Little One

Little One

He called her Little One from the very moment they met, dropping into the seat beside her just as red and velvet, the armrests shiny from so many elbows, identical to the one beneath Sarah.

He took a moment, scanning the hall with his keen blue eyes, then glanced at his neighbour.

Bored, are you, little one? he sighed, attempting to cross one leg over the other, but the narrow space between rows in the concert hall wouldnt allow it. His pointy shoe struck the seat in front, his ankle crooked uncomfortably, and Mark made a face.

Sarah pretended not to notice him, fixating on the stage, though nothing there was of much interest: tables lined up in a row, a lectern, people bustling around setting up equipment all very much standard for conferences. And the stuffy air.

Sarah always felt uneasy in packed spaces like this, shoulder to shoulder with so many, with no way to just slip away.

Yeah grim, isnt it? Mark muttered, scratching his chin. Its all a bad job, honestly. And you know, little one, were not going to learn anything new here. I mean it! Ive read all the papers its my job, you see. Nothing worthwhile at all.

Sarah turned and gave the man beside her a frosty look.

He was well dressed, in a suit and tie, shoes spotless. Yet there was something not quite righta misfit, as if his personality had been cut out and pressed into the wrong outfit. A rascal, a joker, always ready with a quip that was Mark all over. His hair stubbornly stood upright, and he had a double crown where gentle locks curled.

Mark, he said, thrusting out his broad hand before Sarah could say anything. Fancy a bite to eat? Youre absolutely tiny I want to feed you up. Yes, lets do that. Lets escape this place!

The lights dimmed; speakers and staff, managers and valued workers, began to file onto the stage to applause. But unperturbed, Mark started tugging his Little One towards the aisle, stepping on toes, apologising, tucking his tie back in its pointed end constantly poking out as though giving the dull crowd a cheeky raspberry.

What dyou think youre doing? Let me go, do you hear? Sarah tried to wrench her hand free as she scurried after Mark towards the exit.

They burst into the foyer just as applause swelled inside and someone rapped on a microphone for quiet.

Let go! I have to go back, I need to take notes Ive got an assignment! Sarah protested, clutching her notebook. She dropped her pen, bent to retrieve it, but Mark was quicker.

Honestly, forget all that scribbling, Little One! Ill send you the lot read them later. Right now, food. But first, water. Youre pale, your pulse is racing. There, see? He took her wrist, clucked his tongue. Fresh air, food, and not a single boring conference in sight!

Sarah truly didnt feel wellher heart thumped in her ears.

No one had ever fussed over her before. Shed always been the responsible one, caring for her mother, husband, and daughter. That felt normal, though heavy, and sometimes shed longed to be swept up, play the fool, gossip over wine and laugh like those actresses in romantic films yet somehow, never got the chance.

But Mark gave her that chance.

Next thing she knew, she was at a small table in a cosy restaurant across the street while the waiter set down glasses of freshly squeezed juice golden-orange, so vibrant it seemed as though the very sun had been pressed into it, bright as an African orange, bursting with sweetness.

Here. Drink. And water, too. Now, what are we eating? Mark mused, scanning the menu.

He seemed genuinely taken with her Sarah, slim with delicate features, had a quiet sort of charm. She might have been popular with men if it werent for the ever-present weary look in her eyes, the weariness of forty-something years, a joyless marriage, everything grown bland. How could she blossom like a May rose under such circumstances?

Yet Mark liked her like that worn down by life, his Little One.

I dont need anything. Ill be fine and go back in a moment! Sarah muttered.

Suit yourself, Mark laughed. But youre not leaving until youve had some sea bass and veg, salad and, what will you drink, Little One?

He glanced up from the menuhandsome, fresh, boyishly ruffled, smelling of cigarettes and aftershave, his gaze made Sarah blush and frown.

She was losing her mind! A complete stranger had whisked her off to a restaurant, was feeding her, calling her Little One, even smoothing a stray lock from her forehead. And here she was softening, unable to resist.

Where Mark had touched her, her skin burned, shivers running down her spine.

They drank white wine while Mark spun tales of his youth: summer jobs on building sites, a stint up north with his mate Simon how they started a little business building holiday cottages, got together a good crew, and made a living of it. People want roofs over their heads, comfort, warmth not dashing out to the cold outside lav, he grinned, nodding at Sarahs plate. Go on, eat up, Little One! When I saw you, all I could think was, I have to feed this girl! Want dessert?

She shook her head. She felt herself sinking from the wine, the exquisite food, but most of all from the strange joy that someone, for the first time in years (maybe ever), wanted to look after her just because she was a girl tired and thin.

Home had never been like that. Sarahs childhood had been her mother and herself in a little terraced house. Her mother, always working, was gone by breakfast; Sarah ate alone, waited up for her mother in the evenings, then reheated supper, washed up while her mother showered, before falling asleep together past midnight.

On New Year, Sarahs mother, Mary, returned near eleven. She worked overtime at the local shopthe last hours before midnight brought in the best takings.

Mary Davis came home exhausted, her skin pale. Sarah laid out her dress, helped with her mothers festive hair, and together they joined the guests.

There were always guests neighbours, old friends, some distant relative turning up tipsy. Laughter and chatter at a table crowded with treats, and Sarah had to keep her mother awake after the first shot of spirits vodka, always, never bothered with fizz. It wasnt that her mother was a lush, but the fatigue knocked her out cold after one glass, snoring right at the feast. Sarah would nudge her, Mary would startle, then demand another drink, say a toast, clink glasses, and the laughter that followed was always tinged with sorrow. So, how could Sarah ever be a delicate girl? It was never an option.

Sarah married young. Her husband, Andrew, was nearly ten years her seniorsteady, well educated, but not affectionate. He simply fitted Sarah into his life like a cog in his well-oiled machine: the necessary housekeeper, suitable, good. She didnt mindit seemed enough. The heady romance of the early days faded. All that really mattered was that she had her own family, her own home, far from her mothers exhaustion, swollen legs, the depressing view of bins out back, that little room with crumbling wallpaper. Now she had Andrews flat, kitchen, spacious bathroom, balcony, a small library, and a husband. People envied her especially being free from a mother-in-law.

But she was always Sarah, or at best Mrs Davis never Little One.

Andrew, her mother, her girlfriends all called her plain Sarah.

Suddenly, there she was: Little One, sipping wine, nibbling snacks And someone actually cared what Little One was thinking, what she wanted.

Andrew was never interested in any of that. Yes, he discussed household matters, purchases, holidays but more just to state his decision. Any objections were drowned out by the noise drifting in through the open window; Andrew loved fresh air, insisted the windows stay open, draught or not.

But the moment theyd walked into the restaurant, Mark made sure they sat somewhere warm and draft-free.

Considerate

He asked about her she answered, shyly. Yes, she had a husband. Yes, a daughter too. Whats her name? Emma. Shes studying languages at university. I found her an incredible tutor and now shes off overseas for a placement soon.

Emma wasnt planned or wished for she was produced. Andrews mother had been insisting for ages it was time he became a father. Sarah was young, it should be easy. But it wasnt, so they kept working at it.

When Sarah finally became pregnant, Andrew kept his distance. No touching her tummy, no talking to the baby inside, not like the happy families you see on TV. It made him uncomfortable, almost annoyed.

Shell be born soon enough, and then Ill do my bit. Whens your next appointment, Sarah? Ill give you a lift, hed say.

Hed drive her, picked them up from the maternity ward complete with balloons, guests, and a brisk Thanks for the daughter. He kept careful track of Emmas weight, Sarahs milk, bought the best baby food, woke at night for Emma, took her for jabs. When the health visitor came, Andrew checked her hands were properly washed, eyed the white coat suspiciously, and even warmed the stethoscope so it wouldnt chill Emma.

Tired? Sarahs friend Jenny would ask, seeing the circles under her eyes. Babies are a nightmare! Does Andrew help?

Sarah would shrug. He helps, sort of. But its never quite enough

Being so put-upon was almost a comfort. Always rushed, always pitied by friends, occasionally her husband was scolded for not taking better care of her.

But Mark? Mark coddled her, fussed over her, making her blush and demur.

Come on now, little one! Mark would scold. Eat up! Im not letting you go otherwise, understood?

She bit her lip, gazing at her unexpected benefactor with sad eyes as she ate.

He saw her home that day, all the way to the Tube. She declined his company further, citing errands.

That evening, she found summaries of all the conference talks in her email.

To Little One, from Mark! ran the note.

Sarah quickly closed her laptop, but Emma seemed to catch a glimpse and grinned.

Silly nicknames! Sarah fumed. Official business, and they write nonsense!

Emma had stopped listening, already settling her headphones and starting a new playlist

Mum, Emma, Im home! Come on, lets have supper! came the familiar shout from the hallway.

Andrew, exhausted from the Tube and bus, stripped off his shirt, then his trousers, pulled on gaudy shorts with lime-green palms, threw open the balcony door and heaved a satisfied sigh.

He smelled sour, leftover from yesterday.

Im not showering today, Sarah. Let it go! My skins itchy from your soaps. Ill wash tomorrow! he retorted to her gentle reminders. Done. Im knackered. Lets eat.

They ate in silence, lost in thought. Sarahabout Mark, his freshness, his easy charm

He rang the very next day at work.

Hello, Little One! How are you? Have you eaten? Marks voice rang out of the phone so loudly Sarah glanced around to see if anyone overheard.

Er no, Ive not had time. Busy, she mumbled. Little One. He called her that tender and delicate A tingle ran down her back.

Drop everything, come down! Im at your local café, its nothing special but youve got to eat. Go on, Im waiting!

Sarah muttered something, excused herself from her colleagues, popped in the lift and hesitated, her cheeks blazing. Everyone surely knew Mrs Davis was meeting her lover.

Indeed, that was the label she gave Mark lover. It was thrilling, reckless.

Today, Mark wore t-shirt and jeans, slightly ruffled and as fresh as ever.

They shared coffee. Sarah recalled stories from her childhood, Mark listened carefully.

Youre beautiful, you know that? Mark interrupted, suddenly. Lets buy you something! A dress! I know people theyll pick you the perfect one. I want to see you in a dress.

And he did not straight away, but later that evening. Mark took her to a boutique, lounged on a bench while the shop assistants fussed over her.

The way he looked at herhungry, eager! Andrew could never compete.

Ive never had anyone look at me like that, Sarah whispered later to Jenny, her closest, most loyal friend. Like in the movies. I finally felt like a woman. Its awful, but I loved it.

What about Andrew? Jenny pressed.

He knows nothing. Cant. I barely know whats happening myself. Please, dont tell him! And keep the dress at yours, in the bag. How on earth would I explain? It cost a fortune! What on earth am I doing?

Jenny shrugged and took the bag. What will be, will be.

Dunno, Sarah Theres something about Mark. But remember, for all his faults, it was Andrew who braved the snow last winter to fetch your precious farm milk, and who works so hard. Another man would just laze and down pints on the sofa, but yours is clever, decent, keeps the family afloat, takes you to the seaside every year. Hes see-through, reliable. But Mark? Wheres his money from?

Sarah shook her head. She didnt know. Did it matter? Andrew is unbearable. I cant stand it anymore. Youre just jealous, she snapped.

Jenny shrugged again. Maybe she was jealous but not of Mark, not really, but of Andrew

Sarah started coming home later, throwing dinner together in a rush, picking at her meal while spinning tea around in a mug.

Mum, whats up? Ive asked for bread five times! Emma would grumble, then get it herself. Breads finished, Mum, shed report sharply.

Sarah would nod, frown, and retreat to her room to dream.

Andrew and Emma exchanged baffled looks.

Sarah dreamed for hours, hands clammy with nerves.

Mark was gentle, knew how to kiss, teased her for her shyness, and still called her Little One, bringing gifts she had to stash at Jennys, slipping cash onto her card, sending cheeky messages at two in the morning. Sarah would dash to the bathroom, locked in, read, delete, wait, read again. Finally, shed turn off her mobile, splash her face, lie down.

Andrew would roll over, drape his heavy arm over her, burp and mutter something. Sarah murmured in reply and froze. If only Andrew wasnt in her life If only shed known sooner what it was to be Little Onepretty, passionate, wanted. So many lost years

But Mark was her happiness now.

They met in Marks flat spacious, bright, floor-to-ceiling windows, no curtains, overlooking the golden lights of Canary Wharf. The air thick with champagne and Marks cologne. Sheets as smooth as silk

The world shattered into a firework show, scattering into diamonds on those same silk sheets. Magic

Home grew bleak and suffocating. Sarah felt certain everyone knew. Emma watched her askance, Andrews gaze turned stern.

Sarah dreamt up excuses to be out, arriving home only when everyone had gone to bed. Then she could sit alone in the kitchen, sipping instant coffee, and dream

Sarah! Where are you? Ive bought cabbage, need to chop it, remember? Andrews voice snapped through the phone. She glanced guiltily at Mark, floating along the edge of the pool an open-air marvel.

Sarah had never swum at the Serpentine before, but today, Mark brought her, made her get changed, and then they swam, watching wisps of steam rising into the cold air. Few people, bliss. If you climbed to the high board, you could see the lights of the ice rink in Hyde Park. But Sarah only had eyes for her gallant. Shed finally found it. Finally love.

Cabbage? she mumbled, yanking the towel tight. Leave it. Ill be late. Jenny and I are at the pool the doctor said I need to work my back. We bought memberships. Well do the cabbage tomorrow. Sorry, Jennys calling, bye!

She quickly hung up and swallowed, then hurriedly rang Jenny, whispering the cover story, heart thudding, when Jenny cut in:

Sarah, I just dropped off some caraway seeds. You do cabbage with caraway, dont you? Andrews made you tea, I thought Id pop by from the market. Hes already put the kettle on, Jenny replied.

Sarah bit her lip, searching for Mark. There he was, flexing on the high board, about to jump. Teen girls giggled below, slim, lively things.

All right, girls? One, two, three! Mark called, springing into the water flawlessly, resurfacing to wave at Sarah. Come on in, Sarah! The nights young!

The girls threw glances her way. Suddenly, she felt awkward, ordinary her tummy not flat, thighs loose. She swam frog-like and clumsy, face etched with painful resignation.

New little ones clustered around Mark, splashing him bold as brass, playing water polo, snatching at him underwater.

He laughed, not fussed at all when Sarah quietly slipped from the scene. He understood errands, family, cabbage Let her go.

It was dark in the hall, and the kitchen light glowed. Andrew silently set a frying pan of eggs before his wife.

Hungry, then? Eat. Want some sausage? He poured her a big mug of tea.

Sarah shook her head, afraid to look at him, eyes darting away as she picked at her eggs.

Did he know? What now? Why was he so calm?

Sarah Andrew said after a heavy silence. Jenny dropped off some stuff. She kept poking her nose in, so I told her to clear off. This is your kitchen, not hers. She said those bags Anyway, she said theyre yours. That right?

Sarah lifted the tablecloth, peering at the bags, and shrugged.

Exactly! Rubbish, eh? Andrew said with false cheer. Pour me some tea, will you? Actually, get the brandy out. I fancy a drop.

She leapt up, but froze when he said,

Little one She spun, meeting his eyes. I said, the crumbs on the table need clearing. Emma always leaves it a mess. Wipe it down, will you? he finished, glancing at her, turning away

They drank their brandy in silence, eyes never meeting.

Andrew finally stood and left.

Jenny, hes really gone! He put his keys on the counter and left, Sarah sobbed into the phone, staring at her face in the mirror how misshapen it seemed now, nothing like the glowing Little One from a few hours earlier, floating with Mark, the scent of chlorine still clinging to her hair, her back aching with fatigue. How could he? Real men dont just walk out, do they? He left me and Emma, just left!

Sarah clenched her fist furiously.

That is what a real man does, Sarah. Another man mightve beaten you, but Andrew just left his own flat, mind. And you still complain? I never understood why you two struggled: youve enough money, Emmas a clever girl, Andrews not a drunk, hes capable. Sure, hes quiet would you prefer someone who drinks and brings mates home? You wanted glamour and to be fussed over, eh? Yet you never praised him. Men need that give them praise, and theyll move mountains for you! Sorry, Sarah, but I cant support you here. Goodnight, Jenny said, hanging up.

Sarah set her phone down and sank into her chair, quietly weeping

Emma passed her exams and left for the countryside with friends, leaving a note not to contact her.

Mark showed up a week later, waiting for Sarah in the shadows outside her block.

Hello, little one! he hissed, hiding his red face in a leather jacket collar. Missed me?

Sarah had called him, wanted to talk, but he never answered and now here he was, himself.

Mark she replied lifelessly, searching for his car.

Im here for you. Time you paid your dues, little one! He grabbed her elbow tightly.

What dues? What are you talking about? Sarah tried to wriggle free, but his grip only tightened.

I fed you, didnt I? Looked after you! Now I need your help, sweetheart. I need money, and youve got that old flat your mum left you we could get, what, half a million for it? Lets sell. And this one, too. Come on, lets go inside and talk it through.

Sarah yelped in fear, struggling, but, weak-kneed, she headed for the door, praying someone would pass. But fatefully, the courtyard was empty.

Come on, Little One, Im freezing, he urged.

She began to sob, sinking towards the snowy ground and then Mark suddenly let go, stumbled, and dropped to his side.

Andrew stood over him, hair wild, fists clenched.

Get lost! You hear me? Or youll be sorry! he bellowed, lunging, but Sarah caught his arm, tugging him back.

Mark, realising his opponent, gave a sly, mocking grin, but fell silent when Andrews fist connected with his jaw.

Go! Andrew barked, snatching his wool hat from the ground, wiping his nose, then turning to Sarah. Lets go inside. Its cold.

What those two said through the night, what secret pains were shared, only the moon and the wind peeking through the cracked window could tell. Two untouched mugs of tea cooled on the table as the old grandfather clock ticked. The world faded to black, leaving only the two of them husband and wife, stubbornly choosing to carry on.

No one ever again called Sarah Little One. If they did, she would only shiver and turn away.

Mark vanished from her life. He failed to get what he wantedAndrew was too resolute.

Hed overheard Sarah on a bus, talking about the inherited flat, how unsure and tired and lonely she felt. Mark thought he could helpsolve her housing problem, and maybe her loneliness too. If hed played it right, he might have won; after all, hed tamed and spoilt her. But he rushed it. Circumstances forced his hand his mate Simon was pressing for his debt, painfully so. Mark had to push, demand action. It didnt work. But never mind! There were plenty more little ones out there: neglected, mournful, forever yearning. Mark would find and save them and collect his due.

For now, he vacated that swish riverside flat with its silk sheets and city views. But Mark was sure somehow, hed come out on top. Unless Simon decided otherwise…

The truth Sarah would learn and never forget was that being coddled and fussed over is pleasant, even intoxicating, but fleeting. Lifes real foundations are built not on fleeting passion or empty praise, but on quiet acts, steadfastness, and honest kindness. Only by treasuring what youve already built and those who build it with you can any little one endure and truly find peace.