Lost

As Peter came out of the gents on the ground floor of the department store, he started to panic. He wasn’t sure whether he’d been told to wait there, or go and wait outside the ladies, or go and wait somewhere else. In any case, he couldn’t see where the ladies was, and he couldn’t remember where else it might have been that he’d been told to wait. Peter froze with fear as he realised that he was all alone and lost.

Peter recognised the feeling. He had been lost once before in a department store. It might even have been this one – he couldn’t be sure. One minute Mum had been there, her warm reassuring hand holding his. Then Peter had become distracted by the flashing lights of a huge Christmas tree that rose up to fill all three floors of the store. When he’d turned back the hand was no longer there to grasp and there was no sign in of Mum in the hustle and bustle of the crowds all around doing their Christmas shopping. Peter had responded in the only way he knew how – by bursting into tears. A kindly shop assistant in a smart white uniform had come over and knelt down beside him.

‘What’s up, love? Lost your mum?’

Peter nodded.

‘Well let’s see if we can find her for you.’

She’d led him by the hand to her counter which was a makeup counter. It was covered in bottles of all different colours and shapes just like the dressing table in Mum’s bedroom at home. 

She’d lifted Peter up on to a high stool behind the counter, asked his name, wiped his face with a wet wipe just like Mum would have done, and popped a sweet into his mouth. Some of the other shop assistants from the neighbouring counters had gathered round, keen to offer reassuring words and hold his hand. They’d asked him where he lived and what TV programmes he liked and what his favourite toy was. Peter was soon beginning to lap up all the attention and rather enjoy the view from high up (normally he only got to see people’s knees). He’d quite forgotten he was lost.

And what had made him feel really special and important was when he’d heard his name over the tannoy: ‘Would the mother of Peter Jenkins please make her way to the cosmetics department where Peter is waiting for her.’

Then he’d seen Mum all red-faced and angry rushing towards him.

‘There you are, Peter. Why did you run off like that?’ She was grabbing him by the shoulders. 'I told you you'd get lost. I hope you've learned your lesson.’

Peter had then begun to feel guilty, although he couldn’t quite see what he’d done wrong. After all, it was she who had run off, leaving him behind. But before he could protest, Mum had started to laugh, then cry, then laugh and cry at the same time and Peter couldn’t work out whether she was happy or sad about finding him again.

‘Well never, mind.' She was hugging him now and it seemed like all was forgiven. 'Now come on. Hold my hand. And don’t let go, this time. Let’s go and find something nice to eat. Shall we have a bun?

Today, things were different. Peter wandered over to the makeup counters opposite. It wasn’t Christmas now, and there weren’t too many customers around. A group of shop assistants were standing together gossiping and giggling. Another was busily dusting and rearranging the bottles on the display. But no-one seemed to have noticed Peter. He spotted a high stool and wondered if he should go and sit on it and then perhaps one of them might come over and help him. But he realised that without help he wouldn’t be able to climb up on to it.

‘There you are. I thought I’d lost you. Did you go wandering off again? Are you ok?’

Peter turned to see a vaguely familiar young woman addressing him. She looked a bit like his mother, but he couldn’t be sure. She wasn’t wearing a uniform, so he knew she wasn’t a shop assistant. But she seemed kind and concerned, and he decided to trust her anyway.

Fighting back tears, he said, ‘I’m lost – can you help me?’

The young woman hesitated. ‘Dad – it’s me, Julie, your daughter, remember? You’re not lost. We’re at the shopping centre. We go shopping every Wednesday, don’t we?’

Peter closed his eyes for a moment. He tried hard to remember, but he couldn't. But this was nothing new these days. Unconvinced and confused, Peter saw no other option: reluctantly, he placed his arm in hers, and allowed himself to be led away.

‘Is it time for lunch, yet?’

The young woman sighed. ‘Oh, Dad. We’ve had our lunch, don’t you remember?’

Again, Peter tried but couldn’t. All he could think about – and he remembered it as clearly as if it had happened that morning – was that day, years ago, when as a child he had got lost. 'You're not angry with me, are you?'

He looked hard into the young woman’s face. 'Of course not, Dad. You’ve just got a bit confused, haven’t you?' She was smiling, but Peter could see there were tears in her eyes. 'I was worried about you.'

‘How about a bun, then?’

The young woman started laughing. ‘Alright, Dad.’ She was hugging him now and Peter sensed that everything was alright again.  ‘Let’s go and find a nice bun.’