Kitty Neale - Forgotten Child

Robin was groggy from the anaesthetic and hardly knew they were there, but Delia was so relieved that she found herself thanking God for listening to her plea. It was time to keep to her side of the bargain…but could she do it? Could she really bear to have Jennifer home again – to look at her face, one that had always served as a constant reminder? Somehow she had to make the effort.

However, Jennifer was one matter, but Edward was quite another. Until she no longer needed him, her husband’s punishment would continue.

Edward now took the keys from Delia and drove her car home, his wife sitting stiffly beside him. His mind had been hopping between Robin and Jenny, but now, having been told that his son’s prognosis was good, his daughter became his main concern again. Where was she? Did she have somewhere to stay? God, he hoped so; the thought of her roaming the streets and sleeping rough was horrendous. Jenny was just an innocent kid and anything could have happened to her!

Edward scanned the road as he drove along, looking out for the slim, familiar figure of his daughter. Again, his anger mounted towards Delia for having driven Jenny out. The sole consolation was that if he didn’t find her before then, at least he had only to wait until Monday when she started work at the library.

‘We have to find Jennifer,’ said Delia suddenly. ‘Bring her home.’

‘What!’ Edward said, incredulous.

‘I know I treated her badly.’

‘So you’re admitting it at last.’

‘Yes, Edward, I’m being honest at last, which is more than can be said for you.’

‘Not this again? I’m just about sick of it, Delia.’

Delia huffed derisively and fell silent for the rest of the journey home. That suited Edward. He’d been listening to her accusation for years, but would never admit to it. Why should he? He had no need to, he was completely safe, and as far as he was concerned, what his wife had forced him to do was just as unforgivable.

Between searching unsuccessfully for Jenny and visiting his son in hospital, the weekend passed. It was now Monday morning and Edward had rung the office. They had offered him another company vehicle while his car was being repaired, but he’d insisted on a week’s leave, despite the short notice.

‘Right, Delia,’ he now said. ‘I’m off. I want to be at the library before it opens; catch Jenny when she arrives.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘There’s no need.’

‘Jennifer won’t come back unless I apologise and assure her that things will be different.’

‘I’ll tell her that.’

‘No, Edward, she won’t believe it unless it comes from me.’

Impatient to leave, Edward nodded in acquiescence, and soon they were in Delia’s car, heading for the library. With his wife driving he used the opportunity to keep his eyes peeled, but so far there was no sign of Jenny. Perhaps his daughter had approached the library from another direction, he thought.

As Delia pulled up outside, Edward felt a surge of relief. This was it, he’d see Jenny again, and between him and Delia, she was sure to agree to come home.

They waited for a while, looking in both directions, until Delia said, ‘I can’t understand it. They opened ten minutes ago. Where is she?’

‘If I knew that we wouldn’t be standing here.’

Another fifteen minutes passed and impatiently Edward said, ‘Perhaps we missed her. Let’s go inside.’

Jenny wasn’t there, however, and the head librarian was displeased that she hadn’t arrived yet. Edward and Delia left and stood outside again, waiting on the wide steps for another half-hour, but by then Edward knew they were clutching at straws. Jenny wouldn’t have been this late on her first day at work.

‘Come on, Delia, she’s not going to show. We might as well go home.’

‘But Jennifer was so excited about working in the library. I don’t understand. Why didn’t she turn up?’

‘I should think it’s obvious. She doesn’t want to be found.’

‘There must be some way of tracing her.’

‘How, Delia?’ snapped Edward. ‘She’s probably in another area, or perhaps has even left London. Unless Jenny gets in touch with us, we don’t stand a chance.’

Delia was quiet as they drove home and Edward’s mind was churning. Surely Jenny would know how worried he was and he would hear from her soon?

Edward clung to that thought, unaware that it would be a long, long time before he had any news of his daughter…or that it would come from an unexpected source.

Summer passed and it was now close to Christmas, the weather outside cold, though in the café Jenny was hot and perspiring as she worked. She was up to her elbows in soapy water, her hair damp, stringy and clinging to her face. She glanced across at Tina to see that her friend wasn’t faring any better.

Tina became aware that Jenny was looking at her, and hissed, ‘We’ve stuck it out since August, but I ain’t taking much more of this.’

‘I feel the same, but we have to find new jobs first.’

‘That’s easier said than done. Look at the pair of us. We look like bleedin’ ragamuffins and no wonder we ain’t fit to be seen out front.’

Jenny knew Tina was right. They were scruffy, their hair a mess and faces bare of make-up. What they still needed was a new look, but what with paying the rent along with feeding the gas and electric meters, there was little left over from their small wage. At least they got a meal when they were working, and Jenny had developed a taste for Italian food as a consequence. The chef was temperamental though, and everyone knew when he was in a mood, all keeping their heads down.

If they wanted to find new jobs, Jenny knew there was only one thing to do, but she was loath to break into what was left of her savings. Even if she did, it wouldn’t stretch far, but now, thinking about Susan, she had an idea. Their downstairs neighbour was a mine of useful information about the Chelsea scene and it was worth a shot.

‘Tina, let’s have a word with Sue when we finish our shift. She might be able to help.’

‘With what?’

‘She may be able to point us in the direction of some decent second-hand clothes shops.’

‘Gawd, we weren’t well off when I lived at home, but at least I didn’t have to wear other people’s cast-offs.’

‘I know, but if we can just smarten ourselves up enough to go for interviews, we’d stand a better chance of finding decent jobs.’

‘I don’t pay you to chit-chat. Get on with your work!’

Jenny’s face flamed, hoping Mr Cane hadn’t heard their conversation. It was rare that they saw him, for he usually left the restaurant in the hands of a manager, but trust him to turn up just when they had been talking.

‘Sorry, Mr Cane,’ she said, turning swiftly back to her work.

She was aware of him walking up behind her and tensed as she felt his breath on her neck. Jenny knew she was mad, but on the rare occasions she saw him her body responded in a way that left her breathless. There was something exciting about him, something magnetic that drew her, and it took all her will not to turn around.

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