6.  TRENCHCOAT

by Susan Wells

Docklands Writers brings you a serial story, each month’s installment written by a different writer from the group.  You will be able to access the ongoing story on http://www.docklandsnews.com.au/columns/list/category/word-play/  We trust you enjoy it; feedback is always welcome as are membership enquiries to [email protected]  


Tom remembers…

Cold Melbourne winter night, breath wisping out in clouds,
Icy breeze on face, the night his life had changed.
Wrapped in old trenchcoat, his grandfather’s gift,
“Don’t tell your father, he’ll throw it out!”
He pushes his cold dishwasher’s hands,
Into the big warm pockets.
Beauty parade approaches now, women – a few older men,
A call to him, he startles.

“Hi Tommy!”
A blonde waves, long legs in heels, red dress,
Aromatic allure draws near,
But a figure steps out of group,  
It’s Uncle Luca, beckoning – pulling him aside
“Tommy, thank god I’ve found you,
Now don’t go home, trouble back there.”
“What do you mean, uncle?”

“Never mind, Tom, just come with us”
Okay, he relents; there’s women!
But panicked, he wonders, home?
Pawlu’s gambling horde was there
To claim their share, he’s sure,
Much money, he’d discovered
In the basement; WWII chests,
Loaded, locked.

Bank notes tied with mystery bands,
Hidden years before,
Explained his family wealth to him,
Sorted out his father’s “business”
Cursed money, he concluded.
Uncle Luca will help me out,
Start my own life, in the business.

Now Tom, recalling all those old memories, stands up and wanders over to the window gazing out to the vista of the harbour. The glisten of the boats moored there directs his gaze back to his own reflection, eyeing himself in the big window.  A slim, confident younger version of his father, a dismissive character, lingers there, a ghost-like image.
Yes, he thinks, as the click of the Docklands apartment door marks Kate’s entrance, we definitely need to get out, but I’ll see what she’s planning, she can’t know of all this …