Read The Little One [Quick Read 2012] for Free Online

stairs.
    ‘Supper’s ready,’ she called a few minutes later.
    Margaret slowly got up, placing her empty brandy glass on the table. Her shoulders sagged.
    ‘It’s probably not as good as you intended. I think the rice is overcooked,’ Barbara said, serving out their meal.
    Margaret gave a wan smile. She picked up her fork, took a small mouthful and poured herself a glass of wine. They continued to eat in silence, Margaret picking at her food but continuing to
drink. Suddenly she focused her attention on Barbara.
    ‘Tell me about your family.’
    Barbara cocked her head to one side. She explained that there was not a lot to tell. She had been an only child, her mother falling pregnant in her late forties. Her parents were moderately
wealthy and lived in a very comfortable house in Pinner, but her father had died when she was seven. His death had left her mother deeply depressed and unable to cope with a young daughter. She in
turn had died when Barbara was thirteen.
    ‘So I went to live with my aunt in Harrogate. I couldn’t wait to leave Yorkshire. Then I lived in a horrible shared flat with six other students and I had to get work to supplement
my college fees.’
    Barbara had not been asked about her life before. Now, as she talked, she realized that she’d never had a loving relationship with anyone. To her astonishment, she started crying as a
terrible wave of sadness swept over her.
    From being the comforter, she became comforted as Margaret got up and put her arms around her.
    Barbara sniffed and wiped her eyes on the napkin.
    ‘I don’t know why I’m crying. I seem to have done a lot of that lately. I’ve never really thought about what a non-existent family I had . . .’
    ‘Do you want a family of your own?’ Margaret asked, pouring more wine.
    ‘Yes, I suppose so. It’s just never been a choice I was in a position to make. I never met the right person like you did.’
    ‘So you’re all alone?’
    Barbara drank her wine and nodded.
    ‘Yes. I don’t make friends that easily . . . maybe because I’m not a very nice person to be friends with.’
    She started to cry again, on the verge of blurting out why she was there, when Margaret interrupted.
    ‘I’ve had many friends. I have shut them out of my life. I think seeing so many of them at the party has just made it even more unbearable.’
    ‘Why are you hiding yourself out here?’
    Barbara wished she hadn’t asked, as immediately Margaret tensed.
    ‘If I was to tell you, you would not believe it.’
    ‘Why don’t you try? I’m a very good listener.’
    Margaret gave a false laugh and rose from the table, stumbling.
    ‘Whoops. I’ve had too much to drink. I need to go to bed. You will be all right sleeping down here again, won’t you?’
    ‘Of course. Leave all this to me.’
    As Barbara cleared the table, Margaret paused and gave a sad smile before leaving the room.
    Barbara began washing the dishes and stacking them on the draining board. It was still only eight o’clock. When she tried to find a programme on the radio it was full of static. She had
finished the bottle of wine and was looking for something to read when Margaret walked in with a quilted dressing gown and a white cotton nightdress. Barbara jumped with fright.
    ‘It’s Victorian,’ Margaret said. ‘I used to collect them.’
    She was wearing a similar high-necked nightdress, with an old velvet dressing gown.
    In strained tones Margaret went on, ‘Don’t worry if you hear noises. This old house creaks and groans, and with the snow on the roof you’ll hear the pipes banging. If the snow
melts, you’ll hear it falling from the gutters. The generator is ancient and the lights often fail, so you might need these candles.’
    Margaret had lit two candles in carved wooden candlesticks. Rattling a box of matches, she placed them on the table.
    ‘Sometimes the house seems to have a mind all of its own.’
    Barbara felt uneasy and asked Margaret not to lock the