The White Coat
Mary had lived in Rosewood Childrens Home since she was five. She never quite understood exactly why she ended up there she only recalled her granny not waking up one morning, and her mother never coming back. After that, there were unfamiliar faces, painted walls, and an ever-present whiff of boiled cabbage. At first, she used to cry at night, but in time she stopped. She simply got on with things, quietly and diligently, as if hoping that good behaviour might one day earn her something real.
Of all the rooms at Rosewood, Mary liked the gymnasium best. It was huge, with squeaky floorboards and high windows perpetually smudged with London grime, but it had a magnetic pull. Compared to her cramped Room Eight with its four beds where she spent her days, it seemed almost like a grand palace. And when she dribbled the taut orange basketball thudding out a steady beat on the wooden floor all her troubles slipped away. If she ever managed a perfect shot into the hoop, she felt nearly happy. Nearly, because she believed, as did all the children, that true happiness could only be found in a family. Inside, each child kept a quiet hope, tucked away for the day it might be set free.
Mary was swift on her feet and jumped higher than the rest. The basketball seemed to do as she commanded. Mrs Jacqueline Turner, her favourite carer, once said: Youve got real sporting spirit, Mary. Ill ring a friend of mine, a proper coach. Perhaps we can get you into a real basketball club.
And so it began.
At twelve, Mary started proper training sessions. First, she joined the local youth team, then the borough squad. In the final of the Greater London Games, she played the match of her life, tallying thirty-two points for her team.
When the medal was placed round her neck, the Director of Sports beamed, Congratulations, youve got a bright future ahead, Mary. Tears nearly welled in Marys eyesnot childish pride, the official thought, but a victors joy. An hour later, as he spotted her leaving the gym alone and stepping out into the London night, he stopped her.
Mary, wheres your family? Whos meeting you?
I live in Rosewood Childrens Home, four stops by bus.
Sorry, Mary, I didnt know. My names Mr Simon Abbott. Hop in, Ill give you a lift.
Fourteen-year-old Mary had never been in a car before she felt uncharacteristically special.
Whos responsible for you at home?
Mrs Jacqueline Turner, shes my carer.
Will you introduce me?
Yes, but shes not there now, shell be in tomorrow morning.
Ill speak with her tomorrow, then.
Mary was curious as a cat, desperately wanting to know what Mr Abbott wanted to discuss with her carer, but she was too shy to ask.
The next afternoon, Mrs Turner called Mary into her office. From her, Mary learned that Mr Abbott had asked, What does Mary Cooper need most? Mrs Turner had replied, Mary doesnt need much really, except that shes growing out of all her things she could do with a new coat.
I told him youve shot up so quickly, nothing from the kids shop fits you anymore. He asked your size, and then Mrs Turner plopped a brown paper parcel on her desk, tied with string. Lets see if it fits!
As Mary watched, stunned, Mrs Turner unwrapped a pure white coat with a slim belt and gleaming golden buttons. It was the most beautiful thing shed ever seen, unlike anything shed ever worn before. Mary, never the talkative sort, was left entirely speechless. Even more important: it was new. No old name tags stitched into the lining, no words scrawled in biro by the storeroom matron.
My word, Mary, this is the kind of coat youd only see actresses in the telly wearing! Now thats what I call a proper present. Try it on lets see you twirl!
In a daze, Mary slipped on the cool lining, which quickly warmed with her body heat. It felt as if someone had wrapped her up in a hug. Looking in the mirror, she saw a rosy-cheeked girl, smiling shyly in a stylish coat that fit her athletic frame perfectly. Her old skirt and faded red t-shirt looked out of place, but it didnt matter it couldnt spoil the feeling of celebration.
And thats not all! Mrs Turner grinned, looking as proud as if the coat were her own. Here, take this as well.
She handed Mary a folded letter, the badge of a cub scout on the front.
Whats this, Mrs Turner?
Its a ticket to Westbrook Summer Camp! Youre off for the first session its lovely there. Mr Abbott brought this, too bless the man.
That night, Mary struggled to sleep, as the recent days colour and noise whirled in her mind like a bright TV picture: the final, the medal, Mr Abbotts car ride, the camp ticket, and most vividly the marvelous new coat now waiting for her in the wardrobe.
She slid out of bed, padding softly to fetch the coat or Coaty, as shed named it. Draping it round her shoulders once more, she wandered to the window. Outside, the first spring rain was pattering on the glass. For the first time in her life, she almost wished winter would stay a little longer, just so she could keep wearing her lovely new coat.
***
Shoes indoor and sports, Mrs Turner recited, ticking items off the camp list before Marys trip. Youll need a sunhat, too. And a coat transitional, it says here. Doesnt matter if its summer, the list says coat, so coat it is.
Mary nodded, though she wondered why one would need a coat in July. But evenings could be cool, and anyway, shed never trust her coat to the communal cloakroom.
In the first cabin at Westbrook Camp, the other girls stared as soon as she entered. The rest wore light anoraks, puffed jackets, or snappy denim vests. Only Mary was in a white coat. There was no way it would fit in her backpack beside her beloved basketball, so she had to wear it.
Ooh, proper old-school style, is it? smirked skinny Ellen from the next bed.
Maybe its her dads! someone else chimed in.
Forgot summer came, did you? a girl by the window sneered.
Maybe she came down from the North, riding reindeer! another chuckled.
Its none of your business, Mary replied, quietly but tightly, giving them a look that made them all hush.
She hung her coat on the end of her bed and stepped out.
Shes a bit odd, isnt she? someone whispered as the door closed.
Mary wandered the camp, spotting the canteen, the little outdoor stage, the football pitch, and a dilapidated volleyball court. The basketball area was hopelessly overgrown; only one of the two hoops had a ring.
Why did I even bother coming here? she wondered, leaning against a tall birch tree but after a minute, she shrugged. Twenty-one days she could bear that. She had her Coaty and her basketball. As for the others they didnt matter. She felt as alone as ever.
The next day brought the opening bonfire and a disco. The flickering light from the fire danced in Marys eyes, as did the bursts of coloured disco lights. She didnt know how to dance, but she liked the music, so she perched on a bench at the edge, half-hidden by some overgrown shrubs, listening to unfamiliar songs.
That night, the girls took turns telling ghost stories and tales from American films. Some already had video players at home. Mary listened with her eyes closed, pretending to sleep. What could she tell them? Stories of sobbing newcomers in dark dorms, or of hiding bread under pillows, or the way any visiting adult made your stomach flutter with wild hopes? There was nothing to share that theyd want to hear.
When they picked volleyball teams and found themselves short, the counsellor asked, Mary, youre the sporting type want to join in?
She gave it a go, though shed never played. Volleyball meant smacking the ball with your palm, not catching it like basketball. The team captain, Daisy, was tall, strong, with a long plait.
Dont catch the ball, Mary. Bat it, like this gentle hands, pass it on! Daisy bossed her.
But the ball, so much lighter than a basketball, wouldnt behave, sailing out past the court boundaries each time.
Oh, for goodness sake, Mary go play blocker under the net! groaned Daisy.
After a string of failed blocks and another of Daisys scoldings, Mary gave up and left. She fetched her orange ball, cleared the weeds on the basketball patch, and started firing off shot after shot.
Camp life settled into its rhythm morning stretches, cleaning up, queuing for the canteen, rehearsing for Britains Got Talent night, and other events long familiar to summer camp veterans.
Movie nights became Marys favourite. Every other day, a poster went up announcing the film, and that evening the projectionist from the nearby village brought in reels. Mary always took a spot on the back row, so she wouldnt block anyone, and sat spellbound. Heros fought pirates on British ships, or Wild West Indians saved their tribe and, for a short while, the world seemed grand.
The rest of the time, she practised basketball, late into the evenings, while others clustered together elsewhere. Only her white coat, loyal as a sentry, kept her company, standing out like a beacon.
She never joined the disco crowd. While others put on makeup and strappy dresses, Mary slipped away to her bench among the brambles.
One evening, she heard voices behind the bushes Daisy and one of the boys, sneaking about, thinking they were alone. Suddenly, three local lads swaggered onto the camp, cigarettes dangling, looking for trouble. They spotted Daisy and circled her, leering. Her would-be boyfriend bolted, leaving Daisy cornered, nervous as a rabbit.
Well, whos this, then? Townie in a mini-skirt! Come on, darling, lets have some fun in the moonlight, they jeered, blocking her in. Daisy shouted but the disco drowned out her voice.
Without thinking, Mary sprang from the shadows swift, determined, right at Daisys side.
Back off, she snapped. Touch her and youll regret it!
The boys paused, shocked as if theyd seen a ghost in the darkness, then, realising she was just another girl, smirked.
Ah, another for you, Col! Look at the legs on this one. Stylish, eh?
The tallest lad lurched for her but Mary punched first, clumsy but fierce. Daisy, finding her nerve, seized another boys hair and screamed. At that instant, the music faltered. The shouts were heard. Within seconds, counsellors and boys from camp rushed in. Two troublemakers were caught at once; the third ran. But hed barely reached the gate before Mary, cool as a pro, flung her basketball straight at him striking his head and bringing him down.
Cracking shot, mate, gasped Daisy, breathing hard but finally safe. Thanks.
Youre welcome, Mary replied, scooping up her ball and heading back to her bunk.
Are you okay? Daisy caught up, her tone genuinely kind for the first time.
Yes, Im fine.
The next morning, after warm-ups, Daisy called across the court, Hey, Mary pair up with me. Ill show you the ropes for serves!
I dont think Ill ever get it, Daisy
Youll get it, I promise!
Ten minutes later, the ball was sailing back and forth, Mary getting the hang of it.
Gentler, Mary just the fingertips. Yes, thats it!
From then on, things changed. Not overnight but truly.
***
On Parents Day, something rare happened: it snowed. Huge, gentle flakes drifted down from early morning. Frost on the doorknobs and snowflakes on the roses by the canteen made a pretty scene. Lovely as it was, it did little to keep anyone warm.
Mary couldnt go out to the court, so she sat at the window, watching. As midday neared, parents started arriving. Between the main gate and the little clubhouse, the staff had strung up the camps ancient tannoy wire, buzzing all day.
The speaker, perched atop a tall pine, crackled continuously: Ellen Simmons, Sophie Adams, Harry Ford, your parents have arrived Those chosen dashed off, straight into hugs and warm greetings.
Ooh, girls, its freezing Ill catch pneumonia before I get to the car! Ellen exclaimed at her name. Ah well, Ill manage in my cardi.
Then, unexpectedly, came a voice rarely heard at camp: Here, take my coat, Ellen. Its lovely and warm you wont freeze.
Everyone turned to the window and saw Mary slipping her precious white coat around the girl whod once dubbed it old-fashioned.
Oh, thank you, Mary! Ellen mumbled, taken aback.
And so, the coat made the rounds Mary lent it to one girl, then another. It passed from arm to arm, gathering the perfumes of other families, the faint scents of apples and chocolates. Each girl brought Mary little gifts in return a Cadbury bar, a mini carton of juice, a handful of nuts. Mary waved it all away, but by evening her bedside looked like the best table at a picnic.
Daisy was the last to go, grabbing the coat before heading off with her quick, athletic stride. Watching her vanish, Mary had a pang shed have given anything for someone to visit her.
She lay on her bed, head under the covers the way she had as a small child, retreating into her private world.
She woke to gentle fingers stroking her shoulder. Half-awake, she glanced up and saw a womans silhouette sitting quietly beside her. Convinced it was a dream, Mary rolled over, but the woman remained.
Mum? Mary whispered, eyes still shut.
Yes, the woman answered softly. Will you let me be your mum?
And me your real sister, came Daisys voice.
Mary sat up, wide-eyed. The woman was as kind and lovely as Daisy her eyes honest, just like Mrs Turners.
Smiling, the woman said kindly, Daisy has told me so much about you, I couldnt help but care about you as well. She says youre the bravest girl in camp and she wont leave without you.
Please say yes, Mary, Daisy added, sidling closer.
But what about your dad, Daisy? Maybe he wont want me?
Hes absolutely fine with it and he already knows you. When I wore your coat, he asked right away whose it was. I said it belonged to my sister, Mary. He smiled. Thats a special girl, he said. Remember Mr Abbott? Thats my dad!
All right, said Mary, voice breaking as she cried and clung to her new mum and sister.
That touching scene was what the other girls saw when they returned from supper.
***
Mr Abbott waited for Mary in the car. When he saw the shining faces of his wife and two daughters, he understood at once he would be proud to have another daughter.
From that moment, Mary changed. She opened that hidden door in her heart and, from a quiet outsider, became the cheeriest, brightest star in the whole camp.
All the girls warmed to her after the coat and the night with the bullies. She didnt hoard her Sunday sweets but laid them out on her bed, inviting everyone to a midnight feast with candles and laughter.
They persuaded her to enter the Miss Westbrook contest. They taught her to dance, style her hair, and wear a dress with pride.
Just a week later, the camp tannoy boomed: Daisy and Mary Abbott your family are here! Hand in hand, the two girls ran together towards the gates, where someone waited, loving and ready to welcome them home.
That day, both those who waited and those who were awaited felt certain they were living some of the happiest moments of their lives and so they learned: sometimes, family is found, not born. And love has a habit of filling even the emptiest coat pockets.
