Kitty Neale - Forgotten Child

‘Yes, all right,’ Jenny agreed.

Since moving into their flat they had got to know Susan, who lived in the studio flat below them. Susan was older than them, in her mid-twenties and she had taken them under her wing. Her style was hippie: maxi dresses, or skirts with peasant blouses and strings of beads. Tall and slim, with long brown hair, Sue completed the look with flat sandals instead of high heels. It wasn’t a look that Tina felt she could pull off though, and as they passed a boutique she paused to look at a lovely mini-dress in the window.

‘Jenny, look at that.’

‘It’s lovely,’ Jenny agreed, her eyes flicking around as they walked on. ‘Look at everyone, Tina. They’re all dressed in a mixture of styles from hippie to rock and here’s me in clothes chosen by my mother. I feel gauche, out of place…I wish I could afford a new look.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ Tina agreed, her tummy rumbling as they reached Boris’s. She felt rotten that Jenny had to pay for everything – the rent, their food – but at least she’d be able to put her share in soon. Eleven quid a week, Tina thought again disgustedly, but knew she’d have to stick it out until she found something better.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Jenny said. ‘After we’ve had something to eat, I wouldn’t mind looking in that shop at our end, the one called Paradise Garage.’

‘What for?’ Tina asked. ‘From what Susan said they sell American gear, second-hand denim jeans, along with Hawaiian shirts, some retro rock, and boiler suits or dungarees.’

‘If it’s second-hand it’ll be cheap.’

Tina laughed. ‘Oh yeah, I can just see you in a boiler suit.’

‘Still, it might be worth a look.’

‘It’s weird enough on the outside, what with that 1950s petrol pump and the tiger-striped car, a Mustang, Sue said, sometimes parked close by. I’m game though. It might be fun to take a look inside.’

They had a quick snack but saw no sign of any famous faces, so they then headed off for Paradise Garage. They had often passed the shop, which was painted from top to toe in what looked like green bamboo but was in fact corrugated iron.

The Mustang wasn’t outside today, but the interior had their eyes widening in amazement. There were caged lovebirds, an American jukebox playing rock and roll, and even a tiny dance floor. However, a quick look at the clothes on offer was enough for Jenny to see that they just weren’t for either of them. She picked out a boiler suit, holding it against her, and they both giggled.

‘Very fetching,’ Tina told her.

‘You’ve got to admit it’s been worth a look, if only for the fun factor.’

‘Yeah, but come on, you daft moo, let’s go,’ Tina urged. She was still putting on a front, pretending that she didn’t have a care in the world, but in reality her stomach was churning. She really had seen the way that Mr Cane had looked at Jenny, a look she’d seen many times before in her father’s eyes. Tina shivered, regretting that they had taken the jobs and wished she’d made more of a protest. Her lip curled into a scowl. If the bloke made one move – said one thing out of place – she’d get Jenny out of there.

In Wimbledon, the telephone continued to ring. Unable to ignore it any longer, Delia at last answered it.

Edward’s sentences were short and clipped. ‘Delia, there’s been an accident. I’m at the Nelson Hospital, in casualty with Robin. He’s been injured. You’d better get down here.’

‘ What? Oh no! Is he all right?’

‘He’s with the doctor. I’ve got to get back.’

‘Wait!’ Delia cried, but was left listening to the dialling tone.

For a moment Delia was frozen to the spot, but then she came back to life, grabbed her car keys and dashed out of the house. She made good progress at first but once on the main road the traffic increased and her speed slowed. The last thing she’d expected when Robin had gone out with his father was such a phone call. All she’d been concerned about was her plan to bring Edward down.

The traffic lights turned to red and Delia almost screamed with impatience. She had to get to the hospital – had to find out if Robin was all right. What if his injuries were so bad that he…he…No, she wouldn’t – couldn’t – think about that.

Delia’s heart was thumping with anxiety when at last she arrived. After a frantic enquiry at reception she was directed to another room where a nurse led her to a cubicle and pulled back the curtain.

‘Robin…Robin,’ she cried, horrified to see that her son was deathly pale and that his arm was in a splint.

The only response was a groan. Stricken, she looked at Edward. ‘Is…is he going to be all right?’

‘I don’t know what’s going on; only that he’s going to theatre. They’re worried he may have internal injuries, and he’s got a compound fracture of his lower arm.’

Delia burst into tears. Edward stood up and led her to the vacant chair beside Robin, urging her to sit down as she gasped, ‘Wh…what happened?’

‘A bloody fool of a driver shot out of a side street at speed without checking the road was clear. He slammed into the passenger side and Robin took the brunt of the collision.’

‘Oh, darling,’ Delia said, reaching out to stroke Robin’s hair.

He groaned again and Edward said worriedly, ‘I don’t know why there’s a hold-up. Where’s that bloody doctor?’

For the first time in many, many years, Delia felt a common bond with her husband. Just then the curtain was drawn back and a doctor and nurse appeared.

‘Right, young man, nurse here is going to prep you for surgery.’

Delia stood up, asking anxiously, ‘He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?’

‘He’ll be in good hands,’ said the doctor calmly.

‘How…how long will he be in theatre?’

‘It depends on what the surgeon finds, on the extent of the damage, but I should think for several hours.’

Delia didn’t find this answer reassuring and swayed. She felt Edward’s arm around her, offering support.

‘Perhaps you should take your wife to the waiting room,’ the doctor suggested.

‘Yes, come on, Delia.’

She was reluctant to leave Robin but, having no choice, she allowed herself to be led away. Her mind twisted and turned as they sat in the stark waiting room. If Jennifer hadn’t left home, her son wouldn’t have gone out with his father to look for her. Jennifer had caused this. Yes, it was that girl’s fault, yet even as she tried to shift the blame, Delia knew she couldn’t. She was the one who had driven Jennifer out – and if the worst happened, if she lost her son, Delia knew she would never forgive herself.

Delia then found herself inwardly bargaining with God. Please, let my son live and I’ll change. I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on Jennifer for so long and I realise that now. It was Edward’s fault, not hers. Jenny is the innocent one in all of it and what I deprived her of is unforgivable. When she comes home, though some things can never be put right, I’ll try to make it up to her, really I will.

Delia felt no relief from her anxiety. She was no longer a regular attender at church and hadn’t been for many years. Not only that, she didn’t deserve God’s ear. Nevertheless, Delia continued to pray, repeating the same liturgy again and again until at last, many hours later, the surgeon appeared.

Edward reared to his feet. ‘How is he?’

‘The surgery went well and your son should make a complete recovery.’

‘Can…can we see him?’ Delia asked, she too on her feet now.

‘Just for a few minutes,’ the man said, and a nurse appeared to lead them to the recovery ward.