Kitty Neale - Forgotten Child

Robin was left floundering, but it took only a few seconds for him to realise that his father was right. ‘Hold on, Dad. I’m coming with you.’

‘Fine,’ said Edward. ‘Two pairs of eyes are better than one. Though as your mother is supposed to be ill, aren’t you worried about leaving her on her own?’

‘No, Dad. Let’s go and find Jenny.’

Delia didn’t need pills. She wasn’t in a nervous state or depressed. She’d been ecstatic that Jennifer had left home, but then Edward had turned up and now her happiness was replaced by worry. Delia hadn’t gone to bed; instead she’d stood on the stairs listening, and had been horrified by what she’d heard. Blast Edward. Blast him for putting doubt in her son’s mind.

Now, alone in the silent house, Delia cursed her own stupidity. She’d overplayed her hand by putting Jennifer at too young an age to be that clever – but there had to be a way to turn things round. Setting her mind to the problem, she at last realised that there was only one thing she could do. There was no choice. She hadn’t wanted to play this hand yet though, had planned to wait until she was self-sufficient and able to tell Edward that their marriage was over.

It was the only option left to her, Delia decided – and at least she’d be entitled to the house, as well as a decent settlement until Robin finished his education.

With no idea of the drama that was unfolding in Wimbledon, Jenny and Tina were in Chelsea, arms linked as they walked along the King’s Road.

Jenny had found Chelsea nerve-racking at first. Unable to find a flat or rooms at such short notice, the two girls had spent that first night in a seedy hotel. Jenny had hardly slept for worrying that they’d made a huge mistake, but nothing had seemed to faze Tina, and her friend had snored gently all night.

The next morning they had begun their search again, but flats or even bedsits where the rent wasn’t exorbitant proved impossible to find. Footsore and weary, they had finally stumbled across a rundown area at the far end of the King’s Road called the World’s End. The two-roomed pokey flat they at last found was thanks to a card in a shop window and the landlord had asked no questions when he pocketed the rent and deposit. Part of a tall, scruffy terraced house, it wasn’t much, but once they had settled in, Jenny at last found herself happy.

Except for one thing, she thought, and that was her worry that they’d never find jobs. Her hopes of working in a bookshop hadn’t come to fruition, having tried a few without success, including one that was tucked down an alley and specialised in antique books. Tina had thought her mad for wanting to work in what she called a dark, dusty, musty hole, but Jenny would have loved it.

They had tried boutiques, department stores, cafés and restaurants, growing increasingly desperate when it was always their age or lack of experience that let them down. With such a large chunk of her savings gone on securing the flat, Jenny feared that if they didn’t soon find work, her money would run out.

‘Come on, Jenny, step up the pace,’ Tina urged. ‘We don’t want to be late.’

‘There’s no chance of that,’ Jenny said, keeping her fingers crossed that they’d be lucky this time. Surely it had been a good omen that, just as they were passing a newly refurbished café-cum-restaurant, a sign had appeared in the window for staff. They’d been told the new owner would be conducting interviews at eleven today and they had left the flat with plenty of time to spare, determined to be first in line.

‘Right, shoulders back and look confident,’ Tina advised when they arrived.

They stepped inside to find several other hopefuls waiting and were told to sit with them. It was over half an hour before their turn came. Jenny was called before Tina and nervously approached the man conducting the interviews.

He eyed her sceptically, his first question: ‘How old are you?’

‘I’m sixteen.’

‘Is that so?’ he said, a small smile playing around his mouth.

He wasn’t young, but a bit of a dish, Jenny thought, with olive skin and dark hair, Italian or Greek perhaps, she decided, though he had no trace of an accent. She was shaking inwardly but did her best to hide it as she said firmly, ‘Yes, I told you, I’m sixteen.’

‘What’s your name and where do you live?’

‘Jennifer. Jennifer Lavender and I recently moved to Chelsea from Wimbledon.’

‘I’m looking for waitresses. Have you any experience?’

‘Er…no,’ she said. Thinking on her feet, she added, ‘But I’m a fast learner.’

Once again a look of amusement crossed his face and for a moment Jenny began to hope. It was short-lived, as he said, ‘I want trained staff. However…’

As he paused, Jenny blurted out, ‘I’ll do anything, any job.’

‘The only thing I can offer you is kitchen work, cleaning, washing up, that sort of thing.’

Without a thought, Jenny said hurriedly, ‘I’ll take it.’

‘So without asking me about the hours, the pay, you’ll take it?’

‘Well…no…but…’

‘But you’re desperate,’ he interrupted. ‘Yes, I thought so, and I also doubt you’re sixteen. What are you, a runaway?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Do you live with your parents?’

‘Not now. I share a flat with my friend. She’s over there,’ Jenny said, nodding towards Tina.

His eyes narrowed, scrutinising Tina, then he crooked a finger to beckon her over. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me that you’re sixteen too?’

‘Yeah, that’s right.’

‘And, like your friend, you’ll take any job on offer?’

‘I don’t know about that. It depends what’s on offer and the pay.’

‘Have you any experience?’

‘Look, we both left school recently so the answer is no, and we never will have unless someone gives us a chance.’

Jenny hid a smile. Unlike her, Tina didn’t seem nervous or browbeaten as she looked the man in the eye. He shrugged, then said, ‘As I told your friend, all I can offer is kitchen work. It’s eight-hour shifts, six days a week, and the weekly pay is eleven pounds.’

‘Eleven quid! Is that all?’

‘Take it or leave it.’

‘We’ll take it,’ Jenny said quickly.

‘Hold on, Jenny. That’s crap pay.’

‘Tina, it’s a job and we need the money.’

‘Yeah, yeah, all right, I won’t turn it down.’

Jenny sighed with relief. ‘Thank you for giving us a chance, Mr…Mr…er…’

‘Mr Cane.’

‘Cane,’ Jenny said, surprised, ‘but I thought…’

‘My mother’s Italian,’ he said dismissively, as though used to this reaction to his looks. ‘You can both start your first shift on Monday morning, eight o’clock sharp when we will be serving breakfast and ending at four. Every four weeks your shift will change and you’ll be working from four until midnight.’

Jenny was about to thank him again, but he was already looking at the next person in line, his voice strident as he called, ‘Next!’

Tina waited until they were outside before she spoke, her tone scathing. ‘Eleven soddin’ quid a week and kitchen work! We must be mad. I know I’m not posh like you, but we could both do better than that.’

‘I think he offered us employment because he felt sorry for us. I know it isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing.’

‘Sorry for us! Don’t make me laugh. I saw the way he was looking at you and it wasn’t with pity.’

‘What! Don’t be silly.’

‘Whatever you say, but there’s something not right about him. He was trying to sound posh, but unlike you, it was false. Still, come on, however shitty they are, we’ve got jobs and should celebrate,’ Tina said, trying to cast off her bad mood. ‘If you don’t mind stumping up again, we could go for a snack in Boris’s sandwich shop. Susan said that he’s had some famous customers, including Mick Jagger, John Lennon and Yoko. You never know, we might spot a famous face.’