Lynda Plante - The Little One

‘No, I’m a writer.’

Alan was obviously relieved that she hadn’t said she was a journalist. Margaret moved off and Barbara leaned close to Alan.

‘She’s gorgeous, so beautiful.’

‘Yes. And she doesn’t seem to have aged at all.’

Barbara tried to mingle, but it wasn’t easy. The actors all talked about old times and there were a few laughs as they recalled amusing things that had happened. Someone turned on the radio and found a music station. It was an improvement, but this was clearly not a very successful birthday party.

After several glasses of wine, Barbara needed the bathroom. She asked Felicity for directions and was pointed down the corridor, not far from the kitchen.

Barbara slipped out, but when she got there the door was locked. She waited for a while and then, glancing around, headed further down the hallway towards the front door. She looked up the wide staircase. The hallway was dark, lit only by a few candles and the old chandelier.

Barbara was suddenly eager to see inside some of the other rooms. One door creaked when she pushed it open, but no one seemed to be around. She peered in and saw a huge drawing room with all the furniture draped in dustsheets. She closed the door, wincing as it creaked loudly again.

She peered up the stairway to the floor above, then began to creep up the stairs. It was very dark, but eventually her eyes grew accustomed to it. She reached the first landing. The carpet was so threadbare she had to be careful not to trip. A door was ajar and she could see a four-poster bed with old green velvet drapes. Next to it was a big dressing table with make-up and bottles of perfume all over the surface.

Barbara closed the door and inched along the corridor. It was a little lighter here as there was a large window at the end through which the moon spread a cold white glow. She could make out a small door with a china doorknob covered in flowers. She turned the knob and the door opened on to a child’s playroom. There were puzzles and games littering the floor. She noticed a cot with many dolls inside, as if in a small prison. Then she heard voices, so she quickly made her way back to the top of the stairs.

The front door was open now and some of the guests were leaving, laughing and calling out farewells. Barbara moved cautiously down the staircase.

She stopped. There was a strange click-clicking noise coming from behind her. She turned and saw a clockwork rabbit. Its fur was a dirty grey but its glass eyes shone brightly. It was hopping down each stair. As it somersaulted and gained the next step, the rabbit clapped its paws together. It had a distorted, slightly whirring, high-pitched voice that kept repeating the same phrase:

‘Bunny bunny, hip hop.

Keep moving, don’t stop.’

Two guests heard the mechanical voice and turned to look up the stairs. As soon as they spotted Barbara, the creature fell on its side and stopped singing.

‘I was... er... looking for the lavatory,’ Barbara said in an embarrassed voice.

And at that point she felt a really hard push in the small of her back. Losing her balance, she tripped and fell head first down the stairs.

In seconds she had struck her head hard on the newel post and passed out.

James Halliday carried Barbara into the kitchen and laid her down on the sofa. Alan put a cold cloth on her head and waited for her to come round. When she did, she explained how she’d tripped on a toy on the stairs. From the look on Alan’s face, she had a feeling he didn’t believe her.

Margaret had already called the local doctor. By the time he arrived, all the guests apart from Alan had left. The doctor strapped up Barbara’s ankle, observing that it was quite a bad sprain. He suggested that Margaret monitor the situation. If the swelling got worse, Barbara would need to go to hospital for an X-ray. He prescribed painkillers for her ankle and suggested that they use hot and cold compresses to help the swelling go down.

Barbara closed her eyes. She hadn’t told anyone about being pushed. Had she just had too much to drink and imagined it? Maybe it was the noise of the clockwork rabbit hopping down the stairs that had startled her and made her lose her footing.

Alan came to sit beside her. He was concerned, but at the same time he couldn’t help wondering if Barbara had planned this in order to spend a night in the house.

‘Listen, Margaret has kindly said you can stay over. It’s a long drive and you are obviously not in good shape.’

Barbara liked the idea more than he could know. She smiled weakly.

‘That’s awfully nice of her, if it’s not too much trouble.’

Margaret came across and sat by the sofa. ‘You can stay down here in the kitchen,’ she told Barbara. ‘I’ll build up the fire so you will be nice and warm.’

‘I really don’t want to make a fuss,’ Barbara said, sounding pathetic.

Alan was torn. On the one hand he didn’t quite trust Barbara, but on the other he was worried about getting back to London because he had an early start in the morning.

After a few minutes’ thought he said, ‘How would it be if I call tomorrow from London to arrange when I can collect you?’

Barbara nodded and watched as Margaret and Alan went out into the hall.

She then eased herself up. Her ankle did hurt, a little, and she did have a slight headache, but she could easily have gone back with Alan. However, this was a great opportunity to get more information on Margaret.

When Margaret returned, Barbara closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep. She could hear her moving around the kitchen, clearing up. Margaret must then have picked up a big thick blanket, because Barbara could feel it being gently laid over her. She opened her eyes and gave a weak smile.

‘Thank you so much. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.’

‘That’s all right. I am very happy that you are here. There is a lavatory in the hall just on the left. If you need me during the night, there’s the old bell-pull near the stove. Is there anything you would like?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Goodnight, then,’ said Margaret, closing the door behind her.

Barbara sat up and looked around. It was so warm and cosy in here, if a bit shabby. She listened but could hear nothing. Easing back the blanket, she slowly placed her feet on the stone-flagged floor. Her ankle was slightly swollen, but it really didn’t hurt. She stood up and made her way towards the pantry. Shivering, she helped herself to a couple of sausage rolls. Then she carried them back to the old sofa and drew the blanket around herself.

Barbara must have dozed off, because the fire was much lower when she was woken by the tink-tink-tink of a piano being played, the same notes over and over again. Sitting up, she thought she could hear muffled voices. Was Margaret talking to someone? The piano stopped and then there was silence. She assumed someone else must have stayed over upstairs.

Barbara was woken again by the sound of scraping. Margaret was clearing the grate and making up a fresh fire with big logs and coals. There was a wonderful smell of coffee and bacon.

‘Good morning, Barbara.’ Margaret leaned over her and gently touched her shoulder. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘So much better. I slept really well.’

‘Yes. It’s a comfortable old Chesterfield. I’m making breakfast. Are you hungry?’

‘Yes, I am.’

Barbara sat up and eased her legs round. Her ankle didn’t hurt at all, but she winced as if in pain. She then made a big show of hopping on one foot, gripping the back of a chair before sitting at the table.

‘I thought I heard you playing the piano last night,’ Barbara said.

Margaret turned from the Aga, shaking her head.