Forgotten Child

by Kitty Neale

  ‘Fine,’ said Edward. ‘Two pairs of eyes are better than one. Though as your mother is supposed to be ill, aren’t you worried about leaving her on her own?’

  ‘No, Dad. Let’s go and find Jenny.’

  Delia didn’t need pills. She wasn’t in a nervous state or depressed. She’d been ecstatic that Jennifer had left home, but then Edward had turned up and now her happiness was replaced by worry. Delia hadn’t gone to bed; instead she’d stood on the stairs listening, and had been horrified by what she’d heard. Blast Edward. Blast him for putting doubt in her son’s mind.

  Now, alone in the silent house, Delia cursed her own stupidity. She’d overplayed her hand by putting Jennifer at too young an age to be that clever – but there had to be a way to turn things round. Setting her mind to the problem, she at last realised that there was only one thing she could do. There was no choice. She hadn’t wanted to play this hand yet though, had planned to wait until she was self-sufficient and able to tell Edward that their marriage was over.

  It was the only option left to her, Delia decided – and at least she’d be entitled to the house, as well as a decent settlement until Robin finished his education.

  Chapter Twelve

  With no idea of the drama that was unfolding in Wimbledon, Jenny and Tina were in Chelsea, arms linked as they walked along the King’s Road.

  Jenny had found Chelsea nerve-racking at first. Unable to find a flat or rooms at such short notice, the two girls had spent that first night in a seedy hotel. Jenny had hardly slept for worrying that they’d made a huge mistake, but nothing had seemed to faze Tina, and her friend had snored gently all night.

  The next morning they had begun their search again, but flats or even bedsits where the rent wasn’t exorbitant proved impossible to find. Footsore and weary, they had finally stumbled across a rundown area at the far end of the King’s Road called the World’s End. The two-roomed pokey flat they at last found was thanks to a card in a shop window and the landlord had asked no questions when he pocketed the rent and deposit. Part of a tall, scruffy terraced house, it wasn’t much, but once they had settled in, Jenny at last found herself happy.

  Except for one thing, she thought, and that was her worry that they’d never find jobs. Her hopes of working in a bookshop hadn’t come to fruition, having tried a few without success, including one that was tucked down an alley and specialised in antique books. Tina had thought her mad for wanting to work in what she called a dark, dusty, musty hole, but Jenny would have loved it.

  They had tried boutiques, department stores, cafés and restaurants, growing increasingly desperate when it was always their age or lack of experience that let them down. With such a large chunk of her savings gone on securing the flat, Jenny feared that if they didn’t soon find work, her money would run out.

  ‘Come on, Jenny, step up the pace,’ Tina urged. ‘We don’t want to be late.’

  ‘There’s no chance of that,’ Jenny said, keeping her fingers crossed that they’d be lucky this time. Surely it had been a good omen that, just as they were passing a newly refurbished café-cum-restaurant, a sign had appeared in the window for staff. They’d been told the new owner would be conducting interviews at eleven today and they had left the flat with plenty of time to spare, determined to be first in line.

  ‘Right, shoulders back and look confident,’ Tina advised when they arrived.

  They stepped inside to find several other hopefuls waiting and were told to sit with them. It was over half an hour before their turn came. Jenny was called before Tina and nervously approached the man conducting the interviews.

  He eyed her sceptically, his first question: ‘How old are you?’

  ‘I’m sixteen.’

  ‘Is that so?’ he said, a small smile playing around his mouth.

  He wasn’t young, but a bit of a dish, Jenny thought, with olive skin and dark hair, Italian or Greek perhaps, she decided, though he had no trace of an accent. She was shaking inwardly but did her best to hide it as she said firmly, ‘Yes, I told you, I’m sixteen.’

  ‘What’s your name and where do you live?’

  ‘Jennifer. Jennifer Lavender and I recently moved to Chelsea from Wimbledon.’

  ‘I’m looking for waitresses. Have you any experience?’

  ‘Er…no,’ she said. Thinking on her feet, she added, ‘But I’m a fast learner.’

  Once again a look of amusement crossed his face and for a moment Jenny began to hope. It was short-lived, as he said, ‘I want trained staff. However…’

  As he paused, Jenny blurted out, ‘I’ll do anything, any job.’

  ‘The only thing I can offer you is kitchen work, cleaning, washing up, that sort of thing.’

  Without a thought, Jenny said hurriedly, ‘I’ll take it.’

  ‘So without asking me about the hours, the pay, you’ll take it?’

  ‘Well…no…but…’

  ‘But you’re desperate,’ he interrupted. ‘Yes, I thought so, and I also doubt you’re sixteen. What are you, a runaway?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Do you live with your parents?’

  ‘Not now. I share a flat with my friend. She’s over there,’ Jenny said, nodding towards Tina.

  His eyes narrowed, scrutinising Tina, then he crooked a finger to beckon her over. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me that you’re sixteen too?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

  ‘And, like your friend, you’ll take any job on offer?’

  ‘I don’t know about that. It depends what’s on offer and the pay.’

  ‘Have you any experience?’

  ‘Look, we both left school recently so the answer is no, and we never will have unless someone gives us a chance.’

  Jenny hid a smile. Unlike her, Tina didn’t seem nervous or browbeaten as she looked the man in the eye. He shrugged, then said, ‘As I told your friend, all I can offer is kitchen work. It’s eight-hour shifts, six days a week, and the weekly pay is eleven pounds.’

  ‘Eleven quid! Is that all?’

  ‘Take it or leave it.’

  ‘We’ll take it,’ Jenny said quickly.

  ‘Hold on, Jenny. That’s crap pay.’

  ‘Tina, it’s a job and we need the money.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, all right, I won’t turn it down.’

  Jenny sighed with relief. ‘Thank you for giving us a chance, Mr…Mr…er…’

  ‘Mr Cane.’

  ‘Cane,’ Jenny said, surprised, ‘but I thought…’

  ‘My mother’s Italian,’ he said dismissively, as though used to this reaction to his looks. ‘You can both start your first shift on Monday morning, eight o’clock sharp when we will be serving breakfast and ending at four. Every four weeks your shift will change and you’ll be working from four until midnight.’

  Jenny was about to thank him again, but he was already looking at the next person in line, his voice strident as he called, ‘Next!’

  Tina waited until they were outside before she spoke, her tone scathing. ‘Eleven soddin’ quid a week and kitchen work! We must be mad. I know I’m not posh like you, but we could both do better than that.’

  ‘I think he offered us employment because he felt sorry for us. I know it isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing.’

  ‘Sorry for us! Don’t make me laugh. I saw the way he was looking at you and it wasn’t with pity.’

  ‘What! Don’t be silly.’

  ‘Whatever you say, but there’s something not right about him. He was trying to sound posh, but unlike you, it was false. Still, come on, however shitty they are, we’ve got jobs and should celebrate,’ Tina said, trying to cast off her bad mood. ‘If you don’t mind stumping up again, we could go for a snack in Boris’s sandwich shop. Susan said that he’s had some famous customers, including Mick Jagger, John Lennon and Yoko. You never know, we might spot a famous face.’

  ‘Yes, all right,’ Jenny agreed.

  Since moving into their flat they had go
t to know Susan, who lived in the studio flat below them. Susan was older than them, in her mid-twenties and she had taken them under her wing. Her style was hippie: maxi dresses, or skirts with peasant blouses and strings of beads. Tall and slim, with long brown hair, Sue completed the look with flat sandals instead of high heels. It wasn’t a look that Tina felt she could pull off though, and as they passed a boutique she paused to look at a lovely mini-dress in the window.

  ‘Jenny, look at that.’

  ‘It’s lovely,’ Jenny agreed, her eyes flicking around as they walked on. ‘Look at everyone, Tina. They’re all dressed in a mixture of styles from hippie to rock and here’s me in clothes chosen by my mother. I feel gauche, out of place…I wish I could afford a new look.’

  ‘Yeah, me too,’ Tina agreed, her tummy rumbling as they reached Boris’s. She felt rotten that Jenny had to pay for everything – the rent, their food – but at least she’d be able to put her share in soon. Eleven quid a week, Tina thought again disgustedly, but knew she’d have to stick it out until she found something better.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Jenny said. ‘After we’ve had something to eat, I wouldn’t mind looking in that shop at our end, the one called Paradise Garage.’

  ‘What for?’ Tina asked. ‘From what Susan said they sell American gear, second-hand denim jeans, along with Hawaiian shirts, some retro rock, and boiler suits or dungarees.’

  ‘If it’s second-hand it’ll be cheap.’

  Tina laughed. ‘Oh yeah, I can just see you in a boiler suit.’

  ‘Still, it might be worth a look.’

  ‘It’s weird enough on the outside, what with that 1950s petrol pump and the tiger-striped car, a Mustang, Sue said, sometimes parked close by. I’m game though. It might be fun to take a look inside.’

  They had a quick snack but saw no sign of any famous faces, so they then headed off for Paradise Garage. They had often passed the shop, which was painted from top to toe in what looked like green bamboo but was in fact corrugated iron.

  The Mustang wasn’t outside today, but the interior had their eyes widening in amazement. There were caged lovebirds, an American jukebox playing rock and roll, and even a tiny dance floor. However, a quick look at the clothes on offer was enough for Jenny to see that they just weren’t for either of them. She picked out a boiler suit, holding it against her, and they both giggled.

  ‘Very fetching,’ Tina told her.

  ‘You’ve got to admit it’s been worth a look, if only for the fun factor.’

  ‘Yeah, but come on, you daft moo, let’s go,’ Tina urged. She was still putting on a front, pretending that she didn’t have a care in the world, but in reality her stomach was churning. She really had seen the way that Mr Cane had looked at Jenny, a look she’d seen many times before in her father’s eyes. Tina shivered, regretting that they had taken the jobs and wished she’d made more of a protest. Her lip curled into a scowl. If the bloke made one move – said one thing out of place – she’d get Jenny out of there.

  Chapter Thirteen

  In Wimbledon, the telephone continued to ring. Unable to ignore it any longer, Delia at last answered it.

  Edward’s sentences were short and clipped. ‘Delia, there’s been an accident. I’m at the Nelson Hospital, in casualty with Robin. He’s been injured. You’d better get down here.’

  ‘What? Oh no! Is he all right?’

  ‘He’s with the doctor. I’ve got to get back.’

  ‘Wait!’ Delia cried, but was left listening to the dialling tone.

  For a moment Delia was frozen to the spot, but then she came back to life, grabbed her car keys and dashed out of the house. She made good progress at first but once on the main road the traffic increased and her speed slowed. The last thing she’d expected when Robin had gone out with his father was such a phone call. All she’d been concerned about was her plan to bring Edward down.

  The traffic lights turned to red and Delia almost screamed with impatience. She had to get to the hospital – had to find out if Robin was all right. What if his injuries were so bad that he…he…No, she wouldn’t – couldn’t – think about that.

  Delia’s heart was thumping with anxiety when at last she arrived. After a frantic enquiry at reception she was directed to another room where a nurse led her to a cubicle and pulled back the curtain.

  ‘Robin…Robin,’ she cried, horrified to see that her son was deathly pale and that his arm was in a splint.

  The only response was a groan. Stricken, she looked at Edward. ‘Is…is he going to be all right?’

  ‘I don’t know what’s going on; only that he’s going to theatre. They’re worried he may have internal injuries, and he’s got a compound fracture of his lower arm.’

  Delia burst into tears. Edward stood up and led her to the vacant chair beside Robin, urging her to sit down as she gasped, ‘Wh…what happened?’

  ‘A bloody fool of a driver shot out of a side street at speed without checking the road was clear. He slammed into the passenger side and Robin took the brunt of the collision.’

  ‘Oh, darling,’ Delia said, reaching out to stroke Robin’s hair.

  He groaned again and Edward said worriedly, ‘I don’t know why there’s a hold-up. Where’s that bloody doctor?’

  For the first time in many, many years, Delia felt a common bond with her husband. Just then the curtain was drawn back and a doctor and nurse appeared.

  ‘Right, young man, nurse here is going to prep you for surgery.’

  Delia stood up, asking anxiously, ‘He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?’

  ‘He’ll be in good hands,’ said the doctor calmly.

  ‘How…how long will he be in theatre?’

  ‘It depends on what the surgeon finds, on the extent of the damage, but I should think for several hours.’

  Delia didn’t find this answer reassuring and swayed. She felt Edward’s arm around her, offering support.

  ‘Perhaps you should take your wife to the waiting room,’ the doctor suggested.

  ‘Yes, come on, Delia.’

  She was reluctant to leave Robin but, having no choice, she allowed herself to be led away. Her mind twisted and turned as they sat in the stark waiting room. If Jennifer hadn’t left home, her son wouldn’t have gone out with his father to look for her. Jennifer had caused this. Yes, it was that girl’s fault, yet even as she tried to shift the blame, Delia knew she couldn’t. She was the one who had driven Jennifer out – and if the worst happened, if she lost her son, Delia knew she would never forgive herself.

  Delia then found herself inwardly bargaining with God. Please, let my son live and I’ll change. I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on Jennifer for so long and I realise that now. It was Edward’s fault, not hers. Jenny is the innocent one in all of it and what I deprived her of is unforgivable. When she comes home, though some things can never be put right, I’ll try to make it up to her, really I will.

  Delia felt no relief from her anxiety. She was no longer a regular attender at church and hadn’t been for many years. Not only that, she didn’t deserve God’s ear. Nevertheless, Delia continued to pray, repeating the same liturgy again and again until at last, many hours later, the surgeon appeared.

  Edward reared to his feet. ‘How is he?’

  ‘The surgery went well and your son should make a complete recovery.’

  ‘Can…can we see him?’ Delia asked, she too on her feet now.

  ‘Just for a few minutes,’ the man said, and a nurse appeared to lead them to the recovery ward.

  Robin was groggy from the anaesthetic and hardly knew they were there, but Delia was so relieved that she found herself thanking God for listening to her plea. It was time to keep to her side of the bargain…but could she do it? Could she really bear to have Jennifer home again – to look at her face, one that had always served as a constant reminder? Somehow she had to make the effort.

  However, Jennifer was one matter, but Edward was quite another. Until she no
longer needed him, her husband’s punishment would continue.

  Edward now took the keys from Delia and drove her car home, his wife sitting stiffly beside him. His mind had been hopping between Robin and Jenny, but now, having been told that his son’s prognosis was good, his daughter became his main concern again. Where was she? Did she have somewhere to stay? God, he hoped so; the thought of her roaming the streets and sleeping rough was horrendous. Jenny was just an innocent kid and anything could have happened to her!

  Edward scanned the road as he drove along, looking out for the slim, familiar figure of his daughter. Again, his anger mounted towards Delia for having driven Jenny out. The sole consolation was that if he didn’t find her before then, at least he had only to wait until Monday when she started work at the library.

  ‘We have to find Jennifer,’ said Delia suddenly. ‘Bring her home.’

  ‘What!’ Edward said, incredulous.

  ‘I know I treated her badly.’

  ‘So you’re admitting it at last.’

  ‘Yes, Edward, I’m being honest at last, which is more than can be said for you.’

  ‘Not this again? I’m just about sick of it, Delia.’

  Delia huffed derisively and fell silent for the rest of the journey home. That suited Edward. He’d been listening to her accusation for years, but would never admit to it. Why should he? He had no need to, he was completely safe, and as far as he was concerned, what his wife had forced him to do was just as unforgivable.

  Between searching unsuccessfully for Jenny and visiting his son in hospital, the weekend passed. It was now Monday morning and Edward had rung the office. They had offered him another company vehicle while his car was being repaired, but he’d insisted on a week’s leave, despite the short notice.

  ‘Right, Delia,’ he now said. ‘I’m off. I want to be at the library before it opens; catch Jenny when she arrives.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’