Three Levine

It was always a treat for the three Levine children when they got to visit Gran's house. Gran's house was big, with plenty of rooms for hide-and-seek, and a pond in the garden filled with fish and frogs. For the Levines, who crammed together in a four-bedroom apartment, Gran's house was a fairytale castle. It was also a veritable treasure-trove of toys; bags of shiny marbles, ebony dominoes stacked neatly in their boxes, striped hoola-hoops and skipping-ropes, boxes of coloured chalk that the children could use to draw on the flagstones around the pond, teddy-bears in all shapes and sizes, and a plethora of dolls with curly hair and frilly dresses. Then there was the box. Some days it was in the front room, proudly displayed on the mantel above the fireplace, other days it was in the dining room, hiding among myriad framed photographs, and other days still it was upstairs in Gran's bedroom. Sometimes it wasn't on display at all but just sitting on the floor or halfway up the stairs. The youngest child, Vivian, once asked, 'Why do you always move the box, Gran?' Something dark flitted across Gran's face like a storm-cloud blocking out the sun. 'I don't. That box has a mind of its own.' 'You mean it moves by itself?' This wasn't incomprehensible to a six-year-old. 'The box does what it feels like and I don't interfere,' Gran said. Vivian's sisters were more interested in the dolls. They'd spend hours brushing their hair or rearranging their clothes, but nothing peaked Vivian's curiosity like that box. She was never allowed to touch it, no matter where it moved itself to. Every time they went round, Vivian would look at the box and wonder. What was its secret? Why wasn't she allowed to touch it? Years passed and visits to Gran's house became less and less frequent. The girls were growing up; they had their own lives to live. When Vivian was twenty-two she moved to the heart of London and that was the last she saw of Gran for a while. She'd stopped thinking about the box a long time ago. Until Gran died. The wake was held in Gran's house - it was the only one big enough to fit everyone in. Gran had made a lot of friends in her lifetime. Vivian felt a sharp pang in her chest when she stepped over the threshold. It had been years since she'd been in this house yet everything looked the same. Older, perhaps, more faded, but still igniting the potent memories of childhood. Everyone wanted to offer platitudes and condolences but all Vivian wanted was some time alone. It would probably be the last time she was in the house she'd loved as a child, and she wanted to indulge in a memory-lane trip. While the guests congregated at the buffet table, Vivian quietly slipped upstairs. Everything was as she remembered it, the carpet patterned in various purples, the off-white wallpaper and the paintings of Gran's old dogs that lined each and every wall. Somehow she found herself in Gran's bedroom. The shelves on the walls were still lined with glassy-eyed dolls but their curls were limp now, covered with a grey film of dust. And on the dressing table, surrounded by pots of powder and lipstick tubes, was the box. Vivian froze when she saw it. All her childhood curiosity came flooding back. Gran's mysterious box that no one had ever been allowed to touch. Looking at it now, Vivian didn't even know it had fascinated her. It was a plain wooden box, thirteen by six inches, the brass catch fastened by a padlock. It was nothing pretty, nothing special but Vivian could swear it was calling to her. It wasn't a voice as such, more like a tugging sensation as if invisible hands were trying to pull her towards it. She took a tentative step forwards and picked up the box. Suddenly she felt six years old again, breaking Gran's most stringent rule. She half-expected Gran to come into the room and start scolding her. But Gran wasn't here anymore. Vivian made up her mind there and then. She was taking the box. She slipped it into her handbag and didn't think about it again until she got home. It was ten o'clock by the time Vivian arrived back in London. Her