The Forgotten Umbrella

At a quarter to eight on a rainy Monday morning, a bright red umbrella was left on a Northern line train by a businessman who was too busy reading his emails to remember it. It was a very good umbrella, large and strong, and it had been given to him by his wife for his birthday. By the time he noticed, the train had already left the station.

Ten minutes later, the umbrella was picked up by Priya, a nurse on her way home after a night shift. She meant to hand it in at the next station, but when she came up the stairs at Camden Town, it was pouring. She opened it just for a moment. It was the best umbrella she had ever used. Then she stopped to buy a croissant and, because she was so tired, left it hanging on a bicycle outside the bakery.

The bicycle belonged to Gareth, a delivery rider, who assumed the umbrella had been forgotten by a customer. For the rest of the morning it was tied to his bike with a piece of string and carried all over North London, keeping thirty sandwiches dry. It was photographed by several tourists, who thought it was a very British idea. At lunchtime, it was blown off the bike by a strong wind on Waterloo Bridge.

It was caught, just before it flew into the river, by an elderly man called Harold who was walking his little dog. Harold had not owned an umbrella since 1987. He used it all the way to the bus stop, where he saw a young woman in a wedding dress standing in the rain. Feeling generous, he gave it to her.

The bride, whose name was Chloe, had been abandoned by her taxi, not by her husband, she explained quickly. For the next hour the umbrella was held above her head by her father, and it appeared in almost every wedding photo. The photographer was delighted. "The red is perfect," he said. "It's the only color in London today."

After the party, the umbrella was taken by mistake by one of the guests, a schoolteacher called Mr. Okafor, who thought it was his. He used it on the way to the Tube that evening and, of course, left it on the train.

At a quarter to eight that evening, a tired businessman got on the Northern line and sat down. On the seat next to him was a bright red umbrella. "Someone will miss this," he thought, and he took it home, planning to hand it in the next day. When he walked through the door, his wife looked at it and smiled. "Oh good," she said. "You didn't lose the umbrella I gave you." He decided not to tell her the whole story. Of course, he didn't know it either.