The Mysterious Man

She had been so engrossed in her book she didn’t realise her train carriage was empty. Strange for a Tuesday, she thought to herself. Megan looked down at her watch: 7:42 am. The train is usually rammed at this hour. Hmm. She went back to reading. Twenty minutes later, she closed her book and began to gather her things to get off the train—which meant stepping into the cold winter morning.

Scarf? Check.

Hat? Check.

Left glove? Check.

Right glove? Oh bugger… this always happens to me!

A gentleman dressed in much too summery a blue suit, with much too jaunty of a walk deposited her missing glove on the seat next to her. She had (apparently) dropped it while rummaging for other things.

Oh, no... was I saying my check list aloud again? She visibly cringed.

“Ta!” she called after him as he made his way to carriage doors. She grabbed her glove and books from the seat and stuffed them into her satchel.

“Christ it’s cold today! Here.” She stepped off the train and right into her boss, Caroline, pushing a paper coffee cup into her hands.

“Caro, you are a warm ray of light and on these dark, wet mornings,” She remarked with a facetious grin as she gladly accepted the hot cup of coffee.

“Oh my, your hands are probably icicles already! Where are your gloves? Get them on! Can’t have my assistant losing her fingers to frostbite… Who’ll keep notes at all my meetings? Edit the manuscripts I don’t have time for?” Caroline winked at her and took the coffee back so Megan could dig, once again, for her gloves.

Megan jumped back into The Never-ending Search for the Lost Glove, which is how she lovingly referred to this morning ritual in her head. “Aha! Bloody well, finally…” she triumphantly pulled out both gloves, with an added curtsy to her audience for a successful performance. Megan shoved her cold hands into the gloves and retrieved her coffee from Caroline.

The two women talked on their 10-minute walk down the road to their office. The topics ranged from the weather ("absolutely intolerable"), to Caroline’s wife’s new hobby, musical theatre. “I love her, but I swear… I cannot live through another rendition of Wicked, as sung by the sheep from Chicken Run.” Caroline recounted her not-so-secret opinion on her Northern English wife’s singing.

When they finally made it to their building and into the busy lifts, Caroline’s chatter had quieted down. They rode the lifts in relative silence with a handful of others. Megan stepped off at the sixth floor.

“Alright love, I’ll catch up with you later… oh and don’t forget the publishers’ meeting!” Caroline called after her as the lift doors closed. Megan nodded and waved her off in acknowledgment and turned to make her way to her cubicle.

The sixth floor was where the assistants for the entire building sat. Which meant there were assistants for insurance, banking, design, publishing (like Megan) and a few other industries. Megan didn’t mind the shared space. The constant buzz kept her feeling motivated and acted as white noise when she needed to really concentrate. She arrived at her cubicle and set her bag down.

Megan frowned at her empty coffee cup as she chucked it into the rubbish bin. Right, another then. She nodded determinately at her desk and strode off to the kitchen to make a hot drink.

Mmm, caffeine. She thought while carrying her warm cup of English Breakfast back to her desk. “Alright, Megan. Get a move on,” she motivated herself.

“Yah Megan, get a move on!” she heard from her cubicle mate, Franklin. He sniggered and peeked over their desk-divider.

“Sorry, Frank. I’ve really got to work out what thoughts are in my head and what are said aloud. It happened to me in the train this morning too!” She blushed and sat down at her workspace.

Megan emptied the contents of her bag for the day, going through her mental list as she did so. Three manuscripts, two books, one diary and one black notebook.

One black notebook?

She recalled the items again.

This isn’t mine. What is this?

She flipped through the pages in an attempt to deduce whose book this was. But it was empty. The leather cover had a short inscription debossed in gold script along the bottom that read ‘Gardens are not made by singing “Oh, how beautiful!” and sitting in the shade’.

Kipling. A calm, reminiscent smile glided across her face.

“Hey Frank, did you leave a black Moleskine on my desk by accident?” She looked up from the notebook and called over the divider.

“Nope, but if there’s a spare one going, I’ll have it!” He responded and stood up with a big grin. Franklin was fresh out of Uni and always willing to take free things, no matter what they were.

“Of course, you will,” she smiled back knowingly with a little head tilt. Megan set the notebook back down and decided she would sort it out later. Right now, she needed to finish reviewing these manuscripts before that meeting.

A few hours later, her desk phone rang. It was Caroline with new notes for her to discuss at the meeting. Without thinking, Megan grabbed the black notebook and jotted down a few points. After she hung up, she realised she had written in the notebook.

Ahhh no! I should not have written in this! It isn’t mine.

She grasped at the page she wrote on and swiftly pulled it out, making sure any evidence of a missing page was taken out along with it, and shoved the page into her pocket. The first meeting was in 15-minutes and she didn’t have time to rewrite the notes Caroline gave her. She opened the bottom drawer of her desk and dropped the Moleskine in it. “This will help prevent another mistake like that one! And keep you safe until your proper owner is found,” she whispered, satisfied, to her new little friend.

She got up and headed towards the lifts. “What floor?” the intern from the main office asked her when she stepped in. He had a cart filled with letters, parcels and other post-related items. No doubt on his way to making the rounds.

“Oh, um ten please.” She politely replied and they rode in silence up the four floors to her destination.

“Cheers,” she nodded as she stepped off the lift into the (much grander) hall of the tenth floor. The tenth floor was where the publishing and design big shots were housed. Hence why Caroline’s office was here. Megan rounded the corner and made her way into the office.

“Ah Megan, love, can I have those notes you took down earlier? I want to add them to my list for the meeting.” Caroline said when she saw Megan walk in.

Feeling guilty, Megan fished in her pocket for the folded-up notebook paper she ripped out of the beautiful and not yours, Megan black notebook. “Here you go,” she replied and stuck out her hand.

“Ha-ha, very funny Megan. I know I buy you a lot of coffees but now’s not the time for a joke. The notes, please?” Caroline responded when she saw the folded up green note Megan handed to her.

“Um what? I just…” Megan couldn’t finish her thought. She was staring at the note Caroline was holding. A crisp, fresh, green hundred-dollar note with a single crease down the middle. “Sorry… uh... I-I must’ve left them on my desk. But I remember them,” Megan recounted the notes Caroline had given her earlier on the phone and sat down across from her boss, still dazed. She sat silently, unable to concentrate through the meetings, which according to Caroline, went very smoothly. Megan smiled faintly and nodded in agreement with her after the other publishers had gone.

Back at her own desk again, she pulled open her bottom drawer and stared at the black notebook. Still there. Still looking pristine.

What…? Who…? How…? I don’t even know what question to ask! Ugh.

She shut the drawer, hard, and unlocked her computer. She was determined to get some work done. An hour dragged by when she decided she needed to investigate this notebook further.

“Hey Frank, I’m calling down for a coffee. Do you want anything? My treat.” she called over the divider.

“Yes, please! I’ll have--”

“A long black with oat milk,” Megan interrupted him, “And a croissant!” She smirked.

“Cheers, Meg,” Frank smiled back at her endearingly and sat down.

Megan opened the drawer and pulled out the notebook. She closed her eyes tightly and ripped a page out. Peeking through half-closed eyes, she could see that the page in her hand was now a crisp green hundred-dollar note. Shakily, she set the notebook back into the drawer and got up to get coffees.

This can’t be real. Nope. It’s a joke. This note is a forgery, and someone is playing an elaborate joke on me. That, or I’m as mad as The Hatter. That’s probably it. I mean come on, talking to yourself out loud and now thinking a notebook is producing hundred-dollar notes. Yep. I’m mad.

She was not happy this was the conclusion she had come to. But she still needed to see if this money was real. Chill.

At the coffee shop, Megan ordered a long black with oat milk, a strong flat white and two croissants. “Eighteen dollars fifty. Card or cash?” The barrista behind the bar asked.

“Um... cash?” Megan responded, unsure, and offered her the new note she ripped out from the notebook.

“Eighty-one fifty.” The barrista cheerfully responded while handing a heap of notes and coins to Megan. Megan dropped the coins into the tip jar and moved out of the queue.

Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out!! Megan kept saying over and over in her head on the way back to the office, while very clearly freaking out.

“Ah, legend! Thanks for this, Meg.” Franklin praised her as she set his coffee and croissant down.

“What? Oh yah, no worries Frank. Hope it’s good...” She managed to say back to him whilst staring at nothing.

“Umm… are you okay?” Franklin questioned in between drinks of his coffee and bites of his croissant, “you look… well… honestly, you look lost.” He made a face and flakes of croissant fluttered down to his rest on his knitted jumper.

“Ha-ha, oh yeah. Thanks, Frank. I’m fine. Just had a weird interaction this morning that I’m playing through in my head. There was a man in a bright blue suit on the train. I think that’s where this mystery notebook came from,” she replied holding up the black notebook.

“Hey, free notebook. Nice! And a Moleskine at that. This mysterious blue suit man sounds great! Can I have his number?” He winked at her and disappeared to his desk, munching happily on his croissant.

The day carried on relatively normally. Luckily, Megan was able to put the notebook out of her mind until around 6:30 pm when she was collecting her things to head home. Once again, she picked up the notebook and flipped through it. Only this time, there seemed to be writing on the very last page. It looked like a poem or limerick or something. She must’ve missed it before:

‘If you’ve noticed something special about this notebook then you’re one of the lucky few!

Don’t get greedy.

There is a limit to the special gift it brings to you.

To last a lifetime this notebook must,

Once it’s reached two hundred uses, it will turn to dust.’

Two hundred uses… what is that? Oh my god. Twenty-thousand dollars! Megan sat and stared at the notebook in awe.