The Forgotten Child. D. E. White

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      ‘He … touched you? Did he say anything?’ She forced herself not to sound too horrified, to keep the conversation going, but her stomach lurched. A man had been there whilst she was unconscious. He had delivered a child to her car. He’d touched Milo’s face. It made no sense at all.

      ‘No, but he went all round the car and looked at you in the front. He touched your neck.’ He vaguely tapped the area below his jawline.

      Jesus. Who was this lunatic? Someone had checked whether she had a pulse, was dead and then they’d vanished? She needed to call DC Marriot, but not in front of her boy. He seemed to be coming out of this okay, and it wouldn’t be fair to scare him further. But as soon as she could …

      After Milo had eaten some toast, Holly scrolled through various social media sites and finally pulled up a fairly recent picture of Devril Mancini, snagged from his Instagram page. She had kept an eye on all of them over them over the years, despite cutting herself off from the past. He’d been a personal trainer when they were younger, but now his profiles just said ‘Freelance writer’, which was pretty vague. She found Niko’s Twitter feed. Brand new and with just a few followers. His Instagram feed seemed to consist mostly of jars of sweets. Which was weird. Had Niko bought the corner shop? Squinting more closely she saw that there were emojis of snowflakes and pills, subtly advertising to those who knew exactly what was on offer. No, not candy, but drugs. Fresh out of jail and already Niko was back in business. There had been news articles occasionally, examining the case, and the papers had dredged everything up when he was released. Hesitantly, she showed photos of both men to her son.

      She zoomed in on a shot of Niko. He hadn’t changed much – older of course, dark eyes wary and his smile just short of real. ‘Milo, is this the man who was in the car?’ She was holding her breath, almost willing him to say yes, to solve one piece of the puzzle at least.

      He leant over, peered at her phone, and shook his head.

      ‘Or this one?’

      Her son squinted at Devril’s picture for longer, frowning, toast crumbs decorating the side of his mouth. ‘I don’t think so. It was dark and I had that floaty feeling but I don’t think it was this man. He had a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes. It was a red one like Dad has …’

      ‘You mean a GAP one?’

      ‘Yeah, and the man had a ring on his hand. I felt it when he touched me.’ Milo yawned and, still leaning against her shoulder, drifted back to sleep.

      Waiting until he was snoring, Holly moved his head gently back onto the pillow and extricated herself from his clutching fingers. She picked up the card from the cabinet and wheeled herself down to the main entrance towards the coffee machine. Even hospital coffee was better than nothing and she needed to wake up. She was missing something here. Every movement hurt her body and tiredness fogged her brain. She took out her phone, then hesitated.

      No way she wanted to speak to the police again so soon, but this mattered. If only to show that she had been telling the truth about not knowing who the child was or how he got there. Although she had to admit it was a bit extreme to think both police officers had doubts about her sanity, hell, she did too at this moment in time.

      ‘DC Marriot.’

      ‘It’s Holly Kendal. Milo just woke up and he says that he saw a man in my car after the crash. He thinks he brought the other boy.’

      ‘My God. Did he recognise him?’ Her voice was sharp, excited.

      ‘He says not but I think he’d be able to give you a description.’ No need to say she had already shown him a picture of Devril Mancini, or they’d be bound to wonder about the connection again. She could still hear her dad yelling at her brother to never trust the fucking police, and after years of that the mistrust was stuck in her brain.

      ‘Good. Look, I’m tied up at the moment but I’ll send a colleague back down to the hospital to chat with Milo, if that’s all right? Does he remember anything else?’

      ‘I don’t think so. He hasn’t said.’

      ‘That’s fine.’

      Holly rang off and sat just inside the doors, watching the busy car park. Ambulances were lined up outside the side entrance, queuing to deliver their patients, and a steady stream of walking wounded tottered into A&E. Every time the doors opened, a blast of icy air hit her face, reminding her it was still winter.

      But the sky outside was a perfect pale washed blue, and the morning sunlight cast a feeble brightness across flickering shadows on the tarmac. A grimy concrete pot of spring flowers stood next to the overflowing rubbish bin. Their green shoots and yellow petals were struggling through the sour earth dotted with cigarette ends, but by some miracle they were still growing.

       Chapter 4

       Dear Mum,

       There is so much shit I need to tell you, but it’s hard to put it into words. My fingers are shaking because it’s really cold in the flat, but I can see you watching me from the wall and that helps a bit.

       I’ve got all your photos up, Mum, and I’ve got this cool list that Dad gave me that has all your favourite things. He doesn’t just write you letters, he talks to you all the time. Are you really there? Perhaps it isn’t him who’s gone mad; perhaps it’s just that the others can’t see you.

       Anyway, I wanted to let you know we’re never going to forget you and we’ve got a plan that will make you happy. Dad says if we do little things in your memory then it will help until we carry out the plan.

       I’m not sure if it does help, because he sometimes cries, or shouts your name and punches the wall. The neighbours yell and bang on their side when he does that. Not on your wall, of course. Yours is beautiful. We painted the whole side of the room yellow like sunshine, and we pinned up loads of pictures, a copy of the list, and some of your clothes. It’s really special and every night we light a candle and Dad says we have to spend a while just thinking about you.

       I kind of like this time of night, because it’s quiet, and I can feel you close when we are near the wall. The smell of beer makes me feel a bit sick, but at least Dad is sleeping too. Sometimes he chokes and throws up, but after the first time, I know what to do. I just clean up and I make sure when he passes out his head is turned to one side because Layla at school said she does that for her mum too.

       Are you really there, Mum? I kind of need to know, but if you can’t tell me don’t worry, I understand. I know you’re looking out for me. Can you keep an eye on Dad too? Just when he goes a bit crazy. I’m worried that he might do something stupid and they’ll take him away. Don’t tell him I said so.

       I love you, Mum

       x

       Chapter 5

       ‘She’s dead!’

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