The Forgotten Child. D. E. White

       Chapter 1

      ‘Milo, can you turn your game down, just for a bit please?’

      ‘Can’t hear you, Mum. What?’

      Holly took a deep breath, swallowing the tears, trying not to glance at the text message on her phone. She, of all people, should have known better, but the words seemed to burn into her brain, ‘Milo, please turn it down.’ Better, that sounded calmer, she thought, and he was still so engrossed he would hopefully miss the fact she was upset. His life had been torn apart enough recently.

      In the mirror she could see his little face, his mop of blonde hair, freckles dusting his nose, and the smear of mud across his forehead. The electronic bleeping toned down a notch and she took another long, shaky breath. He glanced up quickly, and grinned at her reflection, before returning to his dragons.

      The traffic was horrendous, and at five o’clock on a filthy wet February night, the darkness had already closed in. In an effort to distract herself Holly moved her phone further into her bag, so she couldn’t see the screen, and turned the radio on. Beyoncé filled the car with ‘If I were a Boy’, and she almost smiled, trying to relax the coils of tension that seemed to be wound like snakes around her torso, squeezing her stomach painfully. It was a favourite song, and Holly determinedly sang along under her breath. She had this under control.

      The car in front braked again, and the long line of red lights strung out into the night like a strand of Christmas decorations. The pain of last Christmas would stay with her forever. Even now she could still hear her own voice, telling him exactly what she thought of men who played away … For months she had ignored that nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right, the fact that he kept jumping on his phone, shouting at her for silly little things around the house.

      Finally she had actually answered his mobile when Beth called. He had been in the shower, thinking she was downstairs getting Milo’s tea, and had left his phone on the pillow. The other girl had put the phone down as soon as Holly identified herself, but she took the opportunity to scroll through his pictures. It was enough.

      Tom had been outraged when she chucked him out of the house, telling her she was crazy and deluded, even suggesting she needed help. Fucking bastard. She would need to fight Tom to have Milo stay with her. So be it, he was the shit who had been unfaithful, although his family later implied if Holly had been a better wife, he wouldn’t have needed to sleep with someone else. Fuck them all.

      The next turning was normally a longer way home, and the roads were narrow, winding through steep woodland towards the coastal town, but anything was better than this motorway hell. She indicated, and neatly extracted herself from the queues. Holly was a good driver, a safe driver, but tonight she was exhausted. Work had been tough recently. It always was, but in the winter months, getting out of bed at 4 a.m. for an early shift, or returning home at 7 a.m. after a night shift, took dedication. It also took epic childcare organisation when you were a single mum.

      Leaving the other cars behind she swung left at the roundabout, avoiding a daredevil motorcyclist, who was taking the bend at high speed, and turned down Mill Road. A couple of other cars and a van were on the roundabout, and maybe a couple more queued behind her. The usual evening traffic. Mill Road would take her all the way to Panfield, and from there to Westbourne and home.

      Holly’s shoulders sagged a little as she relaxed, watching her headlights slash a path through the darkness. It was going to be all right. She glanced in the mirror again, but this time took in her pale, exhausted reflection. Her green eyes were edged with shadows and her long black hair hung heavy around her face.

      ‘Mum, I’m hungry!’

      ‘Look in the blue bag. There was a bar, and some crisps, if you haven’t eaten them already … We’re nearly home.’

      ‘I ate them,’ Milo informed her. ‘I shared them with Becky. Can we stop at McDonald’s?’

      ‘No. We aren’t going that way. Look, sweetie, can you just cope until we get home? There’s a stew I put in before we left. It’s your favourite,’ she said encouragingly. There was another car taking the bend behind her, its headlights in her mirror making her blink. She didn’t really like driving in the dark anymore. Maybe she was getting old.

      ‘Did you put my hoodie in the boot?’

      ‘Yes. It was all muddy. Why?’

      ‘I left some sweets in the pocket. Coach said we were so good he gave us all some Haribo, and I forgot to eat mine. Can I climb over and get them out?’

      ‘No. Sorry, darling, but can you just last out?’

      ‘No. I’m starving. I scored four tries today.’

      ‘I know, and I’m super proud of you …’ The car behind was far too close, right on her tail. She accelerated a bit, but the road glistened wet and dangerous, and she knew there were a few hairpin bends coming up. Her jumper clung to her back, her T-shirt wet with sweat now, the sour, icy sweat of fear. She muttered, cursing the driver.

      ‘What arsehole needs to get back, Mum?’

      ‘Sorry,