Never Forgotten

by G H Mockford

  The noises he made got louder, quicker, shorter.

  Then, with one last moan, it was over, and all that remained were Felicity’s tears.

  Georgia sat in her chair and resisted the urge to rock. A few minutes later he appeared at her door with a plate of sandwiches in his hand. He smelled of sex and anger.

  Georgia squeezed her eyes shut and listened as he walked in and placed the plate on the floor. The sound of more footsteps followed and the door was locked.

  She remained still for a few more minutes, then keeping her eyes shut, picked up the plate and devoured the sandwiches. She didn’t want to talk to Felicity. She felt bad about it but all she wanted to do was sleep. And with any luck she would overdose on the drugs in the food and she would never wake up again.

  Forty-Four

  TUESDAY 10:52 A.M.

  Stephen was surprised to find a text from his father when he woke up. He wasn’t working today and wanted to invite Stephen over for lunch. A quick text conversation later and Stephen was standing outside The Manor waiting to be picked up. He’d told his father to meet him there because it was easier to get to. The truth was he didn’t want his father to see where he lived despite telling himself he was an adult and didn’t care what his father thought.

  While he waited, Stephen tried to think through what he was going to say. How did you ask your father if he was a paedophile who stalked the children in his care?

  Stephen shook his head. He couldn’t think of one. He wasn’t sure if he could ask even if he managed to find the right words.

  A black Mercedes rolled up and the passenger window wound down. ‘Hurry up. If I stop for too long, my car will end up on bricks.

  Stephen wanted to argue in Manor Park’s defense but didn’t want to get off to a bad start. He opened the door and got in. The seat was warm. Before he had the chance to reach for his seat belt, his father powered away.

  ‘By the time we get home Donna will almost have the food ready.’

  ‘Is it far?’ Stephen asked. He didn’t have a clue where his father lived. When he’d inquired in the text, his father had avoided the question by offering to pick him up.

  ‘Only Linby.’

  Stephen gave a short laugh.

  ‘Something funny?’ his father asked.

  ‘No,’ Stephen answered. His mother had ended up in Broxtowe while his father was living the good life in arguably one of Nottinghamshire’s most desirable villages. The price of his mother’s house probably wouldn’t even buy a garden shed in that well-to-do area. ‘Who’s Donna?’

  ‘My wife. Well, we’re not actually married, but–’

  ‘I take it she’s Georgia’s mother?’

  ‘Yes. It all worked out in the end,’ Fraser said. Stephen resisted the urge to say for you. ‘Donna’s looking forward to meeting you.’

  Stephen nodded as his father accelerated and skipped a red light and joined the A60. ‘So where did you meet?’

  ‘In a showroom. She’s a beauty, don’t you think?’

  ‘I meant Donna.’

  ‘I know, Stephen. Jesus, you never could take a joke.’

  ‘Perhaps if I weren’t always the butt of them.’

  ‘Are you starting already? You’re thirty for Christ’s sake, not thirteen.’ Stephen stared out the window while his father took a deep breath and continued. ‘To answer your question, we met through work.’

  ‘What does she do?’

  ‘She’s a housewife.’

  The lights ahead changed to amber. The car surged forward, breaking the speed limit by at least twenty miles per hour and raced through just as they flicked to red.

  ‘You know there’s a police HQ just up there?’ Stephen said. The car slowed down, but Fraser didn’t say anything. ‘Thought you said you met at work?’

  ‘She doesn’t work anymore. She doesn’t need to. I earn enough for us both and–’

  Stephen looked across at his father, wondering what he was about to say. ‘You’re still a vet, then?’

  ‘Run my own practice now. Don’t get my hands that dirty anymore. Gives me more time to pursue my other interests. You haven’t done anything daft like gone veggie in the last seven years, have you?’

  ‘Nine,’ Stephen corrected him. He’d already let the mistake about his age go. ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘You look it. You’re so pale and thin.’

  ‘It’s called poverty, Dad, and I know whole families who live off what I bring in each week.’

  His father swore at a bus and then swerved around it, his leather gloved hand dancing swiftly back through the gears. ‘You’ve no one to blame but yourself for that.’

  ‘You’re right, Dad. The poor deserve everything they get.’

  ‘Hard work never hurt anyone.’

  Stephen held his breath and counted to ten. ‘So, Donna was a vet too?

  ‘No, but she doesn’t like to talk about it. It’s a delicate matter, and I wouldn’t normally tell you but–’ He paused for a moment. ‘The job came with too much stress and she ended up off work. The last three weeks have been hard on her too.’

  Stephen looked at his father. He was about to ask a question when Fraser let out an angry outburst. ‘Jesus. Will you look at these bloody roadworks? You wouldn’t mind but they’ve closed down half the carriageway and there’s no one even working.’

  Stephen looked at his father and tried to gauge if he was being deliberately evasive and awkward. Or was he stressed too? Was he under pressure because his daughter was missing, or because the police were on to him?

  They sat in silence for the remainder of the journey. Stephen watched as the affluence became more and more apparent through the window. Beautiful stone built houses, ornate ironwork signs which welcomed you warmly into the village, and a pub Cliff would kill to own.

  A few turns later and the car whipped into a gated entrance. They opened automatically and Fraser drove the car up the gravel driveway and up to a double fronted Georgian house.

  Once the car came to a halt, Stephen got out of the car and looked at the pristine lawn and borders.

  ‘Donna’s a whizz in the garden,’ his father said over the roof of the car. ‘Come on, let’s eat steak. You’ll be amazed at what Donna can do.’

  Forty-Five

  A woman in jeans, jumper and an apron appeared at the front door. Stephen smiled warmly, unsure how to greet her.

  ‘You must be Stephen. Come in, come in,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Stephen said, looking into her blue eyes. He could see the pain behind the mask of plastic surgery, pills and alcohol. From the smell of her breath, she’d had a few drinks already that morning.

  ‘Come on in. Lunch is almost ready,’ she said, stepping to one side so Stephen and her other half could get in. ‘Fraser, why don’t you make your son a drink. I’ll have a G and T. I’ll take Stephen to the summer house.’

  ‘Of course, my dear,’ Stephen’s father said, but there was something about his tone that suggested he thought Donna had had enough to drink already.

  Donna started walking and Stephen followed her as she pointed out rooms and features as they travelled through the house. If they knocked out all the internal walls, it would easily rival The Manor for space. The furnishings looked of exceptional quality. Stephen’s shoes sank into the carpet. Where his mother’s walls were covered in pictures of her children, here the only photos were of Fraser and Donna. Stephen could see no pictures of Georgia. Maybe they had taken them down to avoid upset, but somehow Stephen didn’t believe that explanation.

  The rear garden was huge and looked like it had been extensively, and expensively, landscaped. At the far end stood a wooden chalet next to a swimming pool.

  ‘Fraser keeps saying we should cover it up, have an indoor pool, but I think there’s nothing better than having the sun on your naked skin, don’t you?’

  Stephen nodded but felt uncomfortable. Had it been innocent, or was she more drunk that he’d initially
suspected?

  Donna was off again, her heels sinking into the lawn as she crossed to the other side. ‘Behind the trees is the tennis court,’ she pointed. ‘I prefer swimming. It’s better for my figure.’ She put her hands on her hips and swayed from side to side.

  They turned back to the pool and as they did so a small dog, a pug, came trotting out from behind the wooden building, snuffling and snorting as it came. Donna bent down, dipped her fingers into the water and, after flicking them dry, picked up the dog.

  ‘Hello, Pookie. This is Stephen.’ Donna took the dog’s paw, made it wave at Stephen and then kissed the animal on the head. She held him up for Stephen, who, somewhat reluctantly, rubbed Pookie on the top of the head.

  Donna put the pug down and went into the summer-house. ‘Make yourself at home. I’ll go and finish the steaks. How do you like it?’

  ‘As it comes. Not too red though, thank you.’

  Donna turned and left, her heels once again clicking on the tiles around the pool edge. Poor woman, Stephen thought. Her daughter had been missing for three weeks now.

  Stephen wandered around the summerhouse. It was big enough for a family of four. There were two bedrooms, fully made up, and a gym. Stephen was about to explore the next room when his father arrived.

  ‘Scotch okay?’ Fraser asked. Stephen politely nodded and took the glass. ‘Let’s get this over with while Donna’s out of the way. I know she seems all right, but the doctor’s given her something. What I was telling you in the car. It never goes away. Not completely. She’s putting on a brave show for you. This way.’

  Brave’s not the word I’d use, Stephen thought. She was obviously drinking while medicated.

  Stephen followed his father into the dining room. It looked out over the pool and garden. The main house stood majestically at the other end, shrouded in trees. Fraser sat at the table.

  ‘I’ve spoken to the police about Georgia,’ Stephen said as he joined his father.

  ‘And?’

  ‘They’re looking into it.’

  ‘Of course they are,’ Fraser said. ‘I’ve read The Post. It’s even made the national news. A policeman’s been killed. They’ll be far more interested in their own.’

  ‘Dad,’ Stephen said, trying to bring the conversation back on course, ‘I need to know more if I’m going to find Georgia.’

  ‘Like what?’ Fraser said, sipping his scotch.

  ‘Did she leave a note like–’

  ‘Like Felicity? Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It said that she was going to travel the world. Her passport was gone, and the paying in book for her saving account. Unfortunately for her, she can’t access it until she’s eighteen.’

  ‘Was she going with anyone?’

  ‘The letter didn’t say. I have my suspicions, but at the end of the day it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘As useless as the police have been, they have at least been able to confirm that Georgia is still in the country. They’re keeping a watch on all the airports and ferries.’

  ‘Do you know if that investigation has now been tied in with this new one in the papers?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Stephen swirled his Scotch and thought for a moment. ‘Were there any signs? Anything you can think of which might have caused this?’

  ‘Like what?’

  Was now the time to accuse his father? No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t believe his dad would do such a thing. ‘Everything all right at home?’

  ‘Things…have been difficult.’

  Silence fell for a while and then Stephen said, ‘I can’t help you if you don’t help me.’

  ‘Donna and I have had a few rows. Who doesn’t?’

  You and Mum didn’t, Stephen thought. ‘I meant where Georgia was concerned. You said just now you had some suspicions.’

  Fraser nodded. ‘There was this friend. We never met her. I would drop Georgia off at Hucknall tram station and she would go into town on her own. By town, I mean Nottingham.’

  ‘I know, Dad. And where did she go when she got there?’

  ‘A coffee shop, or something like that. No, I remember now. The Broadway Cinema. Donna was worried where she was going, so she went through Georgia’s pockets before doing the laundry. We found receipts.’

  ‘That’s good. I know where to look. But who do I look for?’

  ‘As I said, we never met her.’

  ‘Did Georgia talk about her?’

  ‘Yes.’ Fraser rolled his eyes, ‘all the bloody time.’

  ‘Think, Dad. What did she say about her?’

  ‘She’d been all over the world…’

  ‘Was she English? White?’ Stephen suggested, partially to ease his frustration.

  ‘You know, I think Georgia said she was American. I recall her saying how they would tease her over chips and crisps and other language nuances.’

  ‘That’s a good start. Anything else?’

  There was a knock on the patio doors and Fraser got up to let Donna in who was holding two large plates.

  ‘Right boys,’ Donna said as stepped through the open doors. ‘Grubs up.’ She put the platters down and disappeared to get her own.

  ‘I take it you didn’t tell the police this?’ Stephen continued as soon as she was out of earshot.

  ‘They asked about friends. We had to use her Facebook account to find out. She never told us anything. Never brought her friends here. Not recently, anyway.’

  ‘Is this American on Facebook?’

  ‘I told you. I don’t know what she looks like.’

  ‘People often put where they come from as part of their profile. Do you still have access to it?’ Fraser nodded. ‘Perhaps you should look,’ Stephen said. ‘And no one’s ever commented on any of the posts you’ve left in the missing persons groups?’

  ‘No, Stephen. Apart from to say they’ve shared it or to offer their condolences, you’re the first.’

  The sound of Donna’s heels on the patio brought the conversation to another stop. She stepped through the doors. ‘You shouldn’t have waited for me.’

  They ate.

  Donna tried to make small talk but soon gave up when Stephen began telling her about his life as a barman.

  The food was exquisite but Stephen couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right with the terrible situation, or their reactions to it.

  Forty-Six

  When Georgia awoke, through the dim light she found a fresh plate of food sitting on the floor. She was starting to get used to the passage of the time and could make an educated guess about when it was. She was confident it was lunchtime. She eyed the food. She could see the sandwiches were stale. They’d obviously had been there a while. Eating the last round didn’t have the effect she was hoping for.

  Georgia looked across at the fireplace and was filled with a deep shame of cowardice. She’d not done anything. Granted, she couldn’t get through the fire and do anything physically, but she’d not even tried shouting, or begging. Had she been afraid he would come after her? Or was she trying to protect their secret? If he discovered what they had done to the fireplace there was no telling what he would do.

  Georgia rose from her chair and instantly fell back down as a wave of nausea crashed over her. She panicked and focused on keeping the contents of her stomach down. Deep breaths settled her tummy, but not her conscience.

  The floorboards were hard on her knees as she crawled to the fireplace. Looking through the gap they had created together made it feel like she was watching an image on the television. How Georgia wished she was.

  The room beyond seem darker than hers, and for that Georgia was grateful. Felicity was lying on her bed, facing the other way, her blonde hair splayed out on the pillow. The grimy sheets covered her from head to toe and for a moment Georgia thought the woman was dead. She looked like a body in a morgue.

  ‘Felicity,’ Georgia said. She called again, louder and more urgent.<
br />
  The covered body didn’t move. Was she dead, or had he drugged her up with sleeping pills and painkillers?

  Georgia called one more time and gave up.

  Her eyes fell on the worn down shard of plate she’d discarded. It lay near the door. He must have almost stood on it when he came in. They were lucky he’d not noticed it. Georgia picked the piece of ceramic up. It was round and smooth like a fat ten pence piece. She looked at it and then Felicity’s body. She couldn’t throw it at her, but maybe…

  Georgia put the remains of the tool in the palm of her left hand and flicked it with her other. It hurt, but Georgia felt it was the least she deserved.

  The missile found its target and hit the sheet where the small of Felicity’s back would be.

  There was no response.

  Georgia crawled back to the chair. The dark patches on the floorboards were the first sign she was crying. Felicity might have been slightly unhinged but Georgia wouldn’t wish the violent assault she’d received on anyone.

  She threw herself into the chair and snatched up the sandwiches. She rammed them into her mouth. She hoped this time they would kill her. And if they didn’t? Next time he came to her room she would throw herself at him.

  She would bite and she would claw until one of them was dead.

  Forty-Seven

  ‘You think I had something to do with it, don’t you?’ Fraser asked as he pulled up outside The Manor after an all but silent ride back to Nottingham.

  ‘It had crossed my mind,’ Stephen answered.

  Fraser let out a deep breath. He looked weary. ‘I can’t say I blame you. The police already questioned me about it. No doubt they checked I wasn’t on any register. I know it looks bad, and I know it looks like we’re carrying on with our lives, and, well, I suppose we are. You’re right, I’ve been through this before, and Georgia’s been missing for three weeks now. Donna’s medicated. I’ve learned to move on. If Georgia wants to come back, she knows where we are.’

  ‘That seems a bit cold, Dad. Even for you.’ Stephen expected him to flare up at that last comment, but he didn’t.