Little One
He called her “Little One” when they first met, tumbling heavily into the seat next to hersa seat as red and threadbare as hers, the velvet thin from countless elbows, the stuffing only just holding together.
He scanned the hall for a moment, then fixed his gaze on his neighbour.
“Bored, eh, Little One? he sighed, attempting to cross his legs, but the narrow aisle between rows made it impossible. The tip of his sharp shoe jabbed the seat in front, twisting his ankle unpleasantly. Michael winced.
Ivy pretended not to have noticed him, staring hard at the stage, though nothing was happening there. Just tables shoved into a stripe, a lectern, people fussing about with cablesthe usual, at these conferences. And the stifling air.
Crowds made Ivy uneasy. So many people crammed in, arm pressed to arm, without an easy way out.
Mm-hmm, Michael mused, scratching his chin, This is a washout! You know, Little One, we wont hear anything new here. Promise! Ive read all the reportsoccupational hazard. Theres nothing, really.
Ivy turned to him with a look of stern disapproval.
He was neat: suit, tie, shoes polished. But something was out of place, as though he were a puzzle piece forced into the wrong picture. A rogue, a wind-up, a chatterbox and a clown. His hair stuck up like a hedgehog, and Michael had two restful cowlicks where his hair curled into delicate spirals, soft as kitten fur.
Michael, he offered his large hand before Ivy could protest, Fancy lunch? You look ever so tiny and paleI want to feed you! Come on, let’s go. It’ll be better.
The lights dimmed a little, and dignitaries and valued staff started filing out on stage to polite applause. Michael, completely unrestrained, tugged his Little One up the aisle, stepping on toes as he went, apologising, attempting to shove his wayward tie back into his suit. It popped out every two steps as if poking fun at the buttoned-up crowd.
Excuse me! Let go of me, will you? Ivy protested, trying to yank her hand free, but she couldnt quite manage it and hurried after him.
They darted out into the foyer just as the speeches reached a crescendo and someone banged the microphone with the urgency of a judges gavel.
Let go! I need to take notesIve got things to write up! Ivy pulled away, clutching her notepad. Her pen tumbled to the floor as she stooped, but Michael had already scooped it up.
Drop the scribbling, Little One! he urged. Ill send you all the reports, you can read them at home. Now, we need to eat. And get you some water. Youre white as a sheet, and your pulse is racing. Yes, absolutely. Air, foodno conferences.
And truly, Ivys heart pounded fast and heavy, echoing in her temples.
No one had ever fussed over her like thatshe was always the one taking care: her mother, her husband, her daughter. That seemed only natural. Sometimes she longed to be carried, to drop her worries and become a silly, carefree girl, drinking wine and giggling as they did in the films, but it never seemed possible.
Michael made it feel possible.
She didnt quite notice until she was sitting across from him at a charming little restaurant just across the street, where a waiter brought them glasses of fresh-pressed juiceso vivid, so outrageously bright, as if the African sun itself were squeezed into that glass.
Drink. And some water, too. Now what shall we have to eat? Michael wondered aloud.
Perhaps he really liked her. Ivy, for her part, was rather winsomeslim and neat, nothing spared. She could have drawn attention, if not for if not for the tired, hopeless mask she wore. Nearly fifty, a life behind her, no real love, and so tiredhow was she meant to bloom like a May rose?
But Michael liked her as she wasworn out Little One.
I dont want anything. Ill catch my breath then head back. Much better now, really, Ivy stammered.
Nonsense! Michael grinned. First, youll have seabass with vegetables, salad and what to drink, Little One?
He looked up at her from the menu, so dashingly rumpled, fresh as morning and smelling of cigarettes and colognea handsome, strong rogue.
She blushed, frowning.
Shed lost her senses! Here was a stranger, dragging her into restaurants, feeding her, calling her Little Onehed even tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, bold as you like. And she softened completely, as if everything inside her melted.
Where Michael had touched her, a glowing spot lingered, sending shivers down her back.
They drank white wine, and Michael regaled her with tales from his youthworking on building sites, then heading up north, spending years on odd jobs, and then
Then, Little One, my mate George and I started our own businessnothing vast, building holiday places and assembling the crews ourselves. Everyone wants a good life, warm, comfortable, not running to the outside loo in winter. We knew how to make it happen. Eat up, now! He kept nodding towards her plate. Heres to you, Little One! The moment I saw you, I thought: She needs a good meal! More?
She shook her head. The girl felt like she was dissolving, from the wine and fine food, but mostly because someoneanyonewanted to feed her, simply because she was weary and small.
It was never like this at home. Ivy had grown up with just her mother, always working. Shed breakfast alone; at night, Ivy reheated dinner, washed up while her mother took her bath, then they both tumbled into bed after midnight.
At New Year, MumMargaretwould only arrive home at nearly eleven, her shift at the village shop long. Busy nights brought proper takings.
Margaret came home pale and exhausted. Ivy would help her into a party frock, arrange a festive hairdo, and out theyd go together.
There were always guestsneighbours, friends, distant family, merry and a touch tipsy. Everyone chattered round a table piled with food, and Ivy kept a surreptitious watch so her mother didnt nod off after just one vodka.
Champagne, that was frivolous, Mum always saidvodka was the real stuff, dear to her heart.
All would be well, except Mums battered body surrendered after one shot, and shed start snoring at the table. Ivy nudged her awake with an elbow, her mother blinking, gathering herself, demanding another, toasting, laughingbut with a raw edge to it. No room for Little Ones softness then.
Ivy married young. Andrew was ten years her senior, sensible, well-educated, but never warmquiet, practical, slotting Ivy into his life as a well-oiled cog, never offering more.
It seemed like enough. Romance and excitement, yes, at firstthe body is what it isbut soon cooled. Main thing, Ivy thought: she had her own family, her own place, no more forever-exhausted Margaret, no more swollen veins and dismal view of bins, no more peeling wallpaper. Now she had Andrews flather own, reallyspacious kitchen, bathroom, library, husband. People envied herrare to have ones own place, and free from mother-in-law too.
Always, from birth to the moment she met Michael, she was Ives. Or Ivy Margaret, by full name.
EveryoneAndrew, her mother, friendscalled her Ives.
And nowLittle One. Wine, nibbles, and someone cared what Little One wanted, what she thought.
Andrew never had time for such things, of course. He discussed the business of lifegroceries, holidays, purchasesbut only to relay decisions. Protests were drowned by endless radio chatter from open windows; Andrew loved fresh air and never would let them be closed, no matter the draft.
But Michael, the moment theyd entered the restaurant, ensured they sat warm and snug, away from a breeze.
Caring.
He asked questions; she blushed and answered. Yes, she had a husband. And a daughter. Name? Tamsin. Tamsin, bright thing, studying languages at universityIvy had found her a brilliant tutor, and soon their Tamsin would study abroad.
They hadnt waited for Tamsin, hadnt dreamed,” hadnt prayed. Theyd done the job. Andrews mother said it was high time he became a father, and Ivy was youngit should be easy. But it wasnt. No baby came, so they kept trying.
Then, at last, Ivy was pregnant. Andrew would keep his distance for nine months, never stroking her belly or chatting to the unborn as in those glossy happy-family adverts. He found it odd, uncomfortable.
Once its here, then Ill get involved, hed shrug if she hinted at wanting attention. Need a lift to the GP?
Hed drive her, collect her and the baby with balloons and friends, thank her for their daughter. He checked the scales, the milk, bought the finest food, got up at night for feeds, carried Tamsin to the clinic for her jabs. When the health visitor came to check on the newborn, Andrew personally ensured clean hands, inspected the white coat, warmed the stethoscope for Tamsins comfort.
Tired out? asked her pale-eyed friend Gail, sympathetically. Babies arent roses, are they? Theyre toil! Andrew help?
Ivy would shrug. He probably did. But it was never quite enough.
Being a martyr even had its charmpeople pitied tired old Ivy, and sometimes scolded Andrew for not cherishing her enough.
Now, this Michaelhe fussed, plied her with delicacies. Ivy got flustered, refused, but he persisted.
Oh come on, Little One! Michael would frown. Eat, now. Youre not leaving otherwise, understood?
Ivy bit her lip, gazed at her would-be saviour, and ate.
He walked her to the Tube that day; Ivy demurred, used an errand as an excuse.
That evening, all the conference notes arrived in her inbox.
To Little One, from Michael! the email said.
Ivy snapped the laptop shut, though Tamsin had probably read it and snorted.
Silly nicknames! Ivy sniped, indignant. Proper documents, and theyre mucking about!
Tamsin had tuned out, headphones on, music blaring
Ives, Tams, Im home! Lets have supper! Andrew called from the hall.
He peeled off his shirt, flopped in his trousers and then changed into shorts with bright green palm trees, threw the balcony doors open, gulped in air.
He smelled sourold sweat, the previous evenings leftovers.
Ives, Im not showering every day, all right? My skin itches, like flu. Ill wash tomorrow, leave it! he pushed away her gentle reminders. Right, tired. Food.
They ate in silence, minds far afield. Ivy drifted to Michael and his freshness, his care, his courtesy.
He rang her at work the very next day.
Hello, Little One! How are you? Eaten? Michaels voice, so loud on her mobile. She panicked, checked her colleagues werent listeningcertain the volume screamed.
No not yet. Busy, she whispered. Little One. Her, weak and delicate. Goosebumps danced along her spine.
Drop it all, come downstairs. Im in your local caffa bit grim, but food, you know? Come on. Im waiting.
Ivy mumbled something nonsense to her colleagues, took the lift, hesitated on the buttons. Her cheeks burned hota kind of wild, improper embarrassment. She was certain everyone could tell Ivy Margaret was off to meet her lover.
A lovershe called him that in her mind. It felt brash, thrilling.
Michael wore jeans, a t-shirt; still a touch rumpled, as if newly breezed in.
They had coffee; Ivy shared stories from her childhood, Michael listened.
Little One, youre pretty, you know? he interjected suddenly. Shall we get you something? A dress. Ive mates in those posh shops. Lets fit you outI want to see you in a dress.
And he did. That evening, sweeping her off to the arcade and sitting as assistants fussed around the bewildered Little One.
God, how he looked at her! Hungry, greedy-eyed. Andrew didnt stand a chance.
Ive never known that look, Gail! Ivy whispered to her most loyal friend, later. Like in films. I felt like a real woman. Dreadful, butI liked it.
And Andrew? Gail pressed, after the sighs had faded.
He doesnt know. He mustnt. Im not even sure myself, Ivy shook her head. Dont say a word. Keep the dress at your placein the bag. I couldnt explain! It’s ever so dear Oh God, what have I done?!
Gail shrugged. What happens, happens.
I dunno, Ives Bit daft, what youre up to. Andrews a rough old thing, but remember how he drove all the way to Bedminster for real milk in winter? He works hard. Could have been a layabout, sofa beer in hand, but yours is clever, a solid man. Carhe got one. Househe fixed it. Takes you all to the coast each year. See-through sort, reliable. And Michael? Wheres the money from, then?
I dont know. Not really. Does it matter? Gail, you never lived with Andrew. I cant stand him much longer! Youre just jealous!
Gail shrugged again. Maybe she was. But not over Michaelover her husband.
Ivy started coming home late, cooking fast, not eating, stirring imaginary sugar into cold tea.
Mum, please! Ive asked five times for bread! Tamsin called, sighing, getting up to rummage in the bread bin. Gone off, then! she grumbled.
Ivy frowned, nodded, disappeared to her room. Dreaming.
Andrew and Tamsin watched her with puzzled stares.
Ivy could dream for hours, palms clammy with nerves.
Michaelso tender, a good kisser, laughed at Ivys clumsiness, doted on her, always Little One, always feeding her, slipping presents for Gail to hide, sometimes transferring money to her card, even sending wild messages in the night. Ivy would sneak from the bedroom, hide in the bathroom, read, delete, wait, read. Then, she’d shut her phone off, wash her face cold, and return to bed.
Andrew rolled over, flung his heavy arm around her, grunted something. Ivy mumbled and stiffened. Yes Pity she had Andrew in her life. Pity shed never known what it was like to be Little Onecherished, fiery, beautiful. All those years wasted.
But now, there was Michael. He was her happiness.
They met at Michaels flatvast and bright, floor-to-ceiling windows and no curtains, London glittering just beyond. Champagne, Michaels aftershave, silk sheets.
The world burst into a thousand sparks, fireworks exploding overhead, falling, scattering diamonds across that bed. Magic.
At homerestless, oppressive. She was sure everyone knew; Tamsin glanced askance, Andrews stare was hard.
Ivy invented errands, returned late, waiting until all slept so she could sit alone in the kitchen, drink bitter instant coffee, and dream
Ives! Where are you? Got cabbageneeds chopping, remember? Her husbands voice crackled from her mobile, making Ivy glance nervously at Michael swimming laps. The pool was open, astonishing in its engineering.
Shed never swum at the Lido before. Michael took her there today, insisted she try. They swam, watched steam climb into the cold dusk. Few people, blissful peace. From the diving board, Ivy could see the Christmas lights in Hyde Park. But she only watched her companion. At lastshed found him. Love at last. Thank God.
Cabbage? she echoed, wrapping in her towel. Leave it. Ill be late. Gail and I are at the pool; physio said I should strengthen my back. Got a membership. Cabbage can wait. Sorry, Gails calling. Bye!
She ended the call quickly, swallowing hard. She must warn her friend in case Andrew tried ringing her!
She waited for Gail to pick up, then whispered about the pool, breathlessly, and then was cut off.
Ives, I brought you some caraway seed. You have cabbage with caraway, dont you? I saw it at the market and thoughtwhy not? Andrews put the kettle on, Gail answered calmly. Caraway for your cabbage
Ivy bit her lip, spun round for Michael. There he was, showing off on the diving board, ready to leap. Giggling girls admired him, all young, slim, sparkling.
So, Little Ones! One, two, three! he crieddiving gracefully, resurfacing with a wave. Ivy, come on! The night is young!
The girls giggled and eyed Ives. Suddenly, she felt plain againsoft belly, saggy thighs. She paddled like a frog, helpless in the water. Her face wore its old, suffering look.
Michaels new Little Ones had already started a game of water polo, bold and splashy, fighting to touch him.
He laughed, barely noticing as Ivy slipped away. He understoodduties, family, cabbage. Let her go!
The hall was dark, kitchen light glowing.
Andrew set a frying pan of eggs before Ivy.
Hungry after the pool? Eat. Want some sausage? He poured her a big mug of tea.
Ivy shook her head. She couldnt meet his gaze, focused instead on picking at her food.
Did he know? And what now? Why was he so calm?
Ives Andrew muttered after a long silence. Gail brought some things round. She kept poking about, but I chased her off. Whys she interfering? Your kitchen. Heretheyre under the table. She said theyre yours. Are they?”
Ivy lifted the cloth, stared at the bags, shrugged.
Thats what I saidnonsense! Andrew seemed almost cheerful. Pour me a tea? Thirsty. Or grab the brandy? I fancy a brandy, he said.
Ivy leapt up, headed for the cupboardand froze.
Little one, she heard him say, spun around, stared into his eyes. I said, little mess on the table. Tams always leaves crumbs. Cloths needed for that, he finished, quietly, then darted her a heavy-lidded look and turned away
They drank brandy in silence, scared to look up.
Finally, Andrew left.
Gail, you dont understand. Hes gone! Dressed, left the keysmy God, Gail! Ivy sobbed into the phone, staring at herself in the mirror, face contorted, Little One looking so ugly now, when only three hours ago shed been swimming with Michael. Her hair still smelled of chlorine, her back ached. How could he? Is this what a real man does? Hes abandoned me and Tamsin, just left!
Fury overtook Ivy. She bunched her fist and banged the table.
As a real man would, Ives. Someone else would have knocked you about. Andrew simply left. Not many do that from their own flat, mind. And you still dare moan about him? Gail snorted. I never understood why you were so miserable. Youve got enough, Tamsins doing well, Andrews not a drunk, hes handy. True, hes quiet, but better that than the other way round. But you wanted glam and pampering. You never so much as praised him, never a kind word. Mentheyre like children! Give them praisetheyll do anything! No, IvesI cant side with you. Good night.
Ivy put her mobile down, hunched over, weeping softly
Tamsin finished her exams, went to friends in the country. She stopped speaking to her mother, left a note not to be disturbed.
Michael reappeared after a week, waiting for Ivy outside the flat, skulking in the dark.
All right, Little One? he hissed, face red from the cold, chin down in his leather collar. Miss me?
Ivy had phoned him before, hoping to cry down the line, but hed ignored her calls. And now he was here
Michael she muttered, flat-voiced. What are you doing here?
She searched for his car.
Come to collect, Little One! Michael slipped his arm round her.
What? What do you mean?
Ivy tried to pull away but he squeezed her tight, crushing her elbow.
I fed you, didnt I? Gave you what you wanted? he hissed, hot breath at her ear. Now I need a hand, darling. I need money. Youve got that flat you got from your mumcould fetch half a million pounds at least. Lets sell. This one, too. Lets discuss it inside, hmm?
Little One let out a panicked wail, struggling helplesslyher legs shook as she moved towards the door, praying for someone to appear. No one did.
Come on, Little One, Im freezing, he urged.
Ivy dissolved, sobbing, slumping into snowbut suddenly Michael stumbled, headbutting the air, collapsing with a groan.
Andrew stood over himunshaven, hair wild, fists trembling.
Get lost! Out! Hear me? Andrew roared, lunging at the crumpled figure till Ivy grabbed his sleeve, tugging him back.
Michael, realising who it was, sneeredAndrew with his horns, eh? But went quiet when a punch landed on his cheek.
Go! Dont want to see you near Ivy again! Andrew bellowed, picking up his wool hat, dabbing his nose, turning to Ivy. Lets go home. Its cold
What the two of them said that night, what private pains they shared, only the moon gazing in and the whispered wind by the cracked window will ever know. Two untouched cups of tea sat on the table, the old clock ticked on, and then darkness crept inleaving husband and wife, somehow, to decide to live on.
No one ever called Ivy Little One again. If they had, she would only shiver and turn away.
Michael never reappeared in her life. Things hadnt worked out, Andrew was too persistent.
He once overheard Ivy discussing her inherited flat on the bushow she didnt know what to do with it, how worn out, lonely, and sad she feltand Michael reckoned he could help, solve her housing trouble, and maybe ease her misery. If hed played his hand right, Ivy might have given him everything, after all, hed tamed her, fed her, warmed her. But he rushed things. Circumstances crowded inGeorge had pressed for their loan, pressed so hard it burned in his ribs. So Michael pushed, demanded more from Ivy. It failed. But never mindout there, there are other Little Ones, unloved, sorrowful, perpetually tired. Michael would find them. And then, collect his dues.
For now, he had to leave the fancy flat with the silk sheets and city view. Never mind. Michael would make his way in the endunless George decided otherwiseAnd Ivy? It was a quiet winter she lived through, mending little by little. Some evenings, she would catch Andrew watching her from across their small kitchen as she wiped the table or set two mugs beside the kettle, his gaze questioning, softened in a way shed never seen before. Sometimes hed reach for her hand, awkward but steady, and she began to let it rest there, just long enough to remember belonging is built of small, silent kindnesses.
Once, as a snowflake floated past the window, Ivy felt a strange new warmth low in her chesta slow, aching hopeful thing. She hung curtains at the window, painted over the peeling wallpaper, filled the rooms with the scent of baking and light. Her laughter, cautious but honest, rang out more often. Andrew, for his part, still grumbled at open doors and too-hot rooms, but he started carving little hearts into the bread crust with his knife.
One morning, with the radio humming softly, Ivy laid out breakfast for Tamsin, home between trips, and Andrew, bent over the paper. She sat down, cupped her own mugher own life, chipped and rebuilt, was reflected in the swirling tea. She wasnt Little One anymore. She was Ivy Margaret: woman, mother, survivor of storms, knitter-together of family. Haven.
Outside, the city churned on, Michaels footsteps lost forever in its endless crowd. Inside, Ivy quietly found the strength to forgive herselfand in learning to live without someone to rescue her, she discovered at last the quiet, unyielding root of her own heart.
She raised her mug, and as the toast popped golden from the old toaster, she found it there: a peace that wasnt fireworks but a sunrise, lighting her gently, warming her through.
