The saga of the lost leather jacket

I’M not much of a shopper. Occasionally I’ll pass a shop and wander in — only to realise shopping is horrible, boring and everyone who works there hates you unless you walk up to them and say “I want one of these overpriced jumpers in every colour and no I don’t need to try them on or a receipt and here’s a tip, byeeee,” before leaving immediately. Otherwise they could just read their horoscope in peace. Another thing that tends to put a dampener on a shopping spree is being broke, which I profoundly am.

But last year I was early to meet a friend near Oxford Circus, wandered into Topshop for a looksee and that’s when I saw it — a buttery leather motorcycle jacket lined with a mustard silk. I tried it on and looked in the mirror. It looked like I’d owned it forever, it fit perfectly, we were meant to be — but it was £170.

I wandered around holding it for a while and then decided I couldn’t let it go. Little did I know as I left Topshop, new jacket in hand, that we were destined to have a tragic and short-lived future.

That night I wore my new favourite thing to an East London nightclub and left it there, never to see it again. It still hurts a little to think of my abandoned jacket, which is why my heart leapt when I come across an identical one on eBay. I feel fate has brought us together again and so I buy it. Yesterday morning it arrived and as I tried it on it felt like being reunited with an old friend. “I’ll never let you out of my sight again,”

I think. Later that evening I am on a bus to the dentist feeling frazzled and anxious. I go to leap off at my stop but a woman shouts behind me: “Wait! Your jacket!” And there it is, in her hand.

I get off the bus and put it on so I can’t lose it again, but for how long?