The Little One [Quick Read 2012] (4 page)

She gave another odd laugh, shaking her head.

‘I was sent to a mental hospital. My sister arranged it. Ghastly place. I suppose I did swim out of its belly, because I was only there for a few months. I went back to work.’

She turned to her pan, picked up a big wooden spoon and stirred the contents.

‘Did you feel you came to terms with the death of your husband?’

Margaret waved the spoon as she spoke.

‘No. He was the love of my life. Until I’m buried beside him, the pain will continue. I exist because I have to. That is, until I can join him.’

‘Have you ever contemplated suicide?’

‘It’s impossible for me to do that.’

Margaret seasoned and stirred the stew, then tasted it and smiled.

‘Mmm . . . that’s good. A bit more salt, then I’ll leave it simmering.’ She paused for a while before saying, ‘It’s going to snow. I can always tell. The
clouds are dark and full. I do love a stew on a cold wintry day.’

‘I should get dressed,’ Barbara said.

‘You don’t have to if you don’t want. You can rest up and maybe after lunch see how you feel. I have to run a few errands in the village.’

The sound of the phone, which was mounted on a wall in the kitchen, startled them both.

Margaret answered, then turned to Barbara.

‘It’s the doctor, enquiring how you’re feeling. Do you want to talk to him?’

‘Thank you,’ Barbara said, and hobbled to the receiver.

She then explained that her ankle was still painful but the swelling had gone down considerably. There was, the doctor agreed, no need for her to go to hospital.

The two women were silent for a while, then Margaret spoke.

‘The phone has such a loud ring because it’s the only one in the house. This way, if I’m upstairs I can hear it.’

‘Don’t you have a mobile?’ Barbara asked.

‘No. I don’t suppose you’ve noticed, but there is no television either.’

Barbara was surprised.

‘Don’t you feel lonely out here on your own?’

‘No, I’m never lonely. Are you?’

Barbara was taken aback, but before she could reply Margaret left the kitchen. Alone now, she pondered the question. She’d never really considered what she felt about her life. She was
miserable a lot of the time, that was certainly true. And she was telling the truth about wanting to write, though she didn’t have a clue what kind of novel. She sighed. If she was honest,
she could hardly remember a time when she hadn’t felt lonely.

As soon as Margaret had driven off, Barbara wasted no time in dressing. She was eager to look over the house in daylight. She headed for the stairs and reached the first
landing without any problems. She tried the door of the bedroom she’d looked into the night before. It was locked. She moved from one door to the next, but they were all locked.

Even though it was morning, it was still dark up here. When she switched on a landing light, it was dead. Moving cautiously back towards the stairs, she heard an odd sound in one of the rooms,
like something hitting a wooden floor. She thought at first it must be the old central-heating pipes. But they would have made a clang, while this sounded more like a thud.

She moved to the locked door and touched the handle. It was cold and as she pulled her hand away the noise stopped. Completely puzzled and unnerved, she headed back to the kitchen.

Once there, Barbara gave the stew a good stir and decided to set the table. She found the dinner plates and started to hunt for knives and forks. While opening drawers, she came across
Margaret’s photograph albums.

She listened carefully to hear if the car was returning. It wasn’t. So she lifted out the albums and flicked through one after another. The second album contained pictures of a pretty
dark-haired woman who resembled Margaret. On the back of one of them was written ‘Julia in Hastings’. There were also several pictures of a gorgeous blonde-haired little girl.

Barbara took four or five loose photographs and put them into her handbag.

She gave the stew another stir and was just replacing the lid when she heard the sound of the Land Rover returning.

Margaret came in the back way. Her cheeks were a rosy red and she had flecks of snow on her shoulders.

‘I said it would snow. It’s really coming down heavily now,’ she said, placing her shopping bags on the kitchen counter. ‘It’s very cold out there. I think it may
settle. We’ll have such fun.’

She suddenly stopped, as if realizing for the first time that Barbara was there.

‘Sorry. I get so used to talking to myself,’ she said, and gave a light, soft giggle.

She took off her coat, shook it and rested it over the back of a kitchen chair.

‘Oh, you’ve set the table too. How nice of you.’

Margaret removed her wellington boots and woolly hat, running her hands through her long hair. She then went over to the Aga and gave the stew a taste.

‘Mmm, I’m hungry. Let’s have lunch early.’

She fetched a bottle of wine and opened it.

‘Screw tops! Cheap plonk. How things change . . . no more corks.’

Margaret was so bubbly and friendly, Barbara couldn’t help but enjoy her company.

Barbara was also surprised to find herself more than ready to eat lunch, even though she’d already had a cooked breakfast. She usually ate sandwiches or takeaways and very rarely a proper
meal. Today, though, she felt starving.

They sat at the old oak table. The stew was delicious and Barbara had two helpings. They had cheese and biscuits to follow. Between them they drank the whole bottle of red plonk before washing
the dishes together.

Margaret made a fresh pot of coffee and they were sitting beside the blazing fire when she suddenly jumped up.

‘Look! Look outside!’

The snow had indeed settled into a thick sheet and was covering the ground like a soft white blanket.

‘This will last, I’m sure. The roads were already icy when I went out. Good job I restocked when I did. Last winter I was frozen in here for over ten days.’

She suddenly put her hand to her mouth.

‘Oh, my goodness. We’d better call Alan. He’ll have to set off straight away if he wants to collect you.’

Barbara took out her mobile, dialled and waited. Alan was still on voicemail.

‘Maybe I should get a train,’ she suggested half-heartedly.

‘Certainly not. But your ankle does seem to be better. You’ve stopped limping, I see.’ Margaret gave an odd half-smile, as if she knew Barbara had been lying.

‘Is there a local taxi that could take me to the station?’

Margaret checked an old notebook hanging on a piece of string by the phone.

‘I have a few numbers. Let me call the station first and see what times the trains are running to London.’

She looked up, smiling.

‘If the worst comes to the worst, I can drive you.’

Margaret discovered there was a direct train at five fifteen, but the local taxi service was engaged.

‘You could stay on here. Do you have something to get back to London for?’ Margaret asked.

‘I don’t actually. I was going to look for a place to live,’ Barbara replied.

Margaret placed more logs on to the fire, making a really big blaze. The kitchen was as warm as toast.

‘Do you play Scrabble?’ she asked, as she opened a wooden box and delved inside.

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Shall we have a game?’

Margaret opened the board and with childish enthusiasm began counting out the letters. Then she looked up, listening.

‘The wind is picking up. It howls round the house. Always sounds a lot worse than it is. Everything rattles.’

They played for over an hour. Margaret was very competitive and won every game. She called the taxi company again, but they were booked out for the afternoon.

‘Maybe we shouldn’t even think about your leaving today. I can fix up a bedroom for you, or you can stay down here as it’s so warm.’

Barbara didn’t hesitate. Another evening, another chance to gather more information.

‘I’ll stay over if you don’t mind.’

Margaret patted Barbara’s cheek.

‘Of course I don’t mind. In fact, I’m really enjoying your company. I like you.’

‘I like you too,’ Barbara said.

She blushed when Margaret caught hold of her hand and kissed her fingers.

‘I need a friend. Are you going to be a friend, Barbara?’

Barbara paused and then said softly, ‘I would like to be your friend.’

It grew dark quickly that afternoon and the snow never stopped falling.

Margaret said she would go and check upstairs. She wanted to make sure that the plumbing was behaving itself.

‘I won’t be long. Sometimes the pipes get frozen if I don’t run the hot water.’

Barbara was disconcerted to realize that Margaret had locked the kitchen door after she left.

The phone rang, breaking into the silence. It was Alan. Barbara explained she would be staying over another night because of the snow. Alan was relieved, as he didn’t feel like driving to
collect her.

‘Just don’t go nosing around. She’s a very private lady,’ he warned, and rang off.

The old house creaked and moaned. Barbara could hear the rattle of pipes, but then she
heard something else.

‘Stay in your room and behave yourself, do you hear me?’

Barbara sat bolt upright. There were running footsteps, followed by silence. She was startled when the key turned in the locked kitchen door.

Margaret came in looking very agitated and pocketed the key.

‘Is everything all right?’ Barbara asked.

‘Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?’ Margaret snapped, then she began to bang around the kitchen, preparing supper. Her radical mood change was unnerving.

Sitting by the fire as Margaret busied herself cooking, Barbara was certain she heard soft footsteps running above her. She wondered again if there was someone else in the house. Was it the
person who had pushed her down the stairs?

‘Sometimes in old houses you hear strange noises,’ she ventured.

‘It’s the hot-water pipes,’ Margaret said sharply.

Again the footsteps sounded above her and Barbara looked up to the ceiling. There was an old slatted wooden airer, with a rope attached. It was shaking, just a fraction.

‘Watch the rice for me. I won’t be a minute,’ Margaret said, then hurried out.

Barbara pressed her ear against the locked door. She distinctly heard Margaret running up the stairs. She could also hear her talking, but could not make out what she was saying. Then came
lighter steps and a door slamming shut. She only just made it back to the armchair by the fire before Margaret returned.

For a moment there was silence, then both of them were aware of a hissing noise coming from the Aga.

‘You didn’t check on the rice,’ Margaret said angrily, taking the pan to the sink.

‘I’m so sorry. Let me clean up.’

‘No, I’m doing it.’

Barbara sat back in the chair. She was beginning to think that perhaps there was something wrong with her host. She was so hostile all of a sudden.

‘I need to use the bathroom,’ Barbara said, standing up.

‘Use the one on this floor, please, and check the water flushes properly when you pull the chain.’

Barbara made her way into the dark hall. Just as she was opening the door to the bathroom she heard the click-click and then the high-pitched song:

It was the clockwork rabbit, slowly hopping from one stair to the next. The toy gradually wound down and fell on its side. Its highpitched voice became distorted as it repeated ‘hop, hop,
hop’.

Barbara picked up the rabbit. It was worn in places. Its ears were minus bits of fur and its white tail was decidedly the worse for wear. It was also heavier than she’d expected. It had a
frilly blue dress with a tear where the key poked through.

Barbara went into the lavatory and stood the rabbit on the floor. Its bright beady eyes looked at her and it held up its front paws as if ready to dance. After flushing as instructed, Barbara
returned to the kitchen with the rabbit.

‘Look what I found on the stairs,’ she said.

Margaret dropped the glass bowl in her hands. It broke into a hundred pieces on the stone-flagged floor. She snatched the rabbit from Barbara’s hands and ran out of the kitchen.

Barbara could hear her footsteps on the landing. Doors slammed and there was shouting.

Not sure what to do, she found a brush and pan and swept up the broken glass. As she tipped the pieces into the bin, Margaret came back. Her cheeks were flushed and she was obviously
distressed.

‘Are you all right?’ Barbara asked.

‘No, I’m not, but please don’t talk to me. I have to go out for a while.’

Margaret grabbed her big coat and, even though it was snowing heavily, she went out into the garden. From the window Barbara could see her, standing with her back to the house, hunched up. She
was clearly crying, because her shoulders were heaving up and down.

Barbara fetched her own coat. Buttoning it up against the chill, she went out to join Margaret.

‘Please, whatever is upsetting you, share it with me.’

‘No. Leave me alone.’

‘It’s freezing out here. At least come back inside.’

‘NO!’

Barbara put her arms around Margaret, who resisted at first but then leaned against her and started to speak.

‘If you only knew how much I want to share what is happening in this house. But I can’t. I’m so scared. If I tell you I would be sent back to that place. I’m not mad,
I’m not. I so badly want it to end, but I promised.’

Barbara said nothing. She simply held her, until Margaret had calmed down, and then together they returned to the kitchen. She helped Margaret off with her wet coat and settled her into a chair
by the fire.

Margaret sat staring into the flames, her hands clasped together. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with weeping, but she was calmer. Shaking her head, she apologized for the way she had
behaved.