert with his camera. He gave me this photo and the one of the cornfield.

  I made the boys slog up the dunes. The wind was throwing sand in our eyes and that really sharp grass was cutting my legs. I didn’t care – I just wanted to show them that the sea was there and that they were wrong.

  But when we got to the top of the dunes, there was no sea. Nothing. Just miles and miles of sand and mud shining in the sun.

  “See!” said Chingis. “The desert.”

  I said, “The tide is out.”

  “No tide goes that far out,” said Chingis.

  We scrambled down the other side of the dunes. They started to walk straight out towards the horizon but the wind was blasting in now, and bit by bit we ended up following the line of the dunes. I pointed out that since the sand was wet and muddy and there were shells and seaweed and even starfish, this was clearly the sea.

  “So where’s it gone, then?”

  “Maybe it’s vanished. Maybe your demon made it vanish. That’s what it does, isn’t it? Make things vanish.”

  “Will you stop talking about it? Don’t you know it can hear you when you talk about it? If it does get us, it’ll be your fault.”

  “If it does get you, I’ll be fully surprised. Don’t you know it’s not real? And people don’t just vanish.”

  “A lot of people just vanish. Practically everyone we know vanished. That’s why we had to leave home – because people kept vanishing.”

  It was windy on the beach and I wished my jumper wasn’t being used as a prayer flag. There was no one around and nothing seemed to be moving. I said, “Maybe we’ve already vanished. Maybe this is where you come to when you vanish.”

  “You’ll get used to vanishing,” said Chingis, who seemed to think he owned the whole beach.

  I was worried that the tide would come back in without us noticing and sweep us all out to sea. Also, the wind was cold, even though Chingis said it wasn’t cold and went on about how in Mongolia you knew when it was cold because there was frost and snow on the hump of your camel.

  I led them back into the dunes, away from the wind and the possibility of sudden drowning. They never asked me where I was going or why. I was the guide and they were following.

  “The less we know,” said Chingis, “the less the demon can find out from us.”

  There was a rough path made from logs laid out on the sand, with gorse and nettles growing up in between the wood and on either side of the path. And poking out of the gorse there were one or two of the numbered wooden posts. Without saying anything, I followed them to the top of a high dune, where we stopped and looked down, and for a minute we didn’t say anything, but they each grabbed one of my hands and squeezed it…

  Down beneath us, sheltered from the wind, was a cluster of plump Mongolian yurts.

  “How did you do this?” asked Nergui. “Are we home? Is this Mongolia?”

  It definitely looked like Mongolia. I had no idea how I’d done it but didn’t want to admit it. I just said, “Let’s see.”

  The yurts were all empty and there was no sign of life, except that the tents themselves seemed to be breathing as the wind moved in and out of them.

  “Why is there no one here?” said Nergui.

  “Is it all right to go in one?” said Chingis.

  I had no idea whether it was all right or not, though I told him of course it was.

  So we did. Inside, the air was warm and still, like the air of a different country. There was some kind of bamboo matting on the floor and a huge pile of cushions in one corner. We spread them in a circle on the floor and I noticed a gas heater. It had an ignition button, so I turned it on and we clustered round it. The air started to smell of slightly toasted sand.

  Nergui said, “Why have the people who lived here vanished?”

  “I don’t think they’ve vanished. I think they don’t come here till the holidays.”

  Chingis had found some kind of storm lantern hanging from the central post. He lit it using the heater and took it outside.

  “Where is he going?” I asked.

  “Ssssh, watch.”

  Chingis set up the lantern on top of a log so that it threw a pool of light onto the side of the tent. Then he stood between the lantern and the tent and made shadows with his hands. Sitting inside looking at the shadows he was casting on the canvas we saw amazing shapes and stories. Chingis reached out his arm so that it looked like a horse’s neck stretched out across the canvas, whinnying and neighing. He made a demon shape out of some cardboard he had in his bag.

  Nergui screamed and told me to go out and make him stop.

  I said, “Don’t be thick – the pretend demon is putting fear in the real demon’s face.”

  “Oh yeah. I never thought of that.”

  When Chingis made a girl shape with some grass for hair and did kissing noises, Nergui laughed till I thought he’d hurt himself.

  Then Chingis came back inside and we all sat staring at the lantern. Someone’s stomach started to complain. I was thinking, These two are nomads. Are they going to use their nomad skills to get food and water for us? I don’t think so. In fact we wouldn’t even be warm if the stove didn’t have an ignition button. In my bag I still had my lunch. I spread out the food – a packet of Dairylea Lunchables, some Quavers, a Capri-Sun and a ham sandwich. The two of them just stared at it like these were the riches of Kublai Khan. Then I said, “Go ahead,” and they dived on it. There was a bit of a discussion about how to share the Lunchables but we worked it out in the end and then just lay there, not chewing, just letting the cheese dissolve in our mouths. We took turns with the Capri-Sun. First we sucked the juice out and then we sucked the air. The noise it made as the plastic collapsed was hilarious for a while. Then it was really quiet. Except for when Nergui said, “What’s that?!” every time a twig snapped or a pine cone fell outside.

  I thought, These two don’t know anything about being on your own and soon it’ll be dark. Somehow I’ve come out here with two nomads and they’ve put me in charge!

  I said, “Back in Mongolia they tell stories round the fire.”

  “Go on, then.”

  “OK. I’ll tell you a ghost story. Unless you’d be scared.”

  “Scared?!” Chingis laughed. “We wouldn’t be scared, would we, Nergui?”

  “Not ever,” said Nergui, looking around. “Where do you think everyone has gone?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, and started the story. “There was this old man, in Italy I think it was…” I was telling them the only story I knew. “He was an undertaker – do you know what that is? He buried people. When they were dead. And he was also very greedy. He loved jewellery the most. Anyway, one day, someone brings him the body of an old lady to bury—”

  “Exactly how scary is this story?” asked Nergui.

  “Completely scary. Want me to stop?”

  “No.”

  “So someone brings him the body of this old lady and she has a fabulous ring on one hand—”

  “How fabulous?”

  “Rubies.”

  “They’re unlucky.”

  “Diamonds.”

  “OK.”

  “So he decides it’d be a waste to bury the ring. He’s going to try and steal it. Well, he tries to pull it off. Won’t come. He rubs her hands with soap. Nothing. Still can’t get the ring off. But the more he can’t get it off, the more he wants it. So what does he do in the end?”r />
  “Cuts off her hand.” Chingis smiled. “That’s what I’d do.”

  “And that’s what he does – cuts off her hand. Then he folds her arms so no one will see. Then he sells the ring and buys himself a nice new car. Of course it’s very hard to get rid of a hand without someone finding it and making a fuss, so he hides it in the glove compartment of his car.

  “Anyway, one night, he’s out driving in that nice new car and he comes to a crossroads. And he sees someone at the crossroads, standing there in the rain. So—”

  “Oh, he doesn’t stop, does he? Never stop at a crossroads,” said Nergui.

  “Well, he doesn’t know that. And it’s raining really hard and the person standing there is old. An old woman. So he feels sorry for her and stops. ‘Do hop in,’ he says. ‘I’ll take you where you want to go.’

  “This old woman starts to climb in but it is quite a high-up car and not that easy to get into so the man very kindly says, ‘Here, give me your hand.’

  “And the old woman says” – I did this next bit in a spooky voice – “‘You already have my hand…’”

  As soon as I said that, Nergui screamed and ran out towards the woods.

  We ran after him. But outside the tent, everything had changed. The sun had dropped by now. Our shadows stretched out in front of us, like wriggling flags, and the whole landscape seemed to be glowing. Chingis just went charging off, yelling, crunching twigs and scaring birds. I went after him, grabbed him and put my hand over his mouth to shut him up.

  “Listen. We can’t see him. So we’ve got to listen.”

  We held our breath. We listened. There was a scuffling somewhere off to the left. I picked up the storm lantern Chingis had used for the shadow show earlier and lifted it over my head as we walked slowly towards the sound.

  Eyes. Bright-green luminous eyes staring into the light. They seemed to be floating in the air.

  “The demon!” gasped Chingis.

  “A fox,” I said. I could see it trotting off into the long grass, its head and tail both pointing down.

  A cry came from somewhere in the long, golden grass. Something was in there, making the grass wave, sending ripples of gold across the field.

  I shouted, “Nergui, stay still. We’re coming.”

  We trudged through the grass but we couldn’t see him.

  “He’s vanished,” said Chingis.

  “Of course he hasn’t vanished. Nergui! Shout to us again!”

  He shouted but the voice seemed to come from nowhere. Or from everywhere.

  “He’s vanished. He’s just a voice in the air.”

  Then a thought struck me. “Nergui, are you crouching down?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you just stand up?”

  And there he was, right in front of us.

  “Idiot!” said Chingis.

  I said, “Right, follow me.” I could see the yellow of the gorse and it led me to the little white numbered posts. I counted them down – 13-12-11-10 – leading us back towards the road. Chingis and Nergui never asked where we were going. They just followed. Followed me all the way to the station and onto the train. We got off at Bootle New Strand. And they followed me, still not asking questions, all the way to Roberts Tower, clockwise round the pile of rubble, in at the main door and up in the lift. They just padded along behind me.

  But then when I knocked on their door, Chingis exploded. “What?!” he shouted, as if he’d just woken up. “What’re you doing? What’ve you brought us here for?”

  “It’s where you live. I can’t look after you.”

  “You’ve cheated. You’ve cheated us. She’s done us. Nergui, quick…”

  Nergui spat at me. He was crying and shivering. Chingis was pounding on the lift button. You could barely hear the lift clunking up the shaft over Chingis’s shouting. Then the door of the flat opened and he went quiet. His mother walked onto the landing. She didn’t even look at me. She picked Nergui up and carried him inside.

  The lift arrived. Its doors creaked open. Chingis stood there staring into it as if he might still step inside. His mother stood in the doorway watching him. Two doors. Two places to go. The lift doors began to close. Chingis turned around and walked through the lighted door, into the flat.

  When I stepped towards the lift, the doors started to re-open. I looked back at the flat to see if the boys would say anything. Ask me in maybe. But nothing. Their mother closed the door and I stepped into the lift. The doors closed me in.

  When I got home, I told my mum I’d been to Mimi’s.

  On the way to school the next day I talked to Mimi about it. “They were idiots. They thought they could run away but Chingis didn’t even bring his coat. Hunting with eagles? They were scared of a fox. I saved their lives. They’d’ve died of hunger without me.”

  “What were they running away for, anyway?”

  I didn’t want to tell her about the demon because it was so stupid, so I just said, “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe their mum is a bit of a witch. She never comes to get them, does she?”

  “No. But honestly, they were on the beach and they didn’t even know it was the beach. If the tide had come in, they would have drowned. I saved their lives.”

  “I don’t know why you bothered. I don’t know why you hang around with them, anyway.”

  “Well, I won’t now, anyway.”

  Which I didn’t.

  Because in the first lesson Mrs Spendlove came in and stood in front of the class without saying anything for ages. She did this so long that in the end, everyone went quiet.

  “I’ve got some very sad news,” she said into the unexpected quietness. “I got a phone call this morning, in the very early hours of the morning. It was from Chingis.”

  Everyone sat up. Who phones a teacher?!

  “It’s a complicated situation and I don’t know all the details but basically, because of things to do with the law, Chingis’s family were not supposed to be in this country. They didn’t have the right papers, and though they’d been trying to get them, they ran out of time. I’m afraid the police came very early this morning to take them away and send them back to their own country. That’s why Chingis rang me. He wanted to say goodbye to you all.”

  And that was that. We never saw him again.

  I thought about things, talked about things. Mostly with Shocky, funnily enough. He was the only one who seemed to grasp how bad this was.

  I think Chingis knew that something was going to happen. Of course he did. Their bags were packed and in the hall. His mother was terrified when there was an unexpected knock on the door. He knew it was going to happen. They were going to come.

  I think he had some idea that if he ran away with Nergui then maybe when the police – or whoever – came, they wouldn’t make their parents leave because the kids were missing. I think he thought that if he could hide out for a while, maybe it would be OK.

  But I found him. The Good Guide. I took him home. And that’s where they got him. I’d led him straight back to them.

  The day Mrs Spendlove made the announcement, I waited in the cloakroom after school, wondering what to do. I watched all the coats go one by one, until only one was left.

  “Miss!” I shouted as she came out of the classroom. “Look, Chingis’s coat. It’s still here.” How could his coat be here and not him? “They’ll have to let him come back for his coat, Miss, won’t they, Miss?”

  “I’m not sure, Julie. No, I don’t think so.”

  “But temperatures reach as low as minus fifty on the steppe in winter. There’s frost on the humps of the camels, Miss. How can they send someone there without a coat?”

  “Maybe someone will give him another one.”

  “It’s a special coat, though, Miss – for extreme conditions. It’s a traditional Mongolian coat.”

  “I’ll take it. How about that? When we find out where they are, I’ll post it to him.”

  “That’d be best, Miss. Can you do tha
t?”

  “I’ll do it first thing.”

  But she left the coat hanging there when she went. And it was still there the next morning. And here it is now, all these years later, in the lost property box. It was never returned.

  I can see now that it wasn’t anything like a traditional Mongolian coat. It’s some kind of big, ancient hippy coat. An Afghan coat. There’s a label inside that says BIBA – LONDON. They probably got it from a charity shop or the box of donations at the refugee centre.

  And in the pocket are the photographs. Photographs of a Mongolia cobbled together from bits of Bootle. Chingis’s Mongolia was one big mental ovoo.

  “Did you ever hear from him again, Miss?”

  “Call me Claire, now that you’re a grown-up, Julie.”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  “No. I don’t know how bad things were for them. It really was true that they’d walked out of Mongolia following the railway line. I don’t suppose they did that because they were having fun.”

  “You don’t happen to have any pictures of him, do you? All these photos, he took them himself so he’s not in any of them.”

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  That night, I pick up my little one from the childminder, take her home, feed her, and while she is playing with her Playmobil, I root out the Polaroids he’d given me that day on the beach and put them in Chingis’s notebook with the others. In bed later, I flick through the notebook with her and make up a bit of a story to go with the photos, pretending it’s a picture book. I examine every photo in case he appears in one of them. But no. How could he? He took them all himself.

  Then, wedged in the middle, I find one Polaroid that’s completely black…

  The black is the cover you pull off a Polaroid when it’s developed. So this one has never been exposed. Maybe he took a picture of himself. I dig into the black with my fingernails and the cover starts to come up. I can peel it off. So I do…

  Polaroids don’t work like that, though. If you leave them too long, the light turns back into darkness. Polaroids are like people.