LITTLE BLACK BOOK

Calm settled as I walked up to the front door of the Victorian semi-detached red brick house. It’s tiny front garden was lovingly planted with geraniums and azaleas. Scrambling into my over stuffed back pack for the key I was reminded of the work I had yet to do to finish my last ever assignment to complete my Law degree.

The tantalising smell of cooking wafted down the hallway as I walked in.

“Gran I’m home.”

My beautiful Gran of Italian extract had taken me in after my mother had died of cancer. I was barely into high school when the tragedy struck. She was always there for me when I came home, ready with advice and a hug as I staggered through my teenage years. The whereabouts of a Grandpa was never talked about. My mother had been bitter and alluded to skeletons in the cupboard and was tight lipped at any mention of her father.

Supporting me through University had been a struggle. Gran had her pension and I worked where I could waitressing or cleaning. Life was very full with no time for any youthful extras.

Lifting the lid of the steaming saucepan I sniffed the beautiful aroma of Gran’s pasta sauce. Tonight was to be hand made veal filled cannelloni. No supermarket bottled sauces for Gran or pasta that wasn’t created in her own little kitchen. We chatted about the day sipping a fruity red as we set the table for dinner. Gran wasn’t her usual cheerful self. When I commented she said she had received a big envelope in the post and it was from city a law firm.

“ I’m not opening that. Who knows what bad news it has for me.”

She’d stuffed it in a cupboard. Out of sight, out of mind.

I hadn’t long been working at the computer in my room when I heard an insistent, urgent banging at the front door. Fright snaked through me as I jumped up to see who it could be. We just didn’t have unannounced visitors at this time of the night. I ran down the hall just as Gran was reaching to open up.

“Careful Gran”

But I was too late. The door was pushed violently open and two men in black, faces masked with balaclavas exploded into the hall shouting,

“Where is it? We know you have it “

As we were half dragged, and hustled towards the kitchen, Gran stumbled and lost her footing then was roughly held by her arm and hauled through the kitchen door. Thrown into a chair she could be heard whimpering with fear. They shouted and waved fists into our faces and demanded to know where we had put it. Trembling with fear I shouted,

“What are you talking about? What is it that you think we have?”

“The book, Tony’s bloody black book. He said you’d have it before he conked out. What a weakling. Couldn’t stand a few punches to get him talking.”

My Grandfather was Tony. It must be something to do with him. Gran cried out and said,

“We’ve had nothing to do with him for years. He was no good and I wasn’t part of all that and took nothing from him.”

The men sprung into action tearing the place apart. Drawers fell to the floor, contents flung far and wide. Finishing in the kitchen loud banging and crashing was heard throughout the house. Thumping back the tall man yelled,

“We’ll be back and next time we’ll deal with you if you can’t give us what we want.”

Stomping towards the front door cursing and shouting expletives the men disappeared.

With shaking hands I fumbled my phone from my pocket and rang triple “O”. The police were prompt and seriously took down our story. Tony was known to them. We learnt he was into criminal activity. Extortion and protection rackets were mentioned.

“We know these people and where to pick them up. We’ll be in touch.”

Leaving the messy turmoil the men had made I locked up and took Gran up to her bedroom and put her to bed. I lay down beside her as we were both traumatised and still shaking and teary. I doubt either us would be able to sleep tonight. Together we went over the events and tried to make sense of them.

“How could they possibly think I had anything of Tony’s. I haven’t seen him for years.”

As we talked I was suddenly struck with what Gran had been worrying about before we had dinner. The envelope from that Solicitor’s Firm…..what if that had anything to do with this?

“Gran, you know that letter you had from the city lawyers today where did you put it?”

“Oh, why? I shoved it into the top shelf in the cupboard here in my bedroom.”

I jumped off the bed to start searching. Clothes and items were strewn all over the bedroom floor and as I turned the debris over and sorted through the cupboards I found it. A large A4 bulky buff envelope with Gran’s name and address on the front.

“Gran I found it. Open it and we’ll see if this has any bearing on things.”

My precious Gran reluctantly pried it open and out fell a letter and a little black book.

“Oh no! This is what they were looking for.”

I took it from her and flicked through it. I could make no sense of it at all. Just lists of names, numbers and dates. On the inside back cover was taped a small key with a tag attached.

It seemed to be a railway locker key from Spencer Street Station. I tore it off the tape holding it and gave it to Gran.

“I don’t want it. It can’t be good”

“Gran we need to give the black book to the police but we’ll keep the key and go to the station and look in the locker. I am actually very curious as to why we have it in the first place and what is in that locker. Why would Tony have meant this for you?”

Thankfully we both eventually fell into a much needed sleep. I woke up as first light was penetrating the bedroom blinds. I jumped as my phone started singing that ridiculous Elvis song. It was the police telling us that they had caught and charged our intruders with break and enter and murder. It was they who had ended Tony’s life.

After a hard morning’s work cleaning up the chaos we needed to get out of the house for a while. We took the locker key and caught a tram which ran the short way into the city from outside our home.

At Spencer Street Station we were directed to the lockers and started our search for the number printed on the key.

I insisted Gran do the honours and be the one to open the locker. She stared at the door and summoned the courage to insert the key. Taking a deep breath she opened it and we both peered inside. Slowly she drew out a small duffle bag with a note attached to it. All it said was

‘I am really sorry for what I put you through’.

It was for Gran from Tony. We opened the bag and found it full of money.

“This is dirty money made from the misery of other people. I will not keep it.”

Weeks later Gran received a letter from the Cancer Research Centre thanking her for her kind donation of $20,000.

The End