Forgotten Child

by Kitty Neale

‘Right then, I’m off to collect her,’ he said. As he headed for Almond Crescent, Edward was still cursing himself, annoyed that he hadn’t paid attention to his instincts. Marcos had played him, played a part. All along Edward had felt that something wasn’t quite right about the man, but his desire for them all to be a family again, which had meant including Marcos, had led him to set his doubts to one side.

  The crescent was deserted, but then it always was, those living here usually inside, in houses set well back from the road and mostly hidden from view. Jenny’s was the same…no, not Jenny’s now, Edward corrected himself. His daughter had been left with nothing. The house was in darkness as he parked in the drive; feeling puzzled, Edward let himself in.

  ‘Jenny, it’s me,’ he called, fumbling for the light switch.

  No answer, and beginning to feel worried now Edward dashed upstairs to Jenny’s bedroom where, after fumbling for a light and turning it on, he stood frozen by what he saw. The room was a mess, with what looked like some of Marcos’s clothes thrown all over the place, but there was no sign of Jenny. Edward went to her wardrobe and opened it but found it almost entirely empty. It was then that he knew. His daughter had gone, left, and without any warning. Edward switched off the light and went downstairs. He threw the keys on the hall table, left the house in darkness as he’d found it, slamming the door behind him. He could guess where Jenny had gone and he would go after her.

  ‘Gone! Gone where?’ Delia asked when Edward returned.

  ‘To Ireland, I think.’

  ‘What on earth for? Surely you didn’t tell her?’

  ‘No, of course I didn’t. It’s just some sort of daft idea Jenny got into her head, but I thought I’d talked her out of it.’

  ‘Obviously not – It’s me isn’t it? She didn’t want to come home because of me.’

  ‘No, Delia, I’m sure it isn’t that.’

  ‘Then why run off without a word?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I intend to find her. I’ll arrange a couple of weeks off and leave for Ireland on Saturday.’

  ‘But we’ve got a viewing then.’

  ‘The sale of the house will have to be put on hold. We aren’t going anywhere until I find Jenny.’

  ‘Edward please, my reputation is already shattered and I can’t bear the thought of remaining in this area.’

  ‘The gossip will die down.’

  ‘Edward,’ Delia appealed, ‘hasn’t it occurred to you that if Jennifer wanted us to know where she was going she’d have left word; rung us or left a note. You say you think she’s gone to Ireland, but what if you’re wrong and you go off on a wild-goose chase?’

  ‘I suppose you’re right, but what else can I do?’

  ‘Jennifer has been through so much and it may be that she just needs some time on her own to sort her feelings out. We can give her that, and still sell the house.’

  ‘What if we don’t hear from her before a sale goes through?’ Edward said.

  ‘We can leave word that we’ve moved, and if we’re in another area, it might encourage her to come back.’

  ‘I suppose that makes sense, but I’m worried sick about her, Delia.’

  ‘So am I, but I suppose we’ve got to accept that Jennifer is a grown woman now and capable of making her own decisions,’ she said, glad that she’d been able to talk Edward round and hoping that she was right. That before long they would hear from Jennifer.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  With the money in her purse used up to pay for the hotel, Jenny needed to find a bank the following morning. She drew out what she felt would be sufficient to last her for a long time and then continued on her journey. However, what with needing the occasional stop for refreshments, being unused to maps and judging distances, it was dark again by the time she neared Carmarthen in Wales. She had set out blindly, with no idea of the ferry timetable, but having been told at a hotel she’d pulled into that Fishguard was about another hour’s drive, Jenny had used their telephone and found that a ferry would be leaving for Rosslare in the morning. That had sealed her decision and she had stopped for the night.

  Now though, it was Thursday morning and at last she was crossing the Irish Sea. The water was rough, tossing the ferry as though it wanted to disgorge its passengers into its depths. Many were sick, but Jenny had made her way to the deck, exhilarated as the wind buffeted her face, something still calling her.

  On and on, across the sea, hours passing, and when they finally reached Rosslare, Jenny was eager to disembark. She had to take her turn queuing to disembark, and while she was waiting she studied the map of Ireland she had bought on board. She found Dray, which lay on the coast towards Dublin, and at last, as the driver in front of her started his engine, she quickly stowed the map.

  Jenny drove down the ramp with no idea how long it would take her to reach Dray, but it didn’t matter. She was here, in Ireland, and for now that was enough. As she drove the narrow roads, she was enchanted by the countryside on one side, and occasional views towards the sea on the other. This was where her mother had been born, where she had grown up, and Jenny couldn’t wait to see Dray.

  She stopped for something to eat in a little village, charmed by the lilting voices around her, by the smiling faces, and the wonderful fish stew which she ate with relish. Marcos would have loved this, she thought, but then tensed. No, no, she didn’t want to think about him, the man she had loved only a facade.

  ‘Did you enjoy that?’ the woman who had served her asked.

  ‘Yes, it was lovely.’

  ‘I haven’t seen your face before. Are you staying around here?’

  ‘No, I’m just passing through, on my way to Dray.’

  ‘’Tisn’t holiday season, so what’s taking you there?’

  Jenny paused, but then said, ‘I was hoping to find out something about a family who lived there by the name of Murphy.’

  ‘It’s a common enough name,’ the woman said, her features hardening as she picked up the empty bowl. ‘Now can I get you anything else?’

  Jenny didn’t know what she had said to offend the woman and, puzzled she shook her head. ‘No, no, thank you.’

  She rose to her feet and paid the bill, noticing as she did so that faces that had been smiling were now straight as she left. Upset, unable to work out why ‘a common name’, as the woman called it, had caused everyone to react like that, she continued her journey, finding that dusk was falling when she at last reached her destination.

  Dray looked to be a fairly large place, a town rather than a village, but all the hotels she saw were closed. One of the roads she took led to a deserted esplanade, the pebbled beach desolate as waves crashed to the shore. Jenny remained in her car, staring out to sea, feeling lost and alone. She hadn’t known what to expect, but this place was nothing like the one she’d seen in her dream. Yet this was where her mother had lived, where her family had lived. Giving herself a mental shake, Jenny at last drove off again.

  She would find somewhere to stay, and if nothing else, she might at least find where her mother was buried. She would lay flowers, and at least it might make her feel closer to the mother she had never known. It was to become Jenny’s mission.

  Pat Cane was still fuming on Friday morning, but there was no way she was going to the Old Bill. Where she came from you sorted out things your own way, and Wimbledon or not, she was going to start asking questions. She’d been hampered until now with moving in and sorting out bedrooms, but now she was coiled and ready to act.

  ‘Mum, I’m going next door.’

  ‘Thissa room too big. I’m cold.’

  ‘I’ll get you a blanket to wrap round your legs.’

  ‘I don’t like it here.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’d rather live in Battersea.’

  ‘It…it’sa strange here. Can’ta we go home?’

  Pat sat down again, heaved a sigh and said, ‘Look, this place is a palace. At least give it a try, perhaps for a month or two. If you really can’t settle
after that, I’ll flog it.’

  ‘You’s a gooda girl,’ Maria Cane said, patting Pat on the knee.

  ‘You’re more a mother to me than mine ever was, and through it all, we’ve had each other.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’ta deserve you. My husband was a monster and when he died…God forgive me, I was glad. I gotta my punishment. Marcos grew up worsa than him; evil, wicked, and now I’ma glad he’sa dead too. I will be punished again, I know I will.’

  ‘No, you won’t. You have every right to feel like that, we both do. Now I’ll get you that blanket and then I’m off. Don’t worry, I won’t be long,’ Pat said, and after tucking a blanket around her mother-in-law she hurried out.

  Gawd, sod this, Pat thought. It wasn’t like popping next door in Battersea, the distance from the nearest neighbour bloomin’ ridiculous, but at last she was knocking on a door, and the horsey-faced woman who opened it looked her up and down.

  ‘Yes, can I help you?’ she asked.

  ‘Me name’s Pat and I live next door now,’ she said, arm flapping in the general direction.

  ‘The Canes’ house?’

  ‘Yeah, that right, but the bitch who was living there has run off with some valuable stuff and I want it back.’

  ‘I beg your pardon. Who are you referring to?’

  ‘Jennifer Cane, as she had the nerve to call herself, but she wasn’t his wife. I am.’

  ‘What! But I thought they were married.’

  ‘Nah, she was just my old man’s bit on the side. Still, it sounds like you knew her, so do you know where she went?’

  ‘We were barely acquainted and I have no idea,’ the woman said haughtily.

  ‘Well, if you hear anything let me know, ’cos when I get hold of her I’ll wring her bleedin’ neck.’

  The woman paled at this, her eyes wide in shock as she stammered, ‘Yes, well…if…if you’ll excuse me now,’ and the door closed.

  Pat wasn’t about to give up yet. Someone must know something so she set off to knock on more doors.

  It didn’t do any good, and by the time Pat returned home, she’d already had enough of Almond Crescent.

  ‘Bloody load of stuck-up gits,’ she said, flopping onto the sofa, ‘and one woman had the nerve to shut her door in me face.’

  ‘They not friendly?’

  ‘You must be kidding,’ Pat said, her mind now made up. Rich or not, palace or not, they didn’t fit in here and now she didn’t want to. She was a Battersea girl, born and bred, and though they wouldn’t go back to Mysore Road, she’d find them another house, somewhere perhaps facing good old Clapham Common.

  When the doorbell rang late in the afternoon, Delia pulled back the curtain; seeing Penelope Grainger outside, her heart skipped a beat. She patted her hair, went to the door and forced a smile as she opened it.

  ‘Penelope, how nice to see you. Do come in.’

  ‘Mrs Lavender, this is not a social call. Is your daughter here?’

  No first names now, Delia thought, but kept up her front. ‘No, I’m afraid not. She…she’s away at the moment.’

  ‘Then I suggest you tell her not to come back.’

  ‘Penelope, please, what happened wasn’t Jennifer’s fault. She thought her husband was an honest businessman, we all did.’

  ‘Husband! I don’t think so, especially as I’ve just had the dubious pleasure of meeting my new neighbour. His wife.’

  ‘Oh, no…no!’

  ‘Yes, well, I rather liked your daughter and suspect she was taken in by that rogue, however, Mrs Cane is out for blood. It seems that when Jennifer left, she took valuables that didn’t belong to her.’

  ‘But…but she wouldn’t have done that!’

  ‘I’m only repeating what that awful, common woman told me, and may I add she said something about wringing Jennifer’s neck. I felt I should warn her, and as I said, it might be prudent if she didn’t come back. Goodbye, Mrs Lavender.’

  With that, Penelope swung round and marched off, leaving Delia to call ineffectually, ‘Good…goodbye.’

  Oh God, this is too much, Delia thought as she went back to the living room. Pouring a good measure of brandy, she gulped it down, gasped, and then almost collapsed onto a chair. She felt she had lost everything now, her reputation, her social standing, but like Penelope she didn’t blame Jennifer. She had in fact grown fond of her, oh not as a daughter of course, she could never be that, though the fault was not Jennifer’s, but Edward’s. Anger boiled, anger that had been suppressed for too long. By persuading her to adopt, Edward had been the instigator of her feelings from the moment he had carried Jennifer as an innocent baby into the house.

  Yes, Delia admitted, Jennifer had been innocent, but nevertheless she had made the girl’s life a misery, driven her out at just sixteen years old.

  It wasn’t Jennifer she should have driven out, Delia thought, grinding her teeth. It was Edward! She had worried about divorcing him, worried that back in those days she’d be cut dead, but what good had that done? Yes, she’d managed to build a respected reputation, but it had been for nothing, now torn to shreds. Well she had nothing to lose now. She could leave Edward. Divorce him!

  Delia poured another brandy, a large one, uncaring if it went to her head, and by the time Edward came home her anger had grown into volcanic proportions that erupted as soon as he walked into the room.

  ‘I hate you! Do you hear me, I hate you!’ she screamed, running up to him and pounding his chest.

  ‘Stop it, Delia! What on earth is wrong with you?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with me! It’s you! You caused all this.’

  ‘You’re behaving like a mad woman,’ Edward said, grasping her arms and pushing them to her sides.

  ‘Yes, I’m mad…mad to have stayed with you.’

  ‘Delia, for goodness’ sake, what’s brought this on?’

  ‘It’s you! You’ve ruined my life!’

  Edward pushed her away. ‘I’ve just come home, I’m tired, and in no mood for your hysterics.’

  ‘I’m not hysterical! You must have thought I was stupid, blind, but you were wrong. From the moment you placed Jennifer in my arms, I had my suspicions.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Delia, not this again.’

  ‘I just wish I could prove it, but proof or not, if Jennifer was here now I’d at last tell her just what sort of man you are, why I was driven to act as I did. I hate myself for the way I treated her now, took it out on her, but I hate you more.’

  ‘You’re out of your mind.’

  ‘No, Edward, in fact for the first time I feel my mind is clear,’ Delia said, a strange calm washing over her. ‘I’m leaving you now, going upstairs to pack and then I’ll consult a lawyer. I said some dreadful things to Jennifer the last time I saw her, called her mother trash, and though I’d like to apologise I doubt I’ll see her again. My only hope is that, however unlikely, while in Ireland she somehow stumbles across the truth. She’ll hate you too then, Edward, and I think more than she hates me.’

  ‘Maybe, but it’s more likely she’d find what you did was worse, unforgivable. You should thank me that I’ve ensured she will never find out.’

  Delia’s teeth ground as she stormed from the room. She might not be able to tell Jennifer, but she’d tell Robin–and just in case Edward tried to use it against her, she would tell her son everything, even including the role she’d played in all this.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Edward couldn’t believe it. Delia hadn’t been bluffing, had actually walked out and, now that the initial shock had worn off, he just hoped she didn’t come back. Delia had threatened to tell Jenny, and though there might not be any proof it wasn’t something he wanted his daughter to hear. That still left Robin. Had Delia been in touch with their son? If so, what had she told him?

  It was a gloomy Saturday morning and Edward was in the garden. Some of the early daffodils were in bloom and tulips were poking their heads through the soil, but the sight failed to cheer hi
m up. He went inside again, about to ring Robin when the doorbell rang.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Lavender.’ It was the estate agent. ‘I’ve brought my clients to view the house.’

  Edward’s first reaction was to say it was no longer for sale, but then realised that, in order to keep Delia away from Jenny, it would be prudent to put as much distance between the two of them as possible.

  ‘Come in, but excuse the mess. I’m afraid my wife is away.’

  The agent escorted the couple around, and when they were ready to leave, Edward had a feeling they liked what they’d seen. With the house to himself again, Edward went to the telephone, saying as Robin answered, ‘I suppose you’ve spoken to your mother?’

  Edward listened, and then said, ‘Robin, I did not lie to her. Mary really was a distant relative, one I hadn’t even met. If your mother thinks differently it’s all in her head.’

  He listened again. ‘She told you that too! I’m surprised; after all, what she forced me to do doesn’t put her in a very good light. If Jenny found out she would be devastated, and it’s kinder to keep her in the dark.’

  Robin wasn’t so sure, but after a little convincing he agreed.

  ‘Well goodbye for now,’ said Edward, ‘but before you hang up, let me assure you again that what your mother has accused me of is totally unfounded. I hope you believe that.’

  Robin made a murmuring sound, neither saying whether he did or he didn’t, but Edward felt his son was almost convinced. Delia could shout all she liked, but there was no proof and never would be. Replacing the receiver, Edward went out to the garden again.

  Spring flowers, heralding a new season, and as he began to pull out some emerging weeds the task settled his mind. He didn’t want Delia near Jenny now and would go along with the divorce, offer no arguments that might incur a delay. Though it would cost him half of everything he had, it would be worth every penny.

  The weekend had passed and early on Monday morning, Jennifer was at the Holy Redeemer Church. It was her last hope in her search to find her mother’s grave, or that of any other relative. As Jenny searched the headstones, she thought back over the last day or so. She hadn’t meant to but somehow she’d upset people with her questions, any mention of the Murphys meeting with suspicion, as before. Wherever she went now, eyes seemed to be watching her, and even when she’d climbed up to Dray Head, staring out to sea, she had felt a menacing presence.