The Forgotten Child

by D. E. White

  About the Author

  D. E. WHITE started writing fifteen years ago, scribbling ideas on napkins at work on the night shift. After various jobs, including working as cabin crew, in a hospital, a supermarket, and as a 999 call handler for the ambulance service, she began writing full time in 2018.

  She is a multi-award-winning entrepreneur, and was part of a small business delegation speaking at Number 10, Downing Street in 2015.

  Having spent a lot of time travelling the world, she now lives with her husband and two sons on the south coast of the UK, with a growing assortment of animals and several stick insects.

  Visit D. E. White at daisywhiteauthor.co.uk

  Readers Love D. E. White

  ‘A brilliant read’

  ‘I simply loved this book I really could not put it down’

  ‘This was gritty, and tense with a big cast and lots of twists … I enjoyed it immensely!’

  ‘Fabulous read!’

  ‘Chillingly atmospheric’

  ‘Absolutely loved this book, brilliantly written and kept you guessing and on the edge until quite near the end’

  ‘OMG!! I’ve just lost a morning. I literally could not stop reading’

  ‘An excellent, compelling read that had me gripped and reading long into the night when I should have already turned the light out’

  Also by D. E. White

  Remember Me

  The Forgotten Child

  D. E. WHITE

  HQ

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019

  Copyright © D. E. White 2019

  D. E. White asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  E-book Edition © September 2019 ISBN: 9780008318802

  Version: 2019-08-27

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  About the Author

  Readers Love D. E. White

  Also by D. E. White

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Extract

  Dear Reader …

  Keep Reading …

  About the Publisher

  For my single mum friends – you are awesome!

  Chapter 1

  ‘Milo, can you turn your game down, just for a bit please?’

  ‘Can’t hear you, Mum. What?’

  Holly took a deep breath, swallowing the tears, trying not to glance at the text message on her phone. She, of all people, should have known better, but the words seemed to burn into her brain, ‘Milo, please turn it down.’ Better, that sounded calmer, she thought, and he was still so engrossed he would hopefully miss the fact she was upset. His life had been torn apart enough recently.

  In the mirror she could see his little face, his mop of blonde hair, freckles dusting his nose, and the smear of mud across his forehead. The electronic bleeping toned down a notch and she took another long, shaky breath. He glanced up quickly, and grinned at her reflection, before returning to his dragons.

  The traffic was horrendous, and at five o’clock on a filthy wet February night, the darkness had already closed in. In an effort to distract herself Holly moved her phone further into her bag, so she couldn’t see the screen, and turned the radio on. Beyoncé filled the car with ‘If I were a Boy’, and she almost smiled, trying to relax the coils of tension that seemed to be wound like snakes around her torso, squeezing her stomach painfully. It was a favourite song, and Holly determinedly sang along under her breath. She had this under control.

  The car in front braked again, and the long line of red lights strung out into the night like a strand of Christmas decorations. The pain of last Christmas would stay with her forever. Even now she could still hear her own voice, telling him exactly what she thought of men who played away … For months she had ignored that nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right, the fact that he kept jumping on his phone, shouting at her for silly little things around the house.

  Finally she had actually answered his mobile when Beth called. He had been in the shower, thinking she was downstairs getting Milo’s tea, and had left his phone on the pillow. The other girl had put the phone down as soon as Holly identified herself, but she took the opportunity to scroll through his pictures. It was enough.

  Tom had been outraged when she chucked him out of the house, telling her she was crazy and deluded, even suggesting she needed help. Fucking bastard. She would need to fight Tom to have Milo stay with her. So be it, he was the shit who had been unfaithful, although his family later implied if Holly had been a better wife, he wouldn’t have needed to sleep with someone else. Fuck them all.

  The next turning was normally a longer way home, and the roads were narrow, winding through steep woodland towards the coastal town, but anything was better than this motorway hell. She indicated, and neatly extracted herself from the queues. Holly was a good driver, a safe driver, but tonight she was exhausted. Work had been tough recently. It always was, but in the winter months, getting out of bed at 4 a.m. for an early shift, or returning home at 7 a.m. after a night shift, took dedication. It also took epic childcare organisation when you were a single mum.

  Leaving the other cars behind she swung left at the roundabout, avoiding a daredevil motorcyclist, who was taking the bend at high speed, and turned down Mill Road. A couple of other cars and a van were on the roundabout, and maybe a couple more queued behind her. The usual evening traffic. Mill Road would take her all the way to Panfield, and from there to Westbourne and home.

  Holly’s shoulders sagged a little as she relaxed, watching her headlights slash a path through the darkness. It was going to be all right. She glanced in the mirror again, but this time t
ook in her pale, exhausted reflection. Her green eyes were edged with shadows and her long black hair hung heavy around her face.

  ‘Mum, I’m hungry!’

  ‘Look in the blue bag. There was a bar, and some crisps, if you haven’t eaten them already … We’re nearly home.’

  ‘I ate them,’ Milo informed her. ‘I shared them with Becky. Can we stop at McDonald’s?’

  ‘No. We aren’t going that way. Look, sweetie, can you just cope until we get home? There’s a stew I put in before we left. It’s your favourite,’ she said encouragingly. There was another car taking the bend behind her, its headlights in her mirror making her blink. She didn’t really like driving in the dark anymore. Maybe she was getting old.

  ‘Did you put my hoodie in the boot?’

  ‘Yes. It was all muddy. Why?’

  ‘I left some sweets in the pocket. Coach said we were so good he gave us all some Haribo, and I forgot to eat mine. Can I climb over and get them out?’

  ‘No. Sorry, darling, but can you just last out?’

  ‘No. I’m starving. I scored four tries today.’

  ‘I know, and I’m super proud of you …’ The car behind was far too close, right on her tail. She accelerated a bit, but the road glistened wet and dangerous, and she knew there were a few hairpin bends coming up. Her jumper clung to her back, her T-shirt wet with sweat now, the sour, icy sweat of fear. She muttered, cursing the driver.

  ‘What arsehole needs to get back, Mum?’

  ‘Sorry, bad word. The person behind us is a bit close, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m still hungry.’

  Hidden in her bag, Holly’s phone beeped with another text. Her hands were shaking again, clenched on the wheel, panic rising in her chest. Why couldn’t he just fucking leave her alone? He had what he wanted … But he didn’t have everything he wanted.

  The other car was so close now, its lights were almost blinding her. She moved her rear-view mirror to one side, taking the reflection away from her eyes. Was the driver flashing his lights?

  No other traffic, the rain was hammering down now, and the shadowy forms of tree trunks like cage bars on the high banks either side of the road. It wasn’t like she was going exceptionally slowly … Forcing herself to stay calm, she navigated the two sharp bends, before she noticed movement in the back. Milo’s legs were waving in the air as he nosedived into the boot, clearly in search of food.

  ‘Milo! Get back to the seat and strap yourself in,’ she yelled.

  ‘I’m just getting …’

  ‘No! Sit down.’

  She risked another glance. He was climbing back now, bag of sweets firmly clasped in one hand. She should pull over … But the other driver was still so close. She even thought he was flashing his lights again – once, twice. Did he want her to pull over? Was there something wrong with the car, or was this just a ploy to get her to stop? On this lonely road in the darkness, there was no fucking way she was stopping unless she had to. Maybe she should call the police. A wave of fear ripped through her body, made her gasp, but again she forced herself to calm down. She was just tired, stressed out. It was only some fuckwit who wanted to get home quicker. There was no way of overtaking in this tiny lane. He could just wait. It was bound to be a man …

  Milo landed back in his seat with a thump. ‘My seatbelt’s all twisted.’

  ‘Well, untwist it.’ She shot out from the tree cover and accelerated along a straighter bit of road. There was a long drop on one side now, which eased the claustrophobic feeling, but the car behind stayed on her tail. The lights seemed to flash again, making her blink. They were going around corners at speed, and the headlights of both vehicles were slashing through the shadows, bouncing off the blackness. She slowed a fraction to take in another hairpin bend. At any moment he was going to touch her bumper. But she didn’t have her hands-free kit with her, and she wasn’t going to stop and get carjacked or worse.

  Carefully now, considering the options, she reached over and eased her phone out of her bag, placing it between her knees. What if this was more than some idiot trying to race home? What if the driver behind succumbed to some kind of road rage and actually tried to bump her car?

  Holly risked another quick glance at Milo and slowed. To her relief, the other car drew back a little, but she kept the phone where it was. As she wondered if she was actually freaked enough to call the police, it beeped again and the screen flashed up another message:

  You aren’t fit to be a mother, bitch.

  The abusive tone was exactly the same. Why would he send her something like that? Holly shivered, swinging round the next corner, wincing as the driver behind kept pace, his headlights almost blinding her. Her windscreen wipers whined as she turned them up to max, trying to clear the torrent of rain. Desperate now, her shaking fingers were fumbling with her phone, trying to press the buttons.

  Lights blinded her in an eerie white flash as another vehicle approached at high speed, from the opposite direction. She thought it was a van, and the driver was making no effort to pull over to his side of the road, but continued to aim straight at Holly. She hit her horn, hard, driving as close to the side of the road as she dared. The wheels crunched on grit and she felt the pull of mud on the tyres, as they swung off course. She yanked the wheel, her phone tumbling into the footwell as she straightened the car. Missing her by a hairsbreadth the other vehicle stormed past, away and up the hill, red brake lights flashing before it vanished. Holly slowed again, shaking.

  The car behind hit her with a bang. The force of impact jolted her violently forward, before flinging her back against the headrest.

  ‘Milo? Are you okay?’ They were still moving, slowly but she didn’t dare stop. Her neck was twanging with pain.

  ‘Mum, what’s happened? Did we crash? Mum!’ His voice was sharp with fear.

  Holly’s heart was racing, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, and her head was pounding. What the fuck was going on tonight? She glanced back at her son, opened her mouth to say everything was fine, and at the same time tried to kick her mobile away from the accelerator pedal where it had fallen.

  Milo screamed out a warning, high-pitched and terrified, ‘Mum, stop! There’s a deer!’

  A dark shadow plunged across the road, its eyes briefly illuminated by her headlights, before Holly hit the brakes as hard as she could. The car swung from side to side, before it aquaplaned across the road, and for the second time, she felt the impact of the car behind. She was yelling for Milo, hands locked on the wheel, still fighting with the vehicle, as they slid off the road, and the car began to tumble down the long slope to the woods below.

  It was a kaleidoscope of pain and blurred shadows. She screamed at Milo to get down, and ducked her own head, closing her eyes. There was a sharp pain, and then a bang in front of her, and after that nothing but darkness.

  ***

  Holly opened her eyes. The steady drum of rain on the windscreen, the stench of wet earth and trees, the stillness and the cold, took a moment to sink in. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious. Her face was sticky and wet. She licked her lips, blinking. Blood. She could taste blood, sour and metallic. The rain was pouring through the shattered windscreen. Oh dear God, she had crashed the car. She had been trying to get her phone … Guilt mingled sourly with the pain, and Holly retched. The blackness spun, sending her back into her nightmare. Milo, where was Milo?

  The nausea woke her properly, and she wriggled, aware of sharp stabbing pains in her neck, her back, and her chest, but ignoring them. ‘Milo!’

  There was no sound from the back of the car, and she couldn’t turn any further. Panic flooded her body, hot and vicious. It gave her the strength to wrench herself free from the space between her seat and the detonated airbag. She was half kneeling now, one leg on the passenger seat, pushing away a mess of sports bags and camping gear that had been thrown from the boot. Tears and rain were washing the blood from her face, and she was shaking with the shock and cold.
<
br />   The car was battered, but at least the right way up. At some point she remembered it rolling over, surely … But apart from the bonnet and windscreen, it seemed fairly intact. Some freak of engineering meant the headlights were still on, their twin beams sending dancing white paths of light into the woods. But the darkness and the shadows gathered all around the light, overwhelming it, jostling and claustrophobic.

  Both windows on the right-hand side, Milo’s side, were smashed. His seatbelt was hanging free. She could see his hand, still and pale, stretched out across the seat, but she still couldn’t get far enough to see more. Her hands were shaking, but she continued to rip away the debris. As she struggled, one foot caught the driver’s door, hard, and it opened with a bang. Abandoning any thought of wriggling through the narrow space between the seats, she squeezed frantically past the airbag, out into the woods.

  The rear door was stuck fast and she hauled at it with all her strength. It wouldn’t budge. Holly screamed, and the rain-savaged woods echoed with her son’s name. She kicked viciously and uselessly at the metal like an animal caught in a trap. The smell of rotten wetness, tainted with fuel fumes brought her back. She needed to keep it together. Christ knew where her phone was. The pain in her leg and chest was excruciating, but she carried on yanking the door. Inch by inch, resisting her sweaty, bloody fingers, it finally opened, slowly and with a protesting whine of metal. There were the stabbing pains in her neck and back again, but she ignored them, panting through the pain.

  ‘Milo!’ She was in the car now, scrabbling for his hand. ‘Milo, are you okay? Can you hear me?’ Of course he couldn’t or he would have answered, but the sound of her own voice was a small comfort in this nightmare.

  Holly wriggled further across the back seats, clinging to the headrests, fumbling in the shadows. There was a torch in the towrope bag in the boot but who knew where that had ended up. Milo was half sitting, half lying on his side. There was a cut on his head, and a small stream of blood was snail-trailing down his cheek onto the seat. His small chest was rising and falling in a reassuring manner, but his skin was cold under her frantic fingertips. Where was her bloody phone?