My Only Coat

Bella Sutherland had never felt as alone in her life as she did at this moment. For as long as she could remember, it had just been the two of them, her and her mother.

Oh, there had been others along the way, but for the most part they had been very temporary. Mum had insisted they move every few years. 

Bella had never been sure what they’d been running from. Was it debt? They were always short of money, but as far as Bella could ascertain they had always paid their way, just. Or perhaps it was someone in particular they were trying to avoid, an abusive ex-partner who wouldn’t let go.

Perhaps, she thought, it might even be her father.

She’d asked many times about the frequent moves, about her father, but had always been told she wouldn’t understand. She’d be told when she was old enough. Yet cancer had caught up with her mother before old enough had come to her. And now, at seventeen, it was just her.

The funeral had been a small, quiet affair, just a couple of colleagues from work who’d now gone back on shift at the coffee bar where they worked. She wouldn’t call them friends, though they were nice enough, good people. She’d been taught by her mother that they didn’t do friends. Still, it was good of them to come. Someone from the local authorities had asked what she would do now. At seventeen she wasn’t quite a minor, but they had to check. They were quick to pounce on the idea of some fictional aunt in another town.

In her final days, her mother had made Bella promise that she would leave this town. “We’ve been here too long love. You should leave now.”

Bella had refused to leave. “But mum, I can’t leave you while you’re like this. What sort of daughter would I be?”

“A live one,” her mother had countered, but she was too weak to force the issue, so Bella had remained until the end, visiting each day after her shift. And because there was no-one to force her to do otherwise, she’d stayed for the funeral as well. Now was the time to leave though. She’d told her boss in the cafe that she needed to leave, again inventing a fictional aunt in another town.

Just before the end, her mother had pulled her close. “Take the coat with you,” she’d said. “It’ll keep you warm. But remember what you were told about the pocket.” As a final act of love, it wasn’t much, but it obviously meant something to her mother. She was wearing it now, a rather tatty grey overcoat, frayed collar, lining undone. It was much too big for her, and she’d never worn it as a coat before. Rather it had been laid across her bed as a welcome extra layer.

Bella walked slowly back to the small flat they’d shared. She’d put everything that was left in a bag ready and planned to go to the station to see what trains she could afford. Better move on, like mum said. She wasn’t paying much attention when she got home, so didn’t notice the two men who moved in behind her, the one in front, until it was too late. She’d put her key in the lock when hands grabbed her. A strong, sweaty hand closed round her mouth and her slight frame was lifted rather than pushed through the front door. The front door was closed, and besides the man who had hold of her, she found herself confronted by two further men, one of whom had a gun.

“Okay, you can let her breath. We don’t want her dying on us. I don’t think she’s going to run, are you Bella? Now all we want is to have a little talk.”

Who were these men? Were they the ones they’d been running from for years? What had her mother got herself into? The man behind her loosened his grip on her mouth, and she gasped for air.  And as the tears started again, reached into the pocket of her coat.

“What’re you doing there? Get your hand out of your pockets,” the man with the gun snapped.

“I’m just getting a tissue.” She pulled out a tissue and held it up before holding it in front of her face. 

“You,” Mr Gun indicated the thug behind her, “check out the coat.” Bella remained motionless while the man pulled the pockets inside out. There was no use resisting; the man was too large, Bella too slight. More tissues tumbled to the floor, but there was nothing else. 

“Just a badly repaired hole,” the man said.

“Check the lining as well.” The man pulled up the hem of the coat, but as Bella knew, he’d find nothing. The lining, such as it was, had largely disintegrated a long time ago. To complete the job, the man frisked her underneath the coat. She shuddered inwardly but managed to keep herself still until it was done. Once he had finished, Bella collected her tissues and stuck her hands back in the pocket.

She remained still while Mr Frisk went through the meagre possessions in her bag, a cheap pay as you go, a cheaper lipstick, a small amount of cash. A badly repaired hole, he’d said. That was true. Yet thinking about it, her mother was a good seamstress. She’d had to be, so that clothes lasted as long as they could. So why was this repair so poor and hasty?

The man with the gun seemed satisfied that Bella wasn’t hiding anything on her person. “Now these two here are going to have a look round your flat. Is that okay?” Without waiting for a reply, he waved the other two out of the room. “So Bella,” he continued, “we’re trying to find your dad. Any ideas?”

“My – my dad?” So it was her dad they were trying to get hold of, not her mum. “I don’t know where my dad is. I don’t even know who he is.”

“Oh, come on. You expect me to believe that?”

“I can show you my birth certificate if you like. It says Unknown.”

“Unknown ay?”

“Yes. Look I asked mum who it was, and she’d never say. Maybe she didn’t ask his name. Maybe there was more than one. I don’t know.” She picked at the repair in the pocket while the man paused.

“You don’t think it was Flynn Chambers?”

How did they know about Flynn? That was two moves ago. “No, Flynn was just a friend of mums.”

“Bit more than a friend, wasn’t he?”

“So? Nothing wrong with that, is there? Not illegal.”

“But not your dad.”

“He was more of a dad to me than anyone else.” That much was true. She remembered how he’d tucked her up in bed, how he made mum smile. She’d hoped he’d been for keeps.

“But he wasn’t your biological dad.”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“Sure about that?”

“Sure.” The man in front of her cocked an eyebrow. “Look, he’d got blue eyes, just like mum. I’ve got brown eyes. Basic genetics.” She remembered how disappointed she’d been when they’d done genetics at school and she discovered that there was no way Flynn could have been her father. Part of her back then had hoped he was. A fresh flood of tears meant she needed the tissues again, and once she’d calmed down, her hands were back in the pocket, picking at the poor repair.

“Hmm,” the man said. “What about Denver Collins?”

“Who?”

“Denver Collins. Heard of him?”

“No.”

“Sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I think I’d remember if I’d met someone called Denver.”

“And you’ve never met him at all?”

“Not that I remember.”

“Surely you’d remember meeting your dad,” the man threw at her sarcastically.

Tears, tissues, pick, pick, pick.

“Look,” she said after she’d calmed down, “I don’t know if this guy called Denver was my real father or not. If he was, I don’t know if he knew I existed or not. I don’t know if he came to see me or not, but if he did it was when I was so young, I can’t remember it.” Or could she? Sometimes she dreamt of a man, a bearded man with her eyes, laying the coat over her and asking her to look after it. But that was just a dream.

“So you got nothing from him at all?”

“I got life. He might have been a quickie up a back street for all I know, but I owe my existence such as it is to him.” The man said nothing. “And my brown eyes,” she added.

By now the hole in the pocket was large enough to push a finger through. Sorry mum, she thought to herself. If I get myself out of this, I’ll sew it up again. Promise. And I’ll do it proper this time.

She thought it strange that when she pushed a finger through it was so cold.

The other men came back into the room, and Bella continued to pick. “Nothing, boss.”

“Nothing? Have you looked properly?”

“Yeah. There’s not much to see. Most of the cupboards are empty. Just a few clothes in a bag.”

The man with the gun turned to Bella. “Why the bag Bella?” Bella paused from her unpicking of the thread but left her hands in her pocket. She thought it unwise to use the fictional aunt a third time. She suspected this man would know the lie.

“I was leaving. Nothing left for me here.”

“And where were you going?”

“Somewhere cheaper.”

“And the rest of the stuff? Your mums stuff? Where’s that?”

“Had to sell it. There’s a shop on the high street that gives cash for clothes. I took them there. Had to sell my jacket too to make up the weight. That’s why I’m wearing this old thing.” They looked at her as if she’d just sold the crown jewels. “Look, funerals are expensive. I had to sell almost everything to pay for it. I’m only on minimum wage in my job, £4.35 an hour at my age, and mum’s not been able to work for a while, so any savings we had have gone as well.”

“And was there anything else?”

“Few bits of jewellery, nothing fancy. That’s gone as well to the pawn shop. That’s next door but one to where I took the clothes if you’re interested.”

The men looked at each other. Obviously what they were looking for was possibly in one of these two establishments. As they talked, Bella finished unpicking the bad repair. It was definitely icy where the hole was. Probably a gap in the floorboards, she told herself. But if that was so, why didn’t she feel it on her legs?

With the men’s attention elsewhere, Bella thought ‘What the hell,’ and pushed her hand deep through the hole in the pocket. Some icy force grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her through. As her arm went deeper, she instinctively aligned her head with her arm, and put the other arm down by her side, making herself as streamline as possible.  Her feet lifted off the floor, she stretched out impossibly long and thin, and her last view of the men was as they realised what was happening and in slow motion started towards her. Too late.

On the other side, she landed in snow in a stand of pines. Two men were there, a gun pointing at her head. Not again, she thought. They indicated that she should stand, and too exhausted to argue, she allowed herself to be marched, shivering, through the pines. Over the brow of a hill, she could see a welcome log cabin, smoke curling from the chimney. As they neared, the door opened. A bearded man with her eyes waited for them. He smiled at her. “Bella, come inside and get warm. I see you’ve bought my old coat.”