The Forgotten_An absolutely gripping, gritty thriller novel

by Casey Kelleher

  ‘Scarlett, darling, come and stand by Daddy,’ he said protectively, annoyed that this lot had no consideration for the fact that they had a young child with them, as they surrounded them now. Cameras going off in every direction.

  ‘Nancy, over here,’ one of them shouted. As the bright lights of the cameras flashed in a flurry all around them, Jack picked Scarlett up in his arms, keeping his child close.

  Scarlett buried herself in his shoulder, wondering what all the commotion was about. Why all these people were trying to take photos of her and her mummy and daddy. They were scaring her.

  ‘It’s okay, baby!’ Jack said, stroking Scarlett’s hair and kissing her on the forehead.

  ‘Just give them their shot, Jack,’ Nancy said, resigned. Knowing full well how these vultures worked.

  They’d hound them until they got it anyway.

  The three of them stood still for a few seconds, begrudgingly.

  The infamous Nancy Byrne and her perfect little family.

  Grateful when the car pulled up in front of them, Jack shooed them away.

  ‘That’s your lot,’ he said finally, not prepared to stand there for a second longer. He opened the car door and ushered Nancy and Scarlett safely inside, before jumping in beside them both and closing the door behind them.

  ‘Bloody vultures,’ he said, as the car drove off.

  Scarlett, now safely in the car, instantly forgetting all about the paps, rummaging around inside her party bag once more.

  Nancy smiled, leaning her head back against the black leather seats.

  ‘I’m not interested, you know,’ Jack said then, touching Nancy’s hand, and looking almost relieved when Nancy didn’t pull hers away.

  She’d drank way too much tonight. Her head was feeling blurry.

  She narrowed her eyes, not sure what Jack was talking about.

  ‘Back there. You said about all those other women. I’m not interested in any of them,’ he said then, looking at her intently. ‘You know why.’

  Nancy stared at Jack, aware of what he was saying. Of the enormity of his words.

  ‘Daddy will you do a puzzle with me?’ Scarlett said, interrupting them both before Nancy could reply.

  Jack nodded.

  His eyes still on Nancy. Drinking her in.

  Before turning his attention on to Scarlett then. The moment lost.

  Nancy watched for a few minutes as Jack fussed over his daughter. Tickling her and chatting away, with such tenderness it made her want to weep with joy.

  He loved Scarlett just as much as she did.

  He loved her too.

  That’s what he was saying, wasn’t it?

  Nancy leant her head back against the seat again, and this time closed her eyes, her heart hammering inside her chest at Jack’s advances.

  Recalling Bridget’s words, time and time again about how Nancy was too pig-headed and stubborn to admit it, even to herself, how she really felt about him.

  How she was too scared to let her guard down.

  Only that wasn’t it at all.

  Nancy wasn’t pretending, and she wasn’t hiding her true feelings.

  These were her true feelings.

  She’d never allow a man close to her, not like that.

  Not really.

  Not after years of watching her mother’s and father’s pretence.

  The lies and heartbreak that went on between them both. The games they’d both played.

  And who had suffered the most?

  Her and her brother Daniel.

  It was any wonder they both had issues.

  An absent father who loved her, lavishing her with gifts and the best of everything to compensate for never seeing her. And a mother – Colleen – who was there in body only, with her mind ravaged by booze.

  A dysfunctional family at it’s very finest, something that Nancy was adamant she would never repeat with Scarlett.

  She couldn’t allow herself to get caught up in anything with Jack, even if he did genuinely care about her and Scarlett.

  She wasn’t able for it.

  Her heart was completely numb to it all, deep down. Because she knew, the second she let someone in, really let them in, that’s when they could break her.

  For good.

  And Nancy would never allow that to happen, no matter what the cost.

  Sixteen

  ‘I would have rung ahead to arrange this meeting, only you haven’t been returning any of my calls and we were starting to feel concerned about you,’ Derek Wheelan said apologetically, sensing Robert Parkes’s initial unease at him just turning up here unannounced.

  Derek sat down in the armchair opposite the man, aware that the man was still silently glaring at him, though he pretended not to notice.

  Instead he smiled, while secretly eyeing the flat. Taking in the man’s living conditions, in search of some clues as to how Robert Parkes had really been.

  The Drakewell Estate in East Twickenham was notorious for being overrun by gangs of youths. The place was rife with poverty and domestics, but Robert had been lucky. Social Services had worked alongside the local council and managed to allocate the man his very own flat.

  Albeit compact. When he closed his front door, this was all his. His space.

  It was a tiny flat, but Derek couldn’t help but notice how bare the place was. The room was dressed with two brightly coloured monstrosities of furniture that had been donated to Robert by a local charity when he’d first moved in four years ago. A mismatched second-hand sofa bed in a deep teal green, and a pink and orange floral armchair that Derek sat upon. The bold splurges of colour looked almost intrusive against the rest of the drab, magnolia-painted room. As if they didn’t belong to the cold, sterile surroundings.

  In the corner of the room stood a rickety-looking clothes hook, with a neat row of uniform black and grey coats hanging from it.

  That was it.

  There was no television, he noted. No photographs or personal items of any kind anywhere. Even out in the kitchen, there was nothing on display. No food. No signs of any dirty crockery.

  No clues to what sort of a person Robert was.

  The only personal item was down at Robert Parkes’s feet. A laptop, Derek noted. Eyeing the computer that had been shoved down on the floor and was just poking out from underneath the chair.

  Progress.

  The laptop was something, he figured. At least Robert had some kind of gateway to the outside world.

  ‘How are you doing, Robert?’ Derek said, lightly. Still sensing the man’s unease at the unexpected intrusion.

  Robert Parkes shrugged.

  At first, he’d refused to let Derek into the flat, and he’d only begrudgingly agreed once Derek made it clear that if Robert sent him away again, he’d only come back again.

  Something was up.

  Derek was convinced of it.

  Though he needed to keep the conversation as neutral and non-judgemental as possible.

  Knowing how volatile this client could be, how Robert Parkes had been assigned four caseworkers in as many years, and in time each of them had point-blank refused to work with the man in the end. Due to Robert’s uncontrollable temper and rage.

  So far, Derek had been lucky enough to not experience that himself first-hand, though he could tell that Robert was on the edge today.

  ‘I just wanted to check in with you and make sure that you’re doing okay?’

  ‘You mean, check up on me, more like!’ Robert spat, not falling for the man’s bullshit. He might look like some horror movie reject, but his brain was working perfectly fine.

  He knew damn well what was really going on here.

  This lot were keeping tabs on him: the so-called social workers and outpatients team from the hospital. All of them working together and pretending that they actually gave a shit, when the truth of the matter was, Robert was just another job on their checklist. Another statistic to record on their poncy computerised graphs. Just another number
in the system.

  ‘I see that you haven’t been to your counselling sessions for over a month now, and you missed your last assessment appointment with me too.’

  ‘So, you are checking up on me?’ Robert laughed. The sound mocking and humourless.

  ‘I’m not keeping tabs on you, Robert, not like that anyway. I just wanted to see for myself that you’re okay. I know how hard it must be. Without any form of support. We still haven’t had any luck locating any family members for you,’ Derek said regretfully, shifting awkwardly in his chair.

  Unable to even imagine how it must feel to wake up from the kind of trauma that Robert Parkes had woken from and to be completely and utterly alone in this world.

  To not remember who he was or who his family were.

  And worse than that, the fact that there seemed to be nobody looking for the poor man.

  Derek Wheelan coughed then, clearing his throat.

  He’d been keeping tabs on Robert, but only out of concern. That was the truth of the matter.

  For the past few weeks, Robert Parkes had been living well and truly off the grid. Choosing to distance himself from any form of help that had been offered to him, the man was living in almost complete isolation. He hadn’t turned up at any of his appointments or meetings, nor had he returned any of Derek’s team’s calls.

  ‘We just want to help, Robert. To make sure that you’re coping okay.’

  Only Derek could clearly see that Robert wasn’t okay.

  He noticed that the man’s hands were shaking.

  Robert noticed it too then. Catching Derek’s stare, he clasped them together tightly and placed them down on his lap.

  Derek paused. Wondering if the man was taking something. Something other than his subscribed medication. Drugs?

  He was acting more paranoid and jittery than usual.

  His leg, bouncing up and down, as if he was nervous about something. Or just plain agitated.

  Derek had seen it a thousand times before.

  It wasn’t unusual for patients to do this. Swap their recovery programme for some other type of release. Something that gave them more instant gratification, like alcohol or cannabis.

  It was understandable given the circumstances. Everyone needed their vices, he got that. Something to help them deal with their angst and depression. To block out what they’d been through.

  Only it was Derek’s job to make sure that Robert was given all the help and resources he needed to ensure that he was properly rehabilitated, the correct way. So that he could live a normal life.

  As normal as it could possibly be, given the circumstances.

  Only Robert didn’t seem very forthcoming with Derek’s offer of help.

  Stoney faced and defensive. He looked as if he couldn’t get rid of Derek quickly enough. Still, Derek persevered.

  ‘What about the support groups? Are you still going to any of them?’

  Trying to keep his tone light as possible, Derek Wheelan skimmed over the previous social worker’s notes, knowing full well that Robert Parkes hadn’t attended a single support group or counselling session in almost five weeks.

  ‘There’s no point. They’re all a waste of my time,’ Robert said with a shrug, not bothering to lie or make up excuses about the fact that he hadn’t gone.

  ‘Well, that’s a real shame,’ Derek said nodding understandingly, as he simultaneously made a note in his notebook.

  He’d only taken over the case a couple of months ago, so while he couldn’t relate to everything that Robert Parkes had been through, he had studied Robert’s notes extensively.

  Robert had been admitted to Chelsea and Westminster Burns Unit just over four years ago, after being burned so badly in a fire that he almost died. His injuries had been horrific. Suffering almost sixty-five per cent burns to his body, by rights the man shouldn’t even be here now. The doctors had only given him a thirty per cent survival rate. Spending months in intensive care, and almost a year in hospital, Robert Parkes had then needed over twenty operations and facial reconstructive surgeries. Not to mention the intense vigorous physiotherapy that he’d endured. His injuries had been so astronomical that the fact the man was even here, physically sitting across the room from Derek right now, was nothing short of a miracle.

  Robert Parkes had proved all the specialists wrong and survived his ordeal.

  That showed that he was a fighter.

  Though, Derek knew that the man’s recovery had been a long and gruelling process, and that he still wasn’t completely out of the woods yet.

  In fact, his rehabilitation was proving his toughest challenge yet.

  Robert Parkes had lost his memory. He had no idea who he was. No idea where he was from.

  The doctors had hoped, at first, that the memory loss was only temporary, and that their patient had been showing all the symptoms of Post Traumatic Amnesia, caused by the shock and trauma of the ordeal he’d suffered.

  He couldn’t remember anything at all, not even his own name.

  One of the nurses in the ITU had given the man the pseudonym – Robert Parkes – until his memory returned to him. Only, as time went on, four years in fact, Robert had shown no sign of improvement and, with a lot of help from a notary and the Home Office, the name had legally become his own.

  The doctors also now suspected that Robert had suffered what is medically termed as a neuropsychological impairment of the brain, which meant that he might never regain his memory again.

  It must be terrifying for the man.

  He didn’t even have any recollection of what happened to him either, of what he’d been through, which Derek had decided was probably a good thing after seeing the extensive medical report stating that not only had Robert suffered greatly from the fire, but the man had been tortured too.

  He’d lost his eye, which the doctors suspected was a horrific injury caused by a blow torch or something similar. He’d been missing fingernails, and toenails. Teeth too. According to the report.

  Someone had been out to get this man. They had wanted to leave him for dead. But Robert Parkes, whoever he really was, had defied all odds and survived his ordeal, but he had other challenges that he needed to face now, challenges that Derek wanted to help him to overcome if only Robert would allow him.

  ‘You’re suffering from acute Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Robert. It’s important that you keep going to your appointments,’ Derek advised.

  Robert needed to conquer the psychological damage that had been caused by his harrowing ordeal. Not just the physical aftermath, but the mental damage too.

  Whatever had happened to Robert Parkes was locked away deep inside his subconscious. So far from his reach, but still there teetering just underneath the surface. Tormenting him.

  And then there was the not knowing.

  Not knowing who he is, who he was.

  Not knowing who his family and loved ones were.

  No one had claimed him. No one had looked for him.

  He clearly didn’t have a criminal record either, as there was no DNA held on file to give the police, hospital or social services any clues as to who this man really was.

  Derek was concerned that Robert was depressed; that that’s why he’d taken to avoiding all of his appointments and shutting himself away in his flat all alone, using the place as some kind of fortress for him to hide away from the rest of the world. Only really it was a self-made prison. The man was living like a recluse and it was Derek’s job to help the man now. Whether Robert Parkes wanted that or not.

  ‘You’ve done so well to make such a strong recovery as you have, Robert, overcoming sixty-five per cent burns is just incredible. You’re a survivor, Robert. A true survivor!’

  ‘Am I?’ Robert screwed his face up, shaking his head, clearly not in agreement. He wanted to laugh then, at this man’s stupidity. To launch the fucker out of his flat. He had no clue what he was talking about. None at all. ‘Is that what you’d call this? Festering all alone in this flat? Su
rviving! Live or die, they were the only options I had; very limited, don’t you think? I didn’t really have much choice.’ Robert seemed to be challenging him now. His tone agitated. ‘And look what I got for my efforts. Look at the state of me. Look at me!’ Robert shouted, his voice echoing around the sparsely furnished flat. ‘I should have just given up and died. Only, that would have been the easy way out, wouldn’t it? And I guess whoever the fuck I really am clearly doesn’t do easy!’

  Derek didn’t speak. He knew not to.

  This was Robert’s time to talk. To vent as he must so need to.

  Derek Wheelan couldn’t even imagine the frustration that the man must be feeling.

  He waited, patiently. Listening to the bitterness and discontentment in Robert’s voice, letting the man get it all out of his system before he spoke again.

  ‘I know it’s difficult for you, Robert, really I do…’

  ‘Do you, though. Derek?’ Robert Parkes said then, his voice raised. Irritated by this jobsworth’s upbeat tone. The man knew nothing of Robert’s harrowing plight. ‘Give me a break. You don’t know the half of it. Where are you off to after here, huh? You going home, are you? Let me guess… To your two-up two-down little house in the suburbs. With your frumpy wife and your two point four kids? Idyllic for you – Mr Fucking Average! You wouldn’t know difficult if it smacked you in the face. You have no idea about my life, so please stop pretending that you do.’

  ‘I’m trying to help,’ Derek Wheelan said then, honestly, feeling the tension and hostility radiating from the man. This conversation was not going to plan. ‘We really think that it’s paramount that you continue with your counselling sessions and your support group meetings if you’re to make a full recovery. I know it’s hard to talk about the trauma you’ve been through,’ Derek said, believing that he could somehow get through to the man. He’d worked as a social worker for almost twenty years and to say that Robert Parkes was one of the most severe burn survivors he’d come across was an understatement. None of this was going to be easy, but it would be a damn sight easier if Robert Parkes at least complied and accepted their offer of help and support instead of constantly shunning every opportunity that came his way.