Little Death by Laura Wilson

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Read an Excerpt

ADA

It was my birthday last week. Lovely flowers from Master Edmund, beautiful. He always remembers, but Miss Georgina doesn't pay attention to those sorts of things and I don't expect it. Anyway, birthdays aren't important when you get to my age. But this afternoon when I was having my rest, I heard her go thump-thump on the floor with the broom for me to go up there. I told her, "Don't you go summoning me up here again in a hurry, my knees are poorly.'

She said, "Sit down, Greymalkin.' That's what she calls me at present, though I don't know what it means. Six months ago she was calling me Brunhilde, and before that it was something else just as daft. But I don't take any notice,

it's just her games. I took Master Edmund's chair next to hers in the window

where she sits all day and looks out. Then she says, "Really, Ada, you make such a fuss about everything. I'm not asking you to charge into the valley of death with the six hundred. I only asked you to come up because I've got a present for you,' and she wallops down a box of chocolates on my worst knee. The doctor says I'm diabetic now, so I can't have chocolates and

sweets, and she'd know that if she ever bothered to think, which she doesn't. It was on the tip of my tongue to say, "Very nice, I don't think,' but I kept mum, so of course she said, "Well, don't I deserve a thank you?'

"It's very kind of you, Miss Georgina, I'm sure.' That's typical, making me look ungrateful like that.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do with these blasted chocolates. They had to go straight into the back of the cupboard, so I wouldn't be wanting to eat them, and then of course I hadto go and drop a tin of peas on my foot doing

that, so now that's something else that hurts along with the knee. I'll have a sit-down and look out into the yard. It used to be a nice view from my little kitchen when Master Edmund got me the tubs of flowers, but they didn't thrive; there's not enough light for them down here.

Master Edmund calls us his two guardsmen. Me and Miss Georgina, he means. One guards the front and the other the back. Although what there is to guard in this basement I don't know.

Miss Georgina never goes outside any more. She stopped getting the people coming up to her a long time ago, so it isn't that. I think she's lost interest in what goes on, apart from the papers. As long she can have a read and do her crossword, that's all she cares about, really. This wasn't the house where it happened, of course, nothing like it, but we moved up here straight after, while it was all still in the papers, and we did get the odd one or two sniffing around. Not reporters, just normal people. I caught a couple of them on the front porch once. Two women. I'd come out the basement door and I looked up and there they were. Broad daylight and one of them was peering through the letter-box. The other one's stood behind her, going, "Can you see anything, then?' But that was nothing to what went before. Miss Georgina used to get people shouting at her, nasty letters, all kinds of things. It was always women who did it; you don't get men doing that sort of thing, do you?

It's all forgotten now, of course, but there was a terrible to-do about it at the time. It's not surprising—Mr. James was rich, he knew a lot of important people: politicians, in the world of business, that sort of people. A cause celebre, that's what you'd call it. And Miss Georgina was so lovely, they couldn't take enough pictures. I thought at the time, it's a

good job they never found out what happened to Miss Georgina's brother Freddie, how he died, or goodness knows what sort of wicked things they'd have made up. Because there were plenty who thought she'd got away with murder as it was, without dragging all that into it as well. I thought there might be some trouble with the neighbours when we moved here afterwards, but they're all nice people, and Master Edmund is so well liked they have plenty of friends. If Miss Georgina wants to see people, Master Edmund only has to telephone and they all come to play bridge. I think Miss Georgina gets just as much of a kick from hearing Master Edmund talking on that telephone as she does from the company: "Doo telephone,' she says. "Dooo telephone, Edmund', and then she always has to have the door open so she can hear him out in the hall. But it does make me laugh; to see him touch that telephone, you'd think it was going to explode at any moment. He picks it up and says, "Are you there?'—it sounds as if he's shouting into the mouth of a cave. Sometimes, if she's talking to him and she thinks he's not listening, she puts on a voice and says, "Are you there?'

Miss Louisa comes here every week to see them. She's Lady Kellway, really, by her marriage to Lord Kellway that's dead. Master Edmund's very fond of her—his face lights up like Christmas whenever she comes. Miss Georgina doesn't like it, but Miss Louisa's been a good friend to her and she knows it, though she'd never admit it. Miss Louisa's daughter, Miss Caroline, or Mrs. Cornford I should say, she comes to visit too, sometimes. He's Cornford's pickles. They repeat on me, but of course I wouldn't ever say that to Miss Caroline. But somebody must eat them, because he's got money coming in hand over fist.

We were here all during the war, right on this spot. I said to Miss Georgina, "Why don't you go as a paying guest?' because there was plenty in the country taking them at the time. Well, she wouldn't hear of it. I told her, "Don't worry, I'll be here to keep it nice for when you come back,' but would she listen? Not on your nelly. Not that I was surprised, mind you. I might as well be a lump of coal for all the notice she takes of me. "I'll sleep in my own bed and if Hitler wants to bomb me, that's his look out.' That's what she said. Of course, where Miss Georgina goes, Master Edmund goes, so there was me, sat down here all alone, under the stairs, night after night, worried sick. One night

there was a huge bang right on top of us and all the plaster coming down, and I thought that's done it, I only hope Master Edmund's got his teeth in. I wouldn't like him to be found without his teeth in . . . and then I heard this thin little voice: "Ada, Ada, where are you?' And I looked up and there they were, covered in dust and plaster, and looking like ghosts, Master Edmund in his pyjamas and tin hat, blood all over one arm, and her in a satin nightgown and his old tweed coat with a shawl wrapped round. What a pair they looked! But Master Edmund is a card, he made me laugh, even then. I'd done some washing, and of course the rack had come down with the bang and it was all over the floor. Master Edmund looked down and said, "Has the clotheshorse bolted?'

It turned out the damage wasn't too much, it was the house behind us that got the worst of it, and all we had was windows gone and a bit of mess, so it was fixed up soon enough. Master Edmund and Miss Georgina'd been told over and over to sleep downstairs—and that time the ARP man sat Miss Georgina down and said, "You'll be stopping downstairs from now on, won't you?'

"Oh, yes,' she said. But I knew she wouldn't and sure enough, the next night: back upstairs.