Little One
He called me Little One the very first moment we met, collapsing his tall frame into the battered, red velvet seat next to mine. The armrest carried the wear of many elbows, just like the one under my own arm.
He spent a minute surveying the conference hall, then turned his gaze to me.
Well, Little One, bored yet? he sighed, attempting to cross his legs, but the narrow space between rows wouldnt allow it. His pointed shoe bumped the seat in front, twisting his ankle uncomfortably. He grimaced.
I pretended not to notice, staring at the stage with intense concentrationthough, truly, nothing remotely interesting was happening. It was the same as always: tables set in a single row, the lectern, a couple of organisers fiddling with the microphones and projectors. Just another conference, just the same stifling air.
Crowds always unsettled me. Theres something deeply claustrophobic about being pressed together, shoulder to shoulder, with no means of escape.
Yeah, he drawled, scratching his chin. This is a dead loss! Honestly, Little One, theres nothing we havent heard before. Ive gone through every single paper for work. Not a single ones worth your time.
I finally turned and regarded him sternly.
Neatly dressed, suit and tie, shoes polished. Still, something didnt quite fit. He looked like hed been cut out of one photograph and stuck into another. Mischief danced behind his blue eyes, the sort that made me think: troublemaker, joker, irrepressible chatterbox. And his hairstood up like a hedgehog, with two partings that curled into soft, gentle whorls.
Michael, he said, offering a large hand before I could open my mouth. Fancy lunch instead? Youre so tinyI just want to feed you up. Honestly, come on, lets get out of here!
The house lights dimmed as the directors, deputies, those Important and Valued Staff Members filed onto the stage. The audience started their applause, but Michael was already tugging me from my seat, tripping over peoples feet, apologising left and right, shoving his misbehaving tie back into his jacket pocket. The tie stubbornly peeped outas if poking its tongue at all these tedious men and women.
What are you doing? Let me go, do you hear? I hissed, yanking at my arm. I ended up stumbling after him, narrowly avoiding an overturned briefcase.
We burst into the foyer just as the applause reached its crescendo and someone started tapping the microphone frantically, calling for quiet.
Let go! I need to go back, I have to take notesmy editors counting on them! I protested, clutching my notepad to my chest. My pen fell; I bent to retrieve it, but Michael beat me to it.
Oh, put the notebook away, Little One. Ill email you all the papers later. Right now, you need food. No arguments. Youre pale as milkhonestly, your hearts racing. Look, Ill checkyes, just as I thought, pulse is sky-high. He gave my wrist a little squeeze. Fresh air and lunch. No more lectures!
In truth, I wasnt feeling great. My heart pounded painfully, all the way up behind my eyes.
No one had ever really fussed over me before, not like this. Id always been the caretakermy mother, my husband, my daughter. It was just the way of things. Heavy sometimes, yes; of course there were moments I simply wanted to collapse into someones arms and be a little foolish, drink wine and giggle like those women in romantic comedies, but it never happened.
But Michael gave me that chance.
I hardly noticed how Id ended up at a cosy restaurant across the street, tucked away at a little table. The waiter brought us tall glasses of fresh orange juicebright, golden, and as dazzling as Africa squeezed right into a glass.
There. Drink up. And water. Good. Nowwhat shall we eat? Michael continued without missing a beat.
He must really like me, I thought, and I suppose I was never hard on the eyea slimmish figure, careful, always tidy. I couldve been popular with men, perhaps, if not for the permanent look of tiredness I wore, the exhaustion and resignation. Nearly fifty, family, no romancewhat rose could possibly bear to bloom in such weather?
But even so, Michael liked meworn-down, world-weary Little One.
I dont need anythingIll catch my breath and get back. I feel a lot better now, honestly! I said quickly.
Nonsense! Michael waved his menu. Lets have the sea bass with roasted veg, a nice saladand what would you like to drink, Little One?
He looked up from the menu, so alive and untidy and strong and clean-smellinga cheeky mix of cigarettes and aftershave. I blushed, frowning at my own lack of composure.
I must be losing my mind! Heres a perfect stranger, feeding me, calling me Little One, fixing the stray hair on my foreheadand Im melting, like a fool.
Where hed touched my wrist, a warmth lingered, and goosebumps trailed down my back.
We had white wine. Michael regaled me with stories of odd jobs in his youth, building sites in Manchester, a couple of years up north, flitting from place to placethe kind of things my steady colleagues would never do.
So after all that, Little One, my mate George and I started up on our own. Nothing world-changingwe did garden rooms, built up a crew. People like to live well, have comfortand we made it happen. Go on, eat! He kept nodding at my plate. You, Little One, the moment I saw you I thoughtthis girl needs a good meal. More?
I shook my head and felt a rare giddinessalmost tipsynot just from the wine and the food, but from someone wanting to feed me, simply because I looked tired and thin.
It wasnt like that at home. All through my childhood, it was just mum and me. She worked endlessly, gone in the mornings, late in the evenings. I had breakfast alone, waited up for her, reheated her supper, washed up while she showered, and wed both finally crawl into bed as midnight struck.
Even for New Years, MumMarywould get home just before eleven, worn out and wan. She worked in a shop, and the last hours before the chimes brought in the most business. Id help pick out her dress, fix her hair into something festive, and wed join the guestsneighbours, friends, random relatives who always seemed to turn up, already loud and drunk. Id watch my mother, making sure she didnt fall asleep after her first vodka.
Mary only ever touched vodkachampagne was for gigglers, but proper English gin? That was a different matter.
Shed inevitably pass out, head lolling to the side, snoring at the table. Id have to nudge her discreetly, shed startle awake, look around in confusion, then demand another drink, give a toast, laugha hard, bitter laugh. Fat chance for me to be a dainty, soft girl. Survival didnt work that way.
I married early. Andrew was nearly ten years my senior, level-headed, educated, but never affectionate. We lived more as housemateshe just slotted me into his well-oiled machine, the right cog, useful and pleasant, but nothing more.
Perhaps that was enough for me back then. Early on, there was romance, a little passionno one is made of stone. But it faded. The main thing was, I had my own family now. No more cramped flat with exhausted mum, varicose legs, shabby wallpaper, the bleak view onto bins below. We had Andrews flatkitchen, big bath, balcony, rooms filled with books. People envied me.
From birth until the day I met Michael, I was always Izzieor formally at work, Elizabeth Victoria.
Andrew, Mum, my friendsall called me Izzie.
But then, suddenly, Little One. A stray, silly nickname. Wine. Delicate bites. Someone who genuinely cared what was on my mind.
Andrew never seemed to have the time for that. Of course, household things got discussed, holidays, buying the car, but it was always a monologue, rarely a conversation. He liked the windows open all year, didnt matter whether anyone else was cold.
The moment we entered the restaurant, Michael insisted we sit where there wouldnt be a draught. Considerate.
He asked about my life, and I answered, slightly embarrassed. Yes, I have a husband. And ohyes, a daughter. Jessica. She studies Modern Languages at university; I found her an excellent tutor, and now shes about to go abroad for a placement.
Jessica wasnt really planned or prayed for. We were making a baby because Andrews mum said he was overdue to be a father. I was young; it should have happened quickly. But it didnt, so it became a project.
Once pregnant, Andrew kept his distance. Hed never stroke my belly or talk to our baby in the womb. It made him uneasy.
Shell be born soon enoughthen Ill be a father, hed brush off when I hinted for affection. Whens your next appointment, love? I can drop you off.
Hed drive me, of course. Even fetched me and Jess from the maternity ward with balloons and a Well done for the daughter. He monitored feeds and bought all the best baby food. He changed nappies, stayed up at night, took her for vaccinationsalways fastidious, always careful, even making sure nurses hands were washed and the stethoscope was warm.
Are you worn out? my friend Alice would ask, pityingly. A child is exhausting, not exactly a bed of roses! Does Andrew help at all?
Id shrug. He did, I suppose. But it never felt quite enough.
There was a strange pleasure in being the put-upon wife. Always busy, always tiredpeople pitied me, blamed Andrew for not spoiling me more.
But Michaelhe spoiled me, pushing delicacies my way. Id blush and demur; hed only frown, hearty and insistent.
Come on, Little One! Eat, I wont let you off otherwise, you hear?
So I did, looking at himmy rescuerwith sad eyes, and letting myself be cared for.
He walked me to the tube that day; I refused to let him follow any further, citing errands.
That evening, my inbox chimedsummaries of every paper at the conference.
To Little One, from Michael! said the note.
I hastily snapped my laptop shut, worried Jess might have seen something. She made a face.
This is absurd, I huffed. Official emails, and they write drivel!
She said nothing, headphones already clamped on, lost in her music
Izzie, Jessdinner time! Andrews voice drifted from the hall.
Hed arrived home, exhausted from the sweaty tube and packed bus. He peeled off his shirt, pulled on his garish green shorts with palm leaves, flung the balcony doors open, gulping in air.
He smelt of old sweat, stale and sour.
Izzie, I cant bathe every night! That shower makes me itch. Tomorrow, alright? he waved off my gentle suggestion to wash. Now, lets eat. Im knackered.
We ate in silence. I thought of Michael, his freshness, his courtesy
Next day at work, Michael phoned.
Hello, Little One! How are you? Have you eaten? His voice rang out; I panicked, checking over my shoulder to see if anyone heard. It seemed the whole office could hear every word.
No Not yet, work to do, I mumbled. Little Onehis Little One. Goosebumps again.
Drop it all, come down. Im in your caférubbish spot, but we need to eat. Hurry up, Im waiting!
Flustered, I made excuses, hurried into the liftmy cheeks prickling, brighter than a Christmas baubleand everyone surely guessing I was sneaking off to meet a lover.
Yes, I started to call him that in my own mindlover. It felt daring, shocking.
That day Michael was in jeans and a t-shirt, dishevelled and bright-eyed.
We drank coffee; I told him childhood stories, and he listened.
Little One, youre lovely, do you know? he interrupted. Come on, lets get you a new dress! I know a place, friends wholl help. I want to see you in something gorgeous.
And he did. Not straight awaylater that evening, after picking me up and herding me through the racks while shop girls cooed over me, confused as I was.
The way he watched me Hungry, almost greedy. Andrew never looked at me like that.
Ive never seen anything like it! I whispered to Alice later, my closest friend. Only in films. I never thought anyone would look at me that way. I felt like a womanas if for the first time. I liked it.
And Andrew? Alice pressed, after my confessions.
He doesnt know. He mustnt. I barely know myself! I whispered frantically. Dont say a word. Please keep the dress. Its expensivehow could I explain? Whats going to happen to me?
Alice shrugged. What would be, would be.
Youre playing with fire, Liz. Andrew may be dull, but remember how he drove to Berwick in winter to get you real farm milk, and works so hard for your comfort. He did the repairs, bought the car, takes you on holiday every year. Hes reliable. And Michaeldoes he even have a steady job?
I dont care. Andrews a horror, Alice. If youd lived with him, youd understand. I cant stand him anymore. You just envy me!
Perhaps she did. But more, I think, she envied my husbands dependability.
I grew later and later coming home, cooked sparsely, rarely ate, just sat stirring imaginary sugar into cold tea.
Mum, come on, Ive asked five times for bread! Jess snapped, rummaging in the bread bin. Theres none left!
Id nod, frown, and slink off to dream.
Theyd look at me oddlyboth Andrew and Jess.
I could daydream for hours, hands sweating, nerves frayed.
Michael was sweet and attentive, kissed well, teased me for my awkwardness, called me Little One, fed me, brought gifts I had to leave at Alices, deposited money on my card, sent messages in the middle of the night. Id bolt to the bathroom, read, delete, and wait, then dunk my phone in cold water, trembling. Then Id return to bed.
Andrew rolled over, heavy arm flopping onto me, muttered something. I grunted, motionless. Pity Andrew existed Pity it had taken me so long to discover what it meant to be Little Onepretty, loved, alive. All those wasted years
But now there was Michael; he made me happy.
We met in his spacious London flatfloor-to-ceiling windows, no curtains, with the towers of Canary Wharf glittering beyond. Champagne on silk sheetsmagic.
At home, everything felt oppressive, suffocating. Surely they all knewJess suspicious, Andrew stern.
So I made excuses, slip out after bedtime, sit dimly on the kitchen floor, sipping instant coffee, and dreaming
Izzie, where are you? I bought cabbagein the bag, chop it, yeah? Andrews voice buzzed from my phone as I glanced, frightened, at Michael gliding along the edge of the open-air pool.
Id never swum at Hampstead Heath, but today hed dragged me. The cold bit my body, but the pool released clouds of steam. There were few people, bliss. You could see the twinkling rink lights over in Greenwich. None of it matteredI only watched my cavalier. At lastat last Id found love. God
Cabbage? I stammered, wrapping myself in a towel. Leave it. Im home late tonight. Im with Alice at the leisure centre. Doctor said to work my back. Got a season ticket. Cabbage tomorrow. SorryAlice is calling. Bye!
I quickly killed the call, swallowing hard. Must warn Alicewhat if Andrew phoned her?
As soon as she picked up, I started jabbering about the pool, choking, until she cut me off.
Liz, I just dropped off some caraway. You do cabbage with caraway seeds, dont you? Andrew put the kettle onI brought him tea, Alice replied, measured and calm as always. Carawayremember that.
I bit my lip, scanning for Michael. He was on the high-diving board now, flexing muscles, ready to leap. A gaggle of young girls giggled, watching.
Alright, Little Onesone, two, three! Michael called, executed the perfect dive, surfaced, waved at me. Izzie, come on in! The nights just getting started!
The girls turned, eyeing me up and down. Suddenly I was awkward, ordinary, with a saggy tum and dimply legs. My swimming styleawkward as a frog. That old, pained mask crept onto my face.
Michael’s new little ones started their own water polo game, ducking and grabbing at him, showing no shame.
He only laughed, and didnt trouble himself when I vanished quietly. He understoodchores, family, cabbage. Let her go!
Only the kitchen was lit when I got home.
Andrew placed a frying pan in front of meeggs and ham.
Hungry after your swim? Tuck in. Want some sausage? He poured a huge mug of tea.
I shook my head, afraid to meet his gaze, stabbing absentmindedly at my supper.
Did he know? What now? Why was he so calm?
Liz, at last he spoke. Alice brought some thingstried to take charge but I sent her off. Your thingslook. He pointed under the table. She said theyre yours. Mistaken identity though?
I lifted the edge of the tablecloth, found the bags, and shrugged.
Exactly, must be a muddle, eh? Andrew almost sounded relieved. Pour us some tea, love. Or grab the brandy. I want a drink.
I leapt up, fetching the bottlethen froze.
Little one Andrews voice made me start. I whirled to meet his eyes.
I said, sweep up the crumbs. Jess is always dropping them. Cloths over there, he finished, staring at me with a heavy, hooded look, before turning away
We drank brandy together, warily, in silence.
At last, Andrew got up and left the kitchen.
Alice, hes gone. Packed, left the keys on the hall table. Alice! I sobbed into the phone, staring into the mirror at my wild, red facehow ugly I looked, how far from the bright Little One who just hours ago swam with Michael. My hair smelled of chlorine; my back ached. How could he? Is that what men dowalk out?
I pounded the table with my fist.
He did the right thing, Liz. Another man would have put his hands on you. Andrew just left, from his own home too. And you still have the nerve to complain? I never understood why youre unhappyyou have enough money, smart daughter, hardworking husband. So hes quietits better than having some boozy layabout. But you wanted the high life and endless affection? When did you last even say thank you to him? Men are just big childrenpraise them, and theyll move mountains. Sorry, Liz, but youre on your own now. Alice hung up.
I set the phone down, hunched over, and cried.
Jessica finished her exams, went away with friends to the countryside. She left a note asking not to be disturbed.
Michael showed up a week later, lurking in the shadows outside my buildingred-nosed from the cold, jacket collar pulled up.
Hello, Little One, he whispered. Missed me?
Id called him several times, desperate for reassurance, but he never answerednow here he was, uninvited.
Michael what are you doing here? I said dully, scanning for his car.
I came for you. Time for you to repay me, Little One! he said, slinging an arm over my shoulder.
Repay you? What do you mean?
I was frightened, tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.
I fed you, didnt I? Kept you happy, yeah? he hissed, breath hot on my ear. Now I need a favour, sweetheart. Money. Sell your mums place, youll get half a million. Sell this flat too. Bring me insidewell chat.
I whimpered and fought, but couldnt escape. I trudged toward the door, praying someone would appearbut the courtyard was empty.
Open up, Little OneIm freezing, Michael commanded.
I burst into tears, began to collapsebut Michael suddenly crumpled, knocked sideways.
And there was Andrewno hat, hair wild, fists clenched. He shook with anger.
Get lost! You hear me? he thundered, lunging at Michael. I grabbed Andrews arm, hauled him back.
Michael, realising who faced him, tried a sneerbut Andrews fist shut him up fast.
Stay away from Liz, you vulture! Andrew bellowed, picking up his woolly hat from the ground, wiping his nose, and turning to me. Lets go. Its freezing.
Whatever was said between us that nightonly the moon peering through the window and the wind could tell. Two untouched mugs of tea stood on the table, the old grandfather clock ticked in the hall. Then darkness settledleaving only us, the husband and wife, for some reason deciding to carry on
No one ever called me Little One again. If they tried, Id only flinch and turn away.
Michael vanished from my life, never to return. Things didnt work out for himAndrew proved too persistent.
Hed overheard me on the bus, complaining on the phone about my mums old flat, my lonelinessand realised he could help with my housing problem, and my empty heart. He thought, with some patience, hed have everythingI was ready to hand it all over; after all, he had tamed me, warmed me, fed me. But he got greedy. His debts called in, pressure mounting. He confronted me, demanded things. It backfired. Never mindthere are always other Little Ones for Michael, sad and neglected women to charm and relieve of their troubles.
He had to move out of his high-rise flatso what? Michael always lands on his feet. Unless, of course, George decides otherwiseThe house settled into silence again, punctuated only by the distant hum of the city. I stood in the narrow shaft of moonlight in our kitchen, watching Andrew bustling awkwardly at the sink. He poured out the cold tea, his back to me, shoulders stoopeda man carrying his own invisible burdens, quiet and ordinary and real.
I wanted, for a moment, to cross the floor and clasp him from behind. To say, softly: thank you. For the eggs and cabbage, for the cracked tiles carefully glued, for the lift that always came when it rained, for never raising his voice, for his slow and wordless loyalty that did not dazzle but endured.
But I could not move; I only stood there, ashamed and immeasurably tired, longing and frightened at once.
Andrew turned, caught my eye, and offered a slight, uncertain smile. It was a small, shy gesturethe kind of smile you give an old friend after years apart, wary and cautious, but with hope flickering at the edges.
Something loosened inside me.
I went to the cupboard, found the caraway seeds, and set them on the counter, saying, Well do cabbage tomorrow.
He nodded, relieved. Good.
Our daughter would return soon. The flat would fill with her music and her impatient footsteps. There would be dinners againnot always joyful, but ours nonetheless.
As I turned out the kitchen light, Andrew reached for my hand. Liz night, was all he said.
I looked at our hands, their lines and calluses, everything theyd carried and mended, and I closed my fingers around his.
Perhaps life had no more miracles in storeno dazzling passion, no grand adventure. But it had this: two imperfect people, refusing to let go, learning at last to hold each other, as tenderly as they could.
And so, in the hush of our home, I chose to stay.
Not Little One, not lost, not waiting for rescue.
Simply Lizstanding in the warm, ordinary light of forgiveness, and, finally, coming home.
