Forgotten Child

by Kitty Neale

  ‘Yeah, don’t worry.’

  ‘I’m not, but I still want Steve kept in the dark where business is concerned. He asks too many questions and I’m not sure about him yet.’

  ‘Steve’s all right,’ Liam argued.

  Marcos narrowed his eyes. That was enough to make Liam cower, and he added hastily, ‘Still, whatever you say. You’re the boss.’

  ‘Yes, and don’t forget it,’ Marcos warned as Steve returned with the drinks.

  ‘What’s going on? Have I missed something?’ Steve asked, dishing the glasses out.

  ‘Nothing that concerns you,’ Marcos drawled, noting the look of annoyance that flashed across Steve’s face. The others had been with him for years and he’d trust them with his life, but Steve had a long way to go yet.

  He wasn’t the only one who would need to be kept in the dark: Jenny would be too. But, unlike Steve, who could gain entrance one day, she would never be allowed into the inner sanctum.

  Chapter Twenty

  It had been over two years since Jennifer had left, and Delia felt that she was living in some sort of limbo. Robin was at university in Birmingham, which meant he was rarely home. It left Delia with too much time for retrospection and the past often came back to haunt her.

  Housework failed to fill her days, and anyway, what did this house matter now? It was just an empty shell, a mostly silent one until Edward came home from work, and even during the weekends he spent hours in the garden. Her attendance at church helped, along with her voluntary work visiting hospital patients who had no family or friends to come to see them.

  It was midday when Delia arrived at the hospital, her first call to see an elderly patient she had visited on several occasions.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Milton. How are you?’ she asked softly. ‘I cut these this morning and thought you might like them.’

  ‘Roses, no, please, take them away,’ Mrs Milton begged, her voice reedy with age and her rheumy eyes beginning to brim with tears.

  ‘Oh dear, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ Delia said worriedly.

  ‘It isn’t you, it’s the flowers. They…they remind me of Rose, my daughter.’ As though she had a desperate need to talk about it, the words began to tumble out. ‘I drove her away, you see, I favoured my son.’

  Delia hastily put the flowers out of sight and sat down, listening as the old lady spilled it all out. She found that Mrs Milton’s story resonated with her own, except that the daughter Mrs Milton had driven away had been her own flesh and blood. Delia took the woman’s hand, holding it gently and feeling an affinity.

  ‘It might help you to know that you aren’t the only one. I did the same thing.’

  ‘You did?’

  Delia hadn’t spoken of it before – not to the vicar, not to her friends at the WI – yet now, at last, she opened up, telling Mrs Milton about Robin’s accident, her pact with God, and her fear that her son would suffer punishment in some way if she didn’t put things right with Jennifer.

  ‘I know I have to make amends, vowed I would, but in all honesty I can’t bear the thought of her turning up again. I joined the church, do voluntary work, but because of how I really feel, I fear it isn’t enough.’

  ‘Voluntary work is all very commendable,’ the old lady said, ‘but I think you’re doing it for the wrong reasons, to appease a God you seem to think is harsh. I don’t think He is, my dear, nor do I fear retribution. I think He’s a loving father, and forgiving.’

  Delia gazed at Mrs Milton and it was as if the truth of her words resonated within her. She felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders, yet something still puzzled her.

  ‘But…but you seem so upset about your daughter.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s because I can’t forgive myself.’

  Delia gently squeezed Mrs Milton’s hand, her heart going out to the elderly lady. ‘I wish you could because I feel so better since talking to you.’

  ‘Good, I’m glad to hear it,’ the old lady said, ‘and knowing that I’ve helped you has made me a little better about myself.’

  Delia continued to sit beside Mrs Milton, enjoying the affinity she now felt with her and they continued to talk for a while. It was with reluctance that Delia eventually left but she had other patients to visit and didn’t want to let them down. It was only later, on her way home, that she found an old ambition resurfacing.

  Thanks to Mrs Milton, it was time to move on – to at last come out of limbo.

  The following morning, Edward was the first up, unaware that Delia had spent hours lying in bed, thinking about her plans. He heard the rattle of the letterbox as the post was thrust through, but didn’t rush to see what had been delivered. It had been so long now since Jenny had left home that any hope of hearing from her had diminished.

  It was still hell, never knowing if Jenny was all right, if she was safe, and his fears for his daughter were never far from his mind. Though only in his late forties, Edward sometimes felt like an old man these days, his travelling days over and his life now staid and centred on his newfound interest in gardening.

  Two envelopes lay on the mat, and as Edward picked them up he saw that one was a bill and the other a letter addressed to him in unfamiliar writing. Puzzled, he tore the envelope open to find a single page inside, the letter short but taking his breath away. It was brief, mainly comprising of a list of instructions with no signature or clue as to who sent it.

  He heard Delia coming downstairs and quickly stuffed the letter in his pocket. ‘Tell nobody’ had been one of the instructions, and if this wasn’t a hoax, if it gave him the smallest chance of finding his daughter again, Edward would carry out each and every one of them to the letter.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said, hoping his face didn’t give anything away.

  ‘Is that the post?’ Delia asked.

  ‘Just a bill.’

  They both went to the kitchen; Edward relieved that Delia didn’t notice how his hands trembled with excitement as he filled the kettle.

  ‘I’ll make a pot of tea,’ he offered.

  ‘All right. What do you want for breakfast?’

  ‘Toast will do, and perhaps some of that lovely marmalade.’

  ‘Marjory Ellington’s jams and marmalade always sell well,’ Delia said, sighing as she added, ‘and I’m known for my cakes, though I’d hardly call that an achievement.’

  ‘You sound a bit fed up. What’s the matter?’

  ‘You’ll think I’m silly.’

  ‘Of course I won’t. Now come on, tell me what’s troubling you.’

  ‘I…I just feel that I’ve done nothing with my life, that I’m capable of more and once wanted to prove it. With all that happened, I let it drift, but I now feel the need to look at my ideas again.’

  ‘Delia, I’m sure you could do anything you put your mind to.’

  ‘Even running a business?’

  ‘You don’t need to work, Delia.’

  ‘I know that, but you see, I want to.’

  ‘What sort of business are we talking about?’

  ‘I did a little research and found there’s a niche that needs filling, a demand for domestic staff. I want to set up an agency to provide them.’

  Edward baulked. If Delia had been exploring possibilities already this was clearly no whim. She was serious about this and he wasn’t sure how to respond. He didn’t like the idea and doubted his wife had the capabilities or the business acumen to make it a success. Maybe if he gently probed she would see that.

  ‘Have you looked into the setting-up costs?’

  ‘Yes, office space, advertising and so on, along with projected profit margins. However, my figures are out of date and I’d have to reassess my initial outlay.’

  ‘From what you’ve told me any profit would be commission-based. I can’t see that amounting to much.’

  ‘That would only be a part of the services my agency would offer. I also want to employ women for office cleaning, and for landlords who want
a property made ready for new tenants. There are other options too, and I could even expand into catering.’

  Edward found himself looking at his wife in a new light, unable to believe that Delia had it all worked out. He had never seen her as anything other than a housewife and mother, and the idea of her being a businesswoman was impossible for him to grasp.

  ‘Let me think about it, Delia. Starting up a business can be very stressful and I’m not sure you’d cope.’

  ‘Edward, don’t patronise me,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t need you to think about it, nor do I need your permission. I’m quite capable of making my own decisions and if I want to open an agency I will.’

  His temper rising in response, Edward’s reply was equally sharp. ‘If that’s your attitude, fine, but don’t expect me to fund this ridiculous venture.’

  ‘Did I ask you to?’

  ‘Delia, talk sense. It’s going to cost a lot of money to set up and you won’t be able to do it without my financial help.’

  ‘Yes I will. I have savings and I can apply for a bank loan.’

  ‘I doubt that, not without some sort of security, and if you’re thinking about using my house, forget it.’

  ‘Your house! I see…but be careful, Edward, because if that’s what you’re saying I’m sure a divorce lawyer would see it differently. I think you’ll find I’d be entitled to half.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake! How have we gone from you setting up an agency to a divorce?’

  ‘What do you expect? All I’ve ever been is a wife and mother, but now I want to achieve something for myself – to prove I’m capable of more. And instead of supporting me as I’d hoped, you’re throwing obstacles in my way!’

  Edward drew in a deep, calming breath. In the past he had used Delia for his own ends, and because of that he had been forced to stay, though he’d wanted to leave her on many occasions. But did he want a divorce now? No, not when he thought about what he’d lose financially. He’d have to start up again, live alone without a woman to see to his needs and that certainly didn’t appeal to him. They had both lost their tempers, and Edward decided he needed to defuse the situation now, to talk rationally.

  ‘Delia, I’m just worried that you won’t be able to cope.’

  ‘How will I know unless I try?’ she argued.

  He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve got to leave for the office shortly, but we’ll discuss it again this evening.’

  ‘You won’t talk me out of it.’

  ‘I don’t intend to. I just want to make sure, for your sake, that the business would be viable.’

  Delia smiled then, and for a moment Edward saw a trace of the carefree young woman he’d married. It was his fault she’d changed. He’d pushed her too far…but she had caused him torment too. Of course Delia had no idea just how much torment, she’d never be privy to that, and feeling a surge of familiar guilt, Edward shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  He heard the slight rustle of the letter in his pocket, and his stomach churned again. His thoughts had been distracted from it for a short while, but now he left the second slice of toast Delia had made for him in the rack as he considered the instructions again. Once again, Edward dreaded that it was all some kind of sick hoax. Was it real? Did someone really know where Jenny was? But if so, why had the letter been unsigned? Why the secrecy?

  The questions ran staccato through Edward’s mind, but he knew that, until Saturday, they’d remain unanswered.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  With no idea that Edward had received news of Jennifer, Delia was self-absorbed as she cleared the breakfast table. She was fuming that Edward had tried to dismiss her ambitions, and had meant it when she had threatened divorce. She would be fine on her own, and would soon give up her voluntary work. In the meantime, it was thanks to Mrs Milton that she had come out of limbo and she was looking forward to going to see her again later that day.

  For now Delia got out all the old figures she had for starting up the business, ones that Robin had helped her with. She had a go at reworking them, but nothing seemed to balance and she was soon feeling out of her depth. Could she really do this? Could she really set up her own business and run it successfully? For the first time, Delia found herself unsure, her confidence wavering. Yes, she could run a home, make nice cakes for the WI, but with Edward paying all the household bills she’d never had to worry about money, budgets and such. With her head beginning to ache, Delia pushed her figures to one side, still undecided as she got ready to visit Mrs Milton.

  It was a beautiful day, the sun shining, but when she arrived at the hospital it seemed gloomy in the ward after the brightness outside. Mrs Milton smiled when she saw her, but Delia didn’t think the smile reached her eyes.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, smiling warmly and hoping to cheer the old lady up. ‘It’s a lovely day today.’

  ‘Is it?’ Mrs Milton said, her voice lacklustre. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

  ‘Would you like to go outside for a while? I could ask one of the nurses for a wheelchair.’

  ‘Yes…yes, all right.’

  It took some time to sort out, but at last Delia was pushing Mrs Milton into the grounds, the sun blazing overhead. She found the chair difficult to manoeuvre and Mrs Milton’s answers monosyllabic whenever she spoke to her. After a while, feeling very hot, Delia spotted a bench under the shade of a tree.

  ‘Do you mind if we stop for a while?’

  ‘I think a little shade would be welcome.’

  As they settled themselves, Delia noticed a man nearby who seemed to be watching them both. She found it a relief to sit down and took a handkerchief from her handbag to delicately dab the perspiration from her top lip.

  ‘I spoke to my husband this morning, told him I’d like to start up my own business.’

  Mrs Milton didn’t seem interested, only saying, ‘My ulcerated leg has improved. I’m being discharged soon, going back to the residential home.’

  ‘You must be pleased.’

  ‘No, I’m not. I hate the place, hated giving up my home, but with nobody to care for me I had no choice.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. It’s my own fault and perhaps another lesson for you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Starting up a business is all very well, but there are more important things in life, and by that I mean your family. Like you, I didn’t value my daughter, but there’s an old adage that goes something like this: a son’s a son till he gets a wife, but a daughter’s a daughter for all of her life.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard it.’

  ‘Then, unlike me, learn from it. I favoured my son too, but then he married a girl I didn’t approve of. It caused a rift, one that has never been healed, especially as they then immigrated to Australia without so much as a goodbye.’

  ‘Didn’t he write?’

  ‘Yes, in the early days, but my silly, stubborn pride got in the way and I didn’t reply. When I had to give up my home, I did write to tell him, but it’s been so many years and I don’t even know if he was at the same address.’

  ‘There must be a way to find him.’

  ‘Perhaps, but I fear it’s too late.’

  ‘What about your daughter?’ Delia gently asked. ‘Can’t you get in touch with her?’

  Tears welled in Mrs Milton’s eyes. ‘You can’t send letters to heaven.’

  ‘You…you don’t mean…?’

  ‘Rose died many years ago.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Milton, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Life has a way of teaching us lessons, but I made the same mistake over and over again before learning mine. I drove everyone who loved me away, my daughter, my son, and though we lived in the same house, my husband too. I didn’t appreciate him until he died, but by then it was too late, and I was left a sad, lonely old woman. It’s my own fault of course and I deserve to be alone.’

  ‘You aren’t alone, Mother.’

  Delia was startled by the voice. It was the ma
n she had seen nearby who had now come to stand beside them. However, her shock was nothing compared to Mrs Milton’s reaction.

  ‘William…oh, William,’ she gasped, struggling to stand up.

  He helped her, supporting her in his arms, the two of them locked in an embrace as sobs racked Mrs Milton’s frail body.

  ‘It’s all right, I’m here now,’ he soothed.

  ‘How…how did you find me?’

  ‘I went to the house and was told by a neighbour that you had moved into a residential home. I went there and they directed me here.’

  It was such an emotional scene that Delia too felt close to tears. She remained seated for a while but then, feeling that her presence was an intrusion, she touched William on the shoulder.

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll leave now.’

  ‘Yes…and don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.’

  As Delia then slipped quietly away, she found her emotions all over the place. She was doing the same thing Mrs Milton had done, driving everyone away. Jennifer had gone, been forced out, and Robin no longer seemed to need her. Delia hadn’t really thought about it before, but now realised that one day her son would get married, move away, and when he did that left only Edward.

  It was a wonder her coldness hadn’t driven him out years ago, Delia decided, and only that morning she had threatened divorce. If she didn’t want to end up a sad, lonely old woman, she would have to make changes, and to start with Delia knew she would have to overcome the sickening thought of sleeping with her husband again. Other women found enjoyment in sex, and perhaps she could too; yet even if it was impossible, Delia knew she’d have to pretend otherwise.

  Like it or not, it was time she became a proper wife, to accept now that keeping the house immaculate and cooking perfect meals couldn’t make up for the fact that she had kept Edward out of her bed. Her marriage had to come first and so for now she would have to put aside her ideas for starting up her own business.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Marcos wanted her to stop work, had offered to continue to pay her wage until they were married, but Jenny refused. It didn’t feel right, and not only that, with Tina still surly she was glad to get out of the flat.