The Forgotten_An absolutely gripping, gritty thriller novel

by Casey Kelleher

  Though Jack sounded angry, too, now.

  Colleen was puzzled by his turn of words.

  ‘“A right to know”?’

  He looked as equally pissed off as Nancy did. As if he was somehow entitled to know what was going on. ‘What do you mean you have “a right”? I don’t understand…’

  Reading Nancy’s and Jack’s expressions only confirmed what was suddenly dawning on her.

  ‘Jack’s the father, isn’t he? Jesus Christ!’

  It all made sense now.

  Why Nancy had been so secretive about her pregnancy for so long, why she hadn’t mentioned to a soul who the father was.

  Jack had been acting strange, too, Colleen realised, recalling all the sniffing about the man had been doing. Constantly around at the house, even more so than usual. Always asking about Nancy and how she was doing throughout the pregnancy. Fussing over the girl.

  Colleen had naively thought that the man was just looking out for them all, being a good, loyal friend. Especially after Jimmy’s murder.

  That he’d had all their best interests at heart.

  Only Jack had been more than just a friend to Nancy. That much was now blatantly clear.

  ‘Please tell me it isn’t true?’ Colleen snapped, incredulously.

  The man was at least twice Nancy’s age. Old enough to be Nancy’s father.

  Old enough to know better.

  Before Jack could answer, Nancy let out an almighty scream, drowned out by the simultaneous sound of the alarms that were monitoring the baby’s heartbeat.

  ‘I think the baby’s distressed!’ Jan Barker shouted to the rest of the team, as pandemonium broke out in the room.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Nancy screeched, seeing the urgency and chaos breaking out around her. ‘Please? Is the baby okay?’

  The room was full of strangers all dressed in gowns and surgical masks, panicked looks etched on the obstetric team’s faces.

  From the sudden commotion all around her, Nancy already knew the answer.

  Something was wrong, something was very wrong.

  ‘It’s going to be okay, Nancy.’ Then, turning to Colleen and Jack, Jan Barker added, with urgency, ‘You both need to leave.’ This time it was an order. ‘The baby’s become a little distressed; we’ll have to use forceps. We need to get him or her out. Now.’

  ‘“Distressed”? What does that mean? What’s happening? You can’t make me leave. My daughter needs me.’

  ‘Just get the fuck out, Colleen,’ Nancy screeched. Done with her mother’s dramatics. ‘There’s something wrong with the baby. Are you too fucking selfish or stupid to understand that? Get out!’

  Nancy had slumped back against the pillows then. Her face void of colour. Her eyes screwed tightly shut as a searing pain consumed her very being. Crying loudly now.

  ‘Come on, Colleen. Let’s respect Nancy’s wishes.’ Sensing the gravity of what was happening around them, and how distraught Nancy was, Jack Taylor intervened. Taking Colleen by the arm, he guided her out of the room to the seating area in the corridor.

  Stung by her daughter’s words, by the pure hate in Nancy’s eyes, Colleen Byrne finally did as she was told.

  Taking a seat next to Jack Taylor just outside the room, they both sat in silence.

  Waiting for some news, to hear the sound of the baby crying.

  Waiting to hear anything.

  The air was suddenly shattered by a piercing scream, followed by a silence so harrowing that Colleen wanted to cry herself, too, then. Only she knew she had to stay strong, for Nancy’s sake.

  She closed her eyes to stop the tears from escaping, giving up on the hope of hearing the sweet sound of her first grandchild’s cry.

  Bracing herself for the bad news, as the midwife stepped out of the room, Colleen clutched at Jack Taylor’s hand for support.

  She couldn’t do this again.

  She couldn’t lose another member of her family. She just couldn’t.

  Only to her surprise, Jan Barker smiled.

  ‘I think I have someone who’d like to meet you both.’ Holding the door to the delivery suite wide open, she invited them both back in. ‘Congratulations, Daddy and Grandma. Nancy has just given birth to a very healthy and very beautiful little girl.’

  Two

  ‘Come on, girls. Stay out with us and have some fun?’ Flashing the two girls his most charming smile, Trey Coleman failed to keep the desperation from his tone as he watched them flag down a taxi outside The Ten Bells pub. ‘Or at least let us ponce a lift back up the West End?’

  ‘Sorry! No can do,’ the first girl said then, tartly, as she held the black cab’s door wide open for her friend. ‘We’re meeting some friends; there won’t be enough room for you two as well.’

  Trey shook his head. He might be pissed but he wasn’t stupid.

  These two money-grabbing tarts had taken him and Digsby for a right pair of mugs. After plying the two girls with jugs of cheap and cheerful potent cocktails that were on the menu, as many as their greedy little hearts desired, convinced by the girls’ unspoken promises that they were onto a sure thing, it seemed that wasn’t the case at all.

  Not now that the East End boozer that was standing behind them was shut and the two lads had barely a penny left to their names.

  And the pub had been busy; heaving, in fact.

  That was the most annoying thing about tonight. The Ten Bells, in Spitalfields, was one of the best little pubs in the whole of the East End. A sure bet if you wanted to pull a couple of fit girls; only Trey and Digsby seemed shit out of luck tonight and had picked a pair of wrong’uns.

  Trey had blown his entire week’s wages on these two trollops, to now realise that the only two people being played tonight had been him and Digsby all along.

  They had been a right pair of gullible idiots.

  ‘Oh come on, girls. What are we meant to do? We’re both boracic now after spending out all night. At least give us your numbers.’

  The first girl shrugged; then rolling her eyes up to her mate, she ducked inside the cab.

  He eyed the second girl. His one, Mandy. They’d been talking and laughing all night. They had a connection.

  Surely she wasn’t going to be as hard-nosed as her mate?

  She faltered, holding on to the car door, eyeing Trey with a small wry smile on her face.

  ‘Okay. Have you got a pen?’

  Tapping himself down, though he knew that he didn’t normally carry a pen on him, he eyed Digsby. He was desperate to at least get this girl’s number. That way the evening wouldn’t have been a complete waste of time and money.

  ‘Have you got a pen, Digs?’

  Stuart Digsby shook his head.

  ‘Ahh, well, that’s a shame. Only, if you had one, I’d have told you to get back in it!’

  The girl laughed then, before throwing the boys a cute little wave and jumping into the cab.

  ‘What?’ Trey looked at Digsby, the confusion all over his face. ‘I don’t get it?’

  The joke going completely over his head.

  ‘A pen. Come on, Trey, think about it.’ He laughed then, catching his breath only to make grunting pig noises. ‘A pig pen. She was taking the piss out of you.’ Digsby smirked, despite himself.

  The girls were a couple of money-grabbing cows, brazen as fuck too. Only the look on Trey’s face now was priceless.

  ‘Slags,’ Trey said, trying to save face. Watching as the taxi drove off into the distance. He could feel a wave of heat creeping up his neck; his face burning with humiliation at being made such a mug of.

  Worse than that, he had no money left, not a single penny.

  He’d been well and truly fleeced.

  Hoisting himself up onto the wall that ran alongside the front of The Ten Bells pub, sitting side by side with Digsby, he dug his heels into the brickwork.

  ‘They were a right pair of stuck-up bitches anyway,’ Digsby said, trying to make his friend feel better. ‘Far too high-maintenance fo
r us. Plus my one had a stonker of a nose on her. The only way she stood a chance with me, was for me to be paralytic. She probably knew that too. Wanted to make a fast exit before it started to get light or she’d turn into a gremlin or something,’ Digsby joked, pretending that he had standards for once, when they both knew that Digsby would shag his own grandmother if the room was dark enough.

  ‘Shit man, what are we gunna do now?’ Trey said, annoyed, glancing at the pub behind them that now sat in complete darkness.

  There was no one else around; the street was completely empty.

  Trey, Digsby and the two girls had been the last ones out of the pub doors. They’d practically been marched out by the bar staff, who had all followed them out shortly afterwards. Making a swift exit home after their busy shift.

  ‘I dunno mate.’ Stuart Digsby shrugged, knowing full well that neither of them had any money left. ‘We haven’t even got enough to get a kebab, let alone a cab home.’

  Trey shrugged. He couldn’t be arsed to trudge his way halfway across London.

  Not yet anyway.

  Instead, he just sat there. His eyes lingering on the pub behind them, staring at the windows.

  ‘This place looks creepy now, don’t it?’ Trey said with a shiver. ‘Did you know that it used to be called Jack the Ripper back in the eighties?’

  ‘Yeah, wasn’t it because that psycho used to drink here or something?’ Preparing himself for one of Trey’s drunken history lessons about the place – Trey was always harping on about shit like this, more so when he’d had a few beers.

  Digsby remembered hearing some kind of a rumour about the place, only he’d never paid that much attention to things like that.

  ‘No. Jack the Ripper didn’t drink there. But one of his victims did. His last victim in fact. My dad said that this place used to have loads of prossies hanging around out the front, touting for work. Black Mary they called her.’

  ‘Oh yeah, your old man an expert on where all the prossies hang out then, is he?’ Digsby chimed in, winding his mate up.

  Trey gave Digsby a dig in the arm. Carrying on with his story then.

  ‘It’s fucked up though, isn’t it? That they changed the name of this place just to drag the tourists in. Jack the Ripper pub. A woman actually got murdered and it was just treated like some sort of gimmick.’ Trey shook his head. His tone disgusted.

  ‘Well, there ain’t no prossies hanging about out here anymore,’ Digsby said, sounding almost disappointed as he eyed the empty street. ‘And even if there were, unless they’re happy with £2.60 and half a packet of chewing gum in return for a blowie, we’d both be shit out of luck.’

  ‘My dad said that they reckon this place is haunted now. Apparently, Black Mary still roams her patch over there, where she used to tout for customers,’ Trey said, pointing over to the dark shadowy entrance of the alleyway that ran along the side of the pub.

  ‘Your dad sure knows a lot about this Black Mary. You sure he wasn’t banging her, ’en all?’ Digsby laughed then. ‘Dirty old bastard. What did he do, get caught trying to bag himself a hooker, and then made out that he was really doing a bit of ghost hunting? I’ve heard it all now. Your dad’s a right card, mate, I’ll give you that.’

  Trey shook his head. His mate never took him seriously.

  ‘He didn’t see her. He saw her ghost. I swear to God, Digsby. He saw her. I’m telling you. He looked terrified when he told me. I could see the fear in his eyes. He said it was really late one night. And that no one had been around. The street had been empty. Just like it is now. The pub looked abandoned. Empty. Then he saw her, a young woman standing at the entrance of the alleyway. He said that she was crying. He said he went over to see if she was all right…’

  ‘Oh, I bet he did!’

  ‘Only when he got near to her, she just disappeared. Right in front of his eyes. He said that he could remember the sad look on her face. The weird Victorian clothes she wore. He said that she’d been so real, he could have reached out and touched her.’

  ‘Touch her? See…’ Digsby laughed. ‘Sounds a bit dodgy to me.’

  A sudden movement in the alleyway behind them caught both lads off guard.

  Trey let out a high-pitched scream. Lunging forward on the wall, he fell to the pavement with fright as a man ran out from the shadows, running down the road.

  ‘You muppet,’ Digsby said, shaking his head at Trey’s failed attempt at trying to put the shits up him. ‘You’re only scaring yourself, you know, with all your stupid ghost stories. You know that I don’t believe in all that spooky shit. Never have and never will, mate!’

  ‘What the fuck is that?’ Trey said then. His gaze still fixed on the alleyway that ran down the side of the pub.

  There was another movement in the shadows.

  A silhouette, swaying unsteadily. Only this time it was a woman.

  ‘Ohh, here we go. This will be your prossie ghost on her way over to haunt us. Black Mary is coming,’ Digsby said, laughing, as he clocked the fear on Trey’s face at the sight of the girl slowly making her way towards them both.

  Only, even Digsby sounded a bit uncertain.

  What were the chances of Trey telling him one of his ghost stories, only to then see a woman emerging from the alleyway looking worse for wear?

  She was half-naked, too, her chest fully exposed, bare white skin illuminated by the faint street lamp that flickered further down the road.

  ‘Fucking hell, she ain’t wearing no Victorian clobber though, is she? She ain’t wearing much at all,’ Digsby said then, staring at the woman’s breasts. ‘She’s got her fucking baps out.’

  Topless, with just a skirt around her middle, she staggered slowly towards them.

  One of her shoes was missing, the other hanging awkwardly off her right foot.

  Trey narrowed his eyes. She didn’t look like a ghost.

  ‘Look at the fucking state of it, mate. Do you reckon she was round there shagging that bloke?’ Digsby continued as they both watched the woman struggling to stay upright, as she forcefully dragged one foot in front of the other.

  ‘I dunno, she don’t look right, does she?’ Trey said, pursing his mouth, as he stared at the woman’s stilted movements. Walking as if she was in a trance.

  ‘No shit, Sherlock. She looks fucking wasted. Bet she had one too many ciders and then ended up rolling around in the fucking mud with that fella that legged it. Dirty cow. No wonder that bloke did a runner. She don’t look the type that you’d want to take home to meet your parents, does she?’

  ‘Something ain’t right,’ Trey said, straining to get a better look at the woman as she neared closer to them both. ‘Is she crying?’

  Her face twisted. Contorted with anguish and pain. He realised that she was crying. Her face a mass of blackened mascara-streaked tears, her red lipstick smudged all over her cheek.

  Her mouth was moving, too, but her voice was barely a whisper.

  Trey strained to hear what she was saying as she came closer, stopping just a few feet away from the two lads.

  ‘Help me,’ she whispered, collapsing onto the cold concrete floor at Trey’s and Digsby’s feet.

  The two men looked down at the woman’s body splayed out on the ground in front of them.

  Even Digsby had the decency to stop talking then, both of them rendered silent as they stared down at the woman; their eyes taking in the streaks of mud that covered most of the skin on her back.

  Only it wasn’t mud at all they realised, taking a closer look.

  It was blood.

  Smeared all over her torso, dripping down the backs of her legs. Pooling out onto the floor around her from the thick jagged lacerations that stretched across the woman’s back. The deep bloody gouges stripped of flesh.

  Trey gagged then. The sight of the woman’s body reminded him of a piece of meat you’d see hanging up in a butcher’s shop.

  Injuries that looked inhumane.

  She wasn’t moving now. Instead she lay
completely still, face down on the cold wet ground.

  ‘Fucking hell.’ Trey’s voice. High-pitched, laced with panic. Something else too. Terror.

  Digsby’s voice suddenly pulled him out of his trance-like state.

  ‘Fuck, mate! We better call an ambulance. I think she might be dead.’

  Three

  His eyes flickered open and he was quickly startled by the harsh brightness of the room. The glare almost blinding him.

  Quickly he closed the lids again, taking a minute to let his vision adjust, before taking his time and slowly reopening them.

  He hesitated, at first, as he tried to gather his bearings. Glancing around the strange room that he didn’t recognise, flinching when he registered that he wasn’t alone. That there was a woman standing next to him.

  A face he didn’t know, long brown hair twisted into a plait that ran down one of her shoulders. A warm smile spread across her face.

  He had no idea who she was.

  He was lying in bed, he realised. Only it didn’t feel as if it was his at all.

  Nothing felt real or familiar. Nothing gave him any feeling of comfort.

  ‘Where am I?’ he mumbled, eyes sweeping frantically across the white clinical room in which he lay. The panic inside him magnifying, as a low dull buzzing sound filled his ears, interrupted every few seconds with the loud shrill beeping of machinery.

  He was in a hospital room, he figured. Surrounded by medical equipment and monitors.

  Wired up to them.

  Lifting his arm, he could see the cannula that was taped to his skin. The tubes that led to the intravenous drip on the steel stand the other side of him.

  The woman was dressed in sky blue overalls. A nurse?

  ‘I’m in hospital? Why? What happened to me?’

  ‘It’s okay…’ the woman began, her words of reassurance not matching the concern that etched her face as she looked down at him, and then back to the monitors as he screamed out in pain once again.