Forgotten Child. Kitty Neale

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      ‘Jennifer, what are you doing up at this time of night?’ Delia asked sharply as she stormed into the room.

      ‘I was excited that Daddy was coming home and couldn’t sleep.’

      ‘Go back to bed, now!’

      ‘Jenny, do as your mother says,’ Edward urged softly. ‘I’ll still be here in the morning.’

      For just a brief moment Jenny looked mutinous, but then she nodded. ‘All right. Good night, Dad.’

      ‘Good night, darling.’

      Delia just stood there, tight-lipped, but when Jenny left the room she swung round too, heading back to the kitchen. Edward knew what this meant – another row – and once again he regretted coming home.

      

      Delia slammed a small saucepan of milk onto the cooker. It was always the same. Edward had arrived home after two months away, but he was no sooner in the door than Jennifer got his attention and affection. She would punish him, Delia decided, just as she’d always punished him; something she had sworn to do from the moment another baby had been forced upon her. She didn’t want another child and Edward had known that.

      She fought to regain her poise as she took a loaf of bread, cutting two slices, but her mind still raged. Oh, she had tried to love Jennifer, but her resentment had been strong, so was it any wonder that the maternal instincts she had felt for Robin had been absent from the start?

      Of course it hadn’t helped that Jennifer had been a difficult and demanding baby, taking up so much of her time that she had felt she was neglecting her son. Then, at eighteen months old, Robin had been walking, a little unsteady on his feet, and into everything. He had needed her attention but, with the new burden of Jennifer and the demands of keeping up with the housework, it was something she’d no longer had time to give him. Of course she had made up for it since, her son developing into a wonderful young man who would go far, but Edward would continue to pay dearly for causing his early neglect and her own unhappiness.

      ‘Thank you, dear, and I can see you’re pleased to see me as usual,’ Edward drawled sarcastically when she took a tray through to the drawing room.

      ‘What do you expect? Unlike Jennifer, I didn’t even get a kiss on the cheek.’

      ‘Had I tried, you’d have rebuffed me as usual.’

      ‘You don’t know that.’

      ‘Delia, I’m not playing your games. You’re fond of giving me hope, but then withdrawing it. I’m not falling for it again. I’m content with the wonderful welcome I received from Jenny.’

      ‘Yes, I’m sure you are. As always, you put her before me.’

      ‘For goodness’ sake, Delia, this jealousy is ridiculous. Is it any wonder that Jenny runs to me for affection? She certainly doesn’t get any from you!’

      ‘I am not jealous. As for my lack of affection, you’re to blame for that.’

      ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Delia.’

      Delia knew she was fighting a losing battle; Edward was sure to deny it as usual. Still, there was more than one way to skin a cat.

      ‘How many times do I have to tell you that a jenny is a female donkey? Jennifer, as we christened her, will be sixteen soon, old enough to leave home and it’s time to tell her the truth – though of course not all of it.’

      ‘No, Delia, I don’t think there is any need.’

      ‘Of course there is. She has a right to know and if you don’t tell her, I will.’

      ‘You’ll do no such thing! It’s unnecessary and I won’t stand for it.’

      Delia’s jaws ground. Edward didn’t know it, but she wasn’t finished yet and he’d soon find that out. ‘I’m going to bed. Please don’t disturb me when you come up.’

      ‘Don’t worry, Delia, I know better than to come into your room.’

      Without another word, she stalked out. Long ago Edward had given her the power to get her own way and she had made the most of it, insisting on separate bedrooms, among other things. She still had that power and intended to use it.

      It was time for the truth to come out – time to stop living in a house of secrets.

       Chapter Two

      When Robin awoke the next morning, he could hear the sound of raised voices. It was always the same when his father was home, the atmosphere rotten until he left again.

      There was a soft tap on his bedroom door and moments later Jenny poked her head into the room, hissing softly, ‘Robin, are you awake?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Mummy and Daddy are arguing.’

      ‘I know.’

      ‘I heard my name mentioned and think it’s about me. Have I done something to upset her?’

      ‘I haven’t got a clue. Now just bugger off, Jenny.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘Just go!’ Robin snapped, relieved when his sister did as she was told. Yes, his parents were rowing, but it was nothing unusual. He blamed his father for his mother’s unhappiness, and it was odd that they slept in separate rooms. There had to be a reason, a problem, perhaps his father’s, and Robin wondered if it was something that could explain his own disgusting feelings. Had he inherited some sort of deviant sexual tendencies from his father?

      Yes, he knew about sex now, but the knowledge brought him agony. What he felt wasn’t right – what he wanted wasn’t right – yet night after night he lay awake, so aware that Jenny was only in the next room. She was his sister, and all he should feel for her was brotherly love, but from the moment he’d seen her small, burgeoning breasts, his feelings had begun to change.

      If anyone found out they’d be horrified, sickened, so the only way Robin could deal with it was by pretending indifference, hiding his feelings behind the same facade his mother portrayed. He knew it confused Jenny, probably hurt her, but it was the only way to keep her at a distance – a safe distance.

      Despite that, the temptation was always there and Robin knew he couldn’t stand much more. He’d be finished at college next year and hoped to get the A level results he needed to go on to university. He had to be away from this house…away from Jenny.

      

      Annoyed at the interruption when the milkman knocked, Delia impatiently rummaged in her purse, saying as she opened the front door, ‘I think this is the right money, but I hate this new decimal currency. I’ll never get used to it and why we had to change from good old pounds, shillings and pence is beyond me.’

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