Little One

He called her Petal right from the off, as he slumped into the seat beside her, one of those faded, wine-coloured velvet numbers, frayed by the elbows of countless othersjust like the one Rachel was perched on.

He spent a minute eyeing the drab conference hall, then turned to size up his seat neighbour.

“Bored, are you, Petal?” he sighed, twisting his mouth wryly. He tried to cross his legsdidnt work, gap far too tighthis pointy dress shoe jammed up against the seat in front, ankle bending awkwardly. Mike winced, but carried on.

Rachel ignored him, staring determinedly at the stage, though, honestly, there was absolutely nothing happening. Same old tables pushed into a long row, the lectern propped at an angle, folk bustling about fiddling with wires. Conference déjà vu. That clammy, clamouring air.

Rooms packed with people always unsettled Rachel, the way you ended up shoulder to shoulder, nowhere to escape, everyone elses breathing hemming you in. Never sat easy with her.

Mm utter waste of time,” Mike drawled, scratching his jaw. “You and me, Petal, we’re not going to hear a single thing worth the cab fare. Seriously. Ive already ploughed through all the paperscomes with the job. Not a decent idea between the lot.”

Rachel turned to survey him, eyebrows raised, unimpressed. Smart suit, proper tie, shoes ready for inspection. And stillsomething about him seemed mismatched, as if someone had peeled a rascal out of a street scene and shoved him into last years M&S launch collection. One of lifes mischief-makers, that half-rogue, half-softie vibe. His hair stood up in irrepressible little tuftsand there were those famous two cowlicks; his hair twisted into little flourishes, soft as down.

Michael, he said, before Rachel could muster a word, thrusting out his enormous, warm paw. Tell you whatlets get some lunch. Youre far too petite, thin as a reed. Im taking you out and feeding you up. Yes, yes, thats what well do. Come onlets slip away.”

The lights in the hall had just begun to dim, and some bosses, deputies, award-winners, and earnest types were making their all-important way onto the stage. The crowd broke into lacklustre applause, just as Mike began expertly dragging Rachelhis Petalout of the aisle, trodding on feet and muttering apologies, stuffing his tie back under his jacket which, like a rebellious tongue, refused to stay put.

What on earth do you think youre doing? Let go! Do you hear me? Rachel hissed, trying to wrench her arm free, but unable to quite break away, ending up scurrying after Mike towards the exit.

They burst into the foyer just as someone was bashing the microphone for order and the applause reached its half-hearted crescendo.

Let go! I have to get back and take notesI’ve got work to do! Rachel protested indignantly, clutching her notebook to her chest, managing to drop her pen. She bent to retrieve it, but Mike beat her to it.

“Oh, forget scribbling everything down, Petal! Ill send you all the summariespromise. For now, first things first: food. But lets get you some water as wellyoure white as a sheet, pulse racing. See? I knew it, he said, feeling her wrist, tutting sympathetically. Fresh air, a meal, and not a whisper of conferences.”

Truth be told, Rachel did feel a bit faint, her pulse thumping in her temples.

No one had ever looked after her like this beforeusually, she was the one fussing over everyone else: her mother, her husband, her daughter. That was simply life. Hard work, sometimes, yesa longing to be gathered up and cosseted, a bit silly, giggling over a glass of wine like actresses do in those romcoms. But that was never her lot.

Until Mike gave her the chance.

She never even noticed how theyd ended up at a cosy little bistro just over the road, an attentive waiter bringing them glasses of freshly squeezed juicebrilliant, sunny yellow-orange, like someone tipped a whole summer into a tumbler.

Drink up. And have some water too. Right, what shall we eat then? Mike mused, eyes dancing over the menu.

He must have liked her, Rachel thought. She was reasonably attractive, dainty, slim, nothing in excess. She probably could have enjoyed plenty of attention if it hadnt been for well, that look. That constant mask of exhaustion on her face, a bleakness without hope. Pushing forty, a tired marriage, not a trace of love leftno wonder she hardly radiated joy.

But Mike liked her just so, his weary little Petal.

I dont need anything, honestly. Bit of a breather and Ill head straight backits fine! Rachel managed.

Nonsense! Mike countered. But only after youve had the sea bass and some veg, bit of salad Petal, what would you like to drink?

He looked upcheeky, fresh, hair all tousled, with that unmistakable whiff of cigarettes and cologne about him. Athletic and strong, watching Rachel with clear appreciation.

She blushed and scowled.

Was she losing her mind? She barely knew this manhed all but abducted her for lunch, kept calling her Petal, now even tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. And instead of protesting, she was wilting under his hand, going soft at the seams.

Where Mikes fingers had brushed her, a flush of warmth spread, little shivers running down her spine.

They sipped white wine. Mike told stories, about summers laboring on building sites up norththen, with a laugh, launching into anecdotes about starting a business with his friend Simon. Nothing grand, cottage extensions, bit of landscaping, you know. People want warmth and comfort; dont want to freeze in the loo. We worked out how to fix that. Eat up, Petal! Heres to you. Honestly, when I first saw you, I thought, ‘Somebody needs to take care of that girl, get a nice meal down her.’ Want seconds?

She shook her head. She felt blurry, driftingfrom the wine and food, and from the simple fact that, for the first time in years, someone wanted to feed her just for being a tired, thin Petal.

Home was never like this. As a child, Rachel lived with her mum, who worked all hours. Shed breakfast alone, tea by herself, heat up dinner for Mum at night, and wash up while Mum showered, then theyd both collapse into bed, long after midnight.

New Years Eve, Mum would come home later still, working right up to closing for the holiday rush at the shop. MariaMumwould finally burst in looking exhausted. Rachel would lay out a dress, tidy her hair for her, and off theyd go to mingle with the neighbours, half-tipsy relatives and old friends, the house filled with chatter and laughter. Rachels job was to keep an eye so Mum didnt fall asleep over her first glass of vodka.

Mum always said champagne was for show-offsvodka was the real thing.

Not that her tired body could cope: after the first shot, shed often doze off right there, snoring at the dinner table. Rachel would nudge her; Mum would stir, confused, down another vodka, raise a toast, and force a bitter laugh. There wasnt any room for Rachel to be a fragile girl. Not in that world.

Rachel married early. Peter was almost a decade older, sensible, educated, but not much for affection or words. He seemed to just fit Rachel into the neatly working cog of his life. And maybe, Rachel thought, that was enough. The initial sparkromance, a bit of panic, nervesthat faded fast. At least she had her own household, no more tired mother, no ugly view of bins, no wallpaper fraying with the past. She had Peters flatwith its practical kitchen, two bedrooms, actual bath, full bookcase, and a proper husband. Everyone envied her; she had her own place, no mother-in-law breathing down her neck. Happy days.

And always, from childhood up to meeting Mike, she was Rach, or at best, Rachel Anne.

Peter, Mum, her friendsthey all called her Rach.

But then, suddenly, she was Petal. There’s wine, nibbles, and someone actually curious about her desires and dreams.

Peter, naturally, had never been that sort. No, he discussed bills, maintenance, and plans for the holidays with her, like matters of council business. Rarely anything more. He liked the windows left open, no matter the draft; too bad if she shivered.

But the moment theyd sat at the restaurant, Mike had told the staff to seat them somewhere warm, away from the draughts.

Thoughtful.

He asked questions; Rachel answered shyly. Yes, she had a husband. Yes, they had a daughter, Hannah. Hannah was studying languages at university; Rachel had found her a brilliant tutor, and now Hannah was off to Spain for a term. They hadnt waited for Hannah, or prayed for her. They just, well, arranged to have her. Peters mum had been pressing him to be a father anyway. It didnt happen quickly, and they made a project of it, until one day, Rachel announced she was pregnant. Peter avoided her bump, never did that hands-on, happy-family thing new dads do on TV, wouldnt chat to the baby. “When she arrives, I’ll handle it,” hed say, if Rachel even hinted for a word of comfort. “Just let me know when your appointment is. Ill give you a lift.”

He did, drove her to check-ups and picked her up from hospital, did the right thing with balloons and polite thanks. He monitored Hannahs weight, checked the formula, made the babys bottles, took night shifts walking her round the lounge, brought her to clinics himself. When the health visitor came, Peter vetting her hands, checking her badge, warming the stethoscope before she touched Hannah.

Tired, are you? Rachels friend, Gail, used to say, seeing her pale, drawn, dark-circled. Babies are no picnic. Does Peter help?

Rachel would shrug. He helped, sort of. But it never quite felt like enough.

It was almost nice, being a bit of a martyr. She was always worn out, always earning peoples sympathyand sometimes Peter was gently criticised for failing to cherish his Rach.

But MikeMike did exactly that, plying her with delicacies no one else offered, making her feel wanted, and Rachel blushed and protested.

Oh, dont be silly, Petal! Mike would insist. Youre not leaving this table hungry, understood?

Rachel would bite her lip, gaze at this gallant, ridiculous man, and eat.

That day, Mike walked her down to the Tube. She declined further company, citing errands.

That evening, every conference summary popped up in her email inbox. For Petal, from Michael! read the subject.

Rachel quickly shut her laptop, but Hannah must have glimpsed itshe snorted.

Idiotic pet names! Rachel exclaimed, pretending to care. Its supposed to be official businesshonestly!

Hannah was already off, headphones on, music blaring.

Rach, Hannah, Im home! Whos for dinner? Peter called from the hallway.

He staggered in, peeled off his shirt, then the trousers, swapped them for those absurd pyjama shorts with the garish green palm trees, and threw open the balcony doors for air.

He stanksour, stale sweat, even from yesterday.

“Im not showering again, Rach! Give it a rest! This flat’s so dry it makes my skin itch. Ill wash tomorrow! he grumped, batting away her quiet remonstrances. Honestly. Im wiped. Lets eat.

They dined in silence: Rachel, lost in thoughts of Mikehis freshness, his warmth, his attentiveness.

Mike called her at work the very next day.

Hello, Petal! How are you doing? Missed you. Have you had anything to eat? His voice oozed through her phone, so loud she thought her colleagues might hear.

Er no, not yet. Loads to do she stammered. Petal. She was Petalfrail and delicate for once. Goosebumps flared up her arms.

Drop everything and come downstairs! Im in your local cafe. Bit naff, but lets get lunch. Go on, Ill wait!

Rachel muttered an excuse, told her team she needed a break, got in the lift, frozen with a rush she hadnt felt for years. She was sure everyone knew she was sneaking out for a datewith a lover, as she put it to herself. Lover. Scandalous and thrilling.

This time, Mike wore a t-shirt and jeans; gloriously tousled.

They drank coffee; Rachel found herself telling little stories about her childhood. Mike listened and then, out of nowhere, said, “Petal, you do know you’re beautiful, right? Lets go shopping. I want to buy you a dress. I know someone at the boutique around the cornertheyll sort you out! I want to see you in something special.”

He got his way, eventually. That evening, after a trip to The Arcade, he waited, beaming, on the velvet stool while shop assistants fluttered about the flustered Petal.

God, the way he looked at her. Like he’d never seen a woman before. Peter could never.

Ive never had anyone look at me like that! Rachel confessed in a whisper to Gail, spilling her story to her most loyal friend. Its just like the films. I didnt believe anyone would ever see me that way. I felt like well a woman, for once. I know I shouldn’t, but I loved it.

And Peter? Gail asked, as you do, after the flutter subsided.

He doesnt know. Nor should he. Honestly, its all so newI havent a clue! And you mustnt let on, understand? Keep the frock for me at yourshow would I ever explain that? It cost a fortune! Oh, what now?

Gail shrugged, pulling the dress bag closer. What will be, will be.

Dont know, Rachel. Youre asking for trouble. Peters a block, but remember how he used to drive north in winter just to fetch you decent milk? He works, he tries. Another bloke might have loafed on the sofa with a tin, but your Peter, people look up to him. He sorted your car, did the kitchen, takes you all to France every year. He might be dull as ditchwater, but hes upfront. Whats this Mikes story? Where does his money come from?

No idea, not really. Who cares?! You dont understandPeter is a nightmare, youve never lived with him. He makes my skin crawl at this point. Admit ityoure just jealous!

Gail shrugged again. Maybe, she thought, she was jealousof the husband, not of Michael.

Rachel began to come home later, tossing together quick suppers she barely touched, sitting with a vacant stare, swirling cold tea.

Mum? Thats, what, the fifth time Ive asked for bread? Hannah called, getting it herself. Breads run out. Ugh.

Rachel nodded, scowled, left the kitchento drift and daydream.

Peter and Hannah watched her, bemused.

Rachel could lose hours like that, hands sweating with nerves, heart thudding, lost in thoughts of Mike.

Mike was gentle, a master at kissing, laughed at her awkwardness, and always called her Petal, feeding her morsels, buying her presents (which she kept hidden at Gails). Now and again, hed deposit some cash in her account, or send a risqué text late at night. Rachel would sneak into the bathroom, devour the messages, delete and reset, then wash her face and slip back into bed.

Peter would roll over, flop an arm over her, grumble, and pass out. Rachel would freeze, aching for what she now knew shed missed all those yearswhat it was to be Petal: cherished, attractive, alive. So many years wasted.

But now she had Mike, and he was her happiness.

Theyd meet at Mikes placea bright, spacious flat, windows stretching to the floor, no curtains, a dazzling view of The Shard and Londons distant skyline. Champagne, the scent of Mikes aftershave, crisp silk sheets

The world seemed to explode in sparks, like fireworks. Magic.

Home, by contrast, felt suffocating, guilty. Rachel suspected everyone could see right through her. Hannah was wary, Peter grave.

Rachel started inventing excuses, staying out till the lights were off. Then, at last, shed sit at the kitchen table, sipping bitter, instant coffee, lost in daydreams.

Rach! Where are you? Ive bought cabbageit wants chopping. You promised, came Peters voice on the phone, startling her as she glanced over at Mike gliding along the edge of the open-air pool, a marvel of engineering glittering beneath them.

Shed never been to Hampstead Heath Lido before. Mike had brought her, told her to get her swimming costume on, and theyd floated in the freezing water, watching steam drift into the February air. Almost empty, blissful. If you stood on the diving board, you could see the fairy lights twinkling over the ice rink at Queens Park. Not that Rachel cared. She, Petal, only had eyes for her dashing date. At lastshed found love.

Cabbage? she squeaked, huddling in her towel. Leave it for now. Ill be home late. Me and Gailyes, the physio said I have to do more back exercises. We got a season ticket at the pool. Well do the cabbage tomorrow. Got to runGails waving. Bye!

She ended the call hurriedly, nerves jangling. Shed better warn Gail, in case Peter checked up.

Rachel called and whispered rapid instructionsbackstory, cover storythen trailed off.

“Rach, turn around, I popped some caraway seeds in your shopping. You always do cabbage with caraway, right? Picked some up at the market and stopped in,” Gail replied, breezy as ever. “Peter already has the kettle on.

Rachel chewed her lip, scanning the pool for Mike. There he was, flexing and grinning atop the diving boardyoung women in their late teens squealing at him from below.

All right, petals? Mike called out, before making a textbook-perfect dive into the water, surfacing with a wave. Rachel, come join us! The evenings only beginning!

The girls peered at her. Rachel shrank under their scrutinyfrumpy, with a little paunch and wobbly thighs, flapping through the water like a frog. Her face wore its old, strained mask again.

Mikes new petals cheered him on at water polo, ducking under to try and outmanoeuvre him.

And he laughed, not seeming too miffed as Rachel slipped away. He understoodlife, family, cabbage Let her go.

The flat was dark except for the kitchen strip light.

Peter silently set a frying pan of eggs in front of Rachel.

Hungry after your swim? Have a bit. Want some sausage? He filled a big mug with tea for her.

Rachel shook her head, couldnt meet his eyes, stabbed at the eggs with her fork.

Did he know? And if he did, then what? Why was he so calm?

Rach Peter said at length, staring gloomily at the table. Gail dropped off some bags. Kept trying to take over, but I told her straightyour kitchen, not hers. Said the bags were yours. But are they? Looks like a mix-up.

Rachel raised the tablecloth, saw the bags under the bench, shrugged her shoulders.

Thats what I thoughtnonsense, right? Peter said, sounding momentarily chipper. Put the kettle back on. Or actually, get the brandy out. Fancy a drop.

Rachel leapt up, scurried to the cupboard and then froze.

“Petal,” Peter started. She spun round, heart in her mouth.

“I mean, bread crusts on the tablewipe them up. Hannahs always getting crumbs everywhere. Just wipe them, will you?” he finished quietly, then shot her a sharp look and turned away.

They drank their brandy, stiffly, not meeting each others eyes.

Finally, Peter left her alone.

Gail, hes gone! Packed up, left his keys, justjust gone! Rachel sobbed down the phone, staring in the mirror at her own blotchy face, no longer anyones “Petal”. Three hours ago shed been splashing with Mikenow she stank of chlorine and her back ached. Gail! How could he? Wheres the decency? He just left Hannah and me. Just walked out!

Rachels anger snapped; she slammed her fist on the table.

“Just what a decent man does, Rach. Another might have beaten you up. Peter just walked away. From his own flat. And you dare grumble about him? For years I wondered why you two didn’t get on. Money’s never tight, Hannahs sharp as they come, Peters no drunk, he does the jobs round the place, sure, hes quiet, but better that than a joker or a freeloader. And you wanted moresome glamour, endearing nonsense. You never once said a kind word to him, Rach. Menthey thrive off a bit of praise. But you sorry, love. Im not taking your side. Good night.

Rachel set her mobile down and began to sob.

Hannah passed her exams, packed for a trip to the Lakes with friends, leaving Rachel a note not to call.

Mike reappeared only a week later, waiting for her outside her building, his nose red with cold and zipped up in a battered old leather jacket.

Hello, Petal, he hissed, voice almost a rasp. Missed me?

Rachel had rung him several times, needing someone to cry to, but hed ignored her. Now he was back, out of the blue

Mike she murmured, lifeless. What are you doing here?

“Time to settle up, Petal! he said, tucking her arm under his. I fed you, didnt I? Kept you happy. Now I need a favour. Give us some cash, sweetheart. Im in deepyour mums flat, thatll fetch, what, half a million? Lets get it sold. And this place, too. Come on, lets head in and talk numbers.

Petal squeaked, tried to struggle, but couldnt break free, heading, heart in mouth, towards the entrance hall, praying desperately for someone, anyone, to appear. The street was deserted.

“Come on, Petal. Im freezing, Mike urged, giving her another push.

Rachel started crying, knees bucklingwhen, out of nowhere, Peter appeared, hatless, rumpled, wild-eyed. He shook his fists.

“Clear off! You hear me? Get lost before you regret it! Peter roared, lunging at Mike, who gave a jeering laughuntil Peters fist knocked him sideways.

Go! Dont let me see you near Rachel again! Peter bellowed, picking up his battered wool hat, dabbing his nose with it, and turning to face Rachel. Lets go home. Its cold

Whatever was said between husband and wife that night belongs to the moon peering through the window, and the wind whispering through the crack. Two cups of untouched tea, the wall clock ticking, and silence wrapping the world in a darkness only two peoplenumb with wearinesscould feel.

And no one, ever again, called Rachel Petal. If they did, she only flinched and turned away.

Mike drifted from her life; Peters determined loyalty had seen off his charm.

Mike, overhearing Rachel on the bus one day, muttering about her inherited flat and how tired and lonely she was, realised he could “help” her out, sort her property problems, maybe ease her lonelinessmake himself useful, get a tidy payout. A bit more patience, coaxing her, and shed probably hand it all over. Hed tamed her, after all. But things became urgenthis mate Simon was demanding repayment, in no uncertain terms, and the pressure was on. He had to go in all guns blazing. It hadnt worked. So what? Thered be other petals in the worldunappreciated, cheerless, waiting for someone like him to sweep in and sprinkle a little luck. Maybe hed collect his fee next time around.

For now, he had to vacate the flat with real silk sheets and the view of the city. Never mind. Mike hustles onunless Simon puts a stop to all that, of courseSpring was slow that year, colder than it should have beenleaf buds hesitating on the trees, daffodils half-hearted, battered by stray winds. Rachel went home from work each evening to a flat that now, somehow, belonged a little more to her. It wasnt happinessshe didnt believe in that anymorebut there was a sort of brightness in the emptiness.

Peter came back to collect a toolbox and a few battered jumpers, but lingered by the kitchen table, fiddling with the spoon in his mug. If you want me to finish the tiling, Rachel, Ill do it next week, he said, eyes on the floor. Up to you.

She met his gaze, awkward and unadorned, and for once sawnot the version of a husband whod failed to charm or dazzlebut simply a man, just as exhausted and heartbroken as she was. There was no shame or bitterness left to scrape in either of them.

That night, alone for the first time in almost two decades, Rachel lay awake, watching lamplight creep in from the street, painting gold bars across the ceiling. She let herself rememberthe dizzy beginning, the ache of longing, how even betrayal could feel like a gift, if only it made you feel special for a fleeting spell. She let herself grieve the loss of Petal, the girl whod bloomed for a month and then faded, and the woman who used to be Rach.

And then, as dawn crept injust a prickle of hope, so faint she almost missed itRachel got up and made herself toast, and ate it slowly. No one watched to see if she finished, no one cajoled or fussed. She finished every last crumb, wiped the plate, and made a list for marketlemons, caraway, a loaf still warm from the bakery.

She brushed her hair, tucked it behind her ear as if learning the gesture for the first time. Through the window, the sky blushed pink. She breathed in, steady, and felt something settle, quiet and solid, right there in her chest.

There was a knock at the doorpostman, neighbour, the world carrying on. Rachel squared her shoulders, opened it wide, and stepped forward into her own life.