Lost property

Reading the recent competition stories about a lost wallet reminded me of an incident from my own past – an occasion when I unwittingly dropped a friend right in it.

This memory has now been given the 'Thunderbirds twist' and is posted below for your amusement.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Tracys. I wish I did, or at least could be allowed to borrow a couple of them for a little while. I don't own a Morgan either, though I would love to. For more info on my dream car check out the Morgan Motor website

My thanks to Boomercat and Purupuss for proofreading.

Jeff Tracy sat at his desk in the top floor office of Tracy Transport's Seattle HQ. He had been working steadily through a stack of paperwork all morning, when suddenly his mobile started to beep.

"Hallo?" he said, his concentration still focused on the report in front of him.

"Mr Tracy?" The voice was that of a young woman, with a cultured English accent, but one totally unfamiliar to him.

"Who are you? This is a private number – how did you get hold of it?"

The speaker paused for a second, obviously taken aback by his fierce manner, then continued. "I got the number from Alan's wallet." Her next sentence took Jeff's breath away.


Jeff had been only too pleased when Alan had asked to accompany him on the trip to Seattle. He always felt a pang of guilt for both of his sons who had to spend a month at a time on the space station. Cut off as they were from direct human contact, he understood Alan's desire to make the most of his month on Earth.

Over breakfast, Alan had been enthusing about his plans for the day. "Do you remember my friend James from college, Dad?" Jeff nodded, though he only had the vaguest recollection of another young man who shared Alan's interest in fast cars.

Alan continued. "James isn't far from here at the moment. He's got this English girlfriend, Fiona, who has brought her Morgan to the States and they've been travelling around in it."

"Morgan?" queried Jeff, his brow wrinkling.

"It's a convertible sportscar, a real beaut. They're made in England, hand-crafted almost, at this tiny factory in the middle of the countryside. James said he'll take me for a spin."

Jeff glanced at the window. "Is a convertible really the sort of thing for driving round Seattle? You know how quickly the weather can change round here."

Alan grinned and flipped his hand. "You worry too much, Dad. Gotta run, we want to make an early start."


The last of the storm clouds were just rolling away as Fiona heard the car draw up outside. She could not repress a smile as the car door nearest her opened and a gush of water flowed out. She managed to compose her expression into one of concern as the two bedraggled figures squelched up to the door. "What on earth happened to you?" she asked.

"The rain hit just as we turned onto the freeway. We didn't get chance to stop and put the top up," said James, peeling off his coat and shaking it.

"Yes," added Alan, as he pushed his wet hair back off his forehead, "What with the rain and the spray from passing trucks, we were practically bailing water by the time we got off the freeway."

Fiona shook her head. "Well, don't just stand there dripping all over the floor. James, take Alan upstairs and find him some of your clothes while I put his in the dryer. We can't possibly send him home like that."


Jeff looked up from his work as the door to his office opened. "Ah, there you are, Alan. I just had a phone call for you. A young lady named Fiona said she had found your wallet" He watched as Alan patted his back pocket, obviously only now realising that the item was missing. Jeff went on, "She said, and I quote, 'it must have fallen out of his pocket when he took his trousers off.'" He paused, looking at his youngest son, who was rapidly turning crimson. "Now Alan, I'm sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation……"