Nobody’s Girl
Abandoned and alone, you'll do anything to survive…A gritty new saga from the bestselling author of Outcast Child.Abandoned on the cold stone steps of an orphanage, only a few hours old and clutching the object which was to give her name, Pearl Button had a hard start to life.Now 16 years old, she's finally managed to escape the cruel confines of the orphanage, and enter the real world. Finding work at a nearby café, Pearl is thrilled to start earning her own money, even if she must contend with sharp-tongued Dolly Dolby.But soon she becomes tangled up in the murky South London underworld in which Dolly's son – the cruel but handsome Kevin – operates. By chance, she sees something she shouldn't, something dangerous, and her life is thrown into jeopardy. Can gentle giant Derek Lewis protect vulnerable Pearl from Kevin – and her own heart?Meanwhile, a local boy is snatched, terrifying this close-knit community, and at the orphanage where Pearl lived out her wretched childhood, the past is coming back to haunt its owner – and the secret she has promised to guard for so many years…
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KITTY NEALE
Nobody’s Girl
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Avon
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in paperback by HarperCollinsPublishers 2007
Copyright © Kitty Neale 2007
Cover design © Debbie Clement 2016
Cover photographs: Getty
Kitty Neale asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library
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HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication
Source ISBN: 9781847563484
Ebook Edition © NOVEMBER 2012 ISBN: 9780007278930
Version: 2016-09-12
For Rita McAneny.
We have worked together, laughed together, shared sadness and tears, my precious friend for over twenty years.
Contents
Copyright
Author’s Note
About the Publisher
The moon was in its first quarter as the man climbed out of his car. A high wind wailed through the skeletal branches of trees, the sound echoing that of the tiny bundle clutched in his arms. He ignored the cries, uncaring, feeling only disgust as he held the bundle away from his body.
His face was grim. He was going to make his daughter pay for almost ruining the family name, and her bastard would pay too. It would cost him dearly, yet worth it to watch her suffer, not once, but twice. My God, he had thought her perfect, his only child, but she had turned out to be a slut.
He reached the end of the lane, his eyes flicking from side to side as he turned onto a small, built-up road. He had chosen well. There were no houses, and with a wartime blackout in force, no streetlights pierced the dense blanket of darkness.
The building loomed, but still he was cautious, looking swiftly over his shoulder before roughly laying the bundle on its concrete steps. The wrapping fell to one side, the infant mewling, but the man was heedless of the cold night air.
At first he had wanted the bastard dead, but then decided it would be too easy for her, the slut’s suffering short. No, he’d bide his time, watch her grieve, and then one day, when the time was right, he’d tell her the truth. And when he did, he’d watch as she suffered all over again.
His smile thin, he swung on his heels now, swiftly walking away.
He was only just out of sight when a door swung open. A woman emerged, running swiftly down the steps and, taking up the baby, she carried it inside.
Battersea, South London, 1956
Dolly Dolby picked up a thick white plate from the stack and scowled. ‘Gertie, get in here!’
Up to the elbows in hot water, Gertrude Wilson sighed and, grabbing a tea towel, she hurriedly dried her hands before leaving the small, cramped washing-up area. She was used to Dolly’s moods and met her ferocious gaze with equilibrium.
‘What do you want now?’
Dolly stiffened with annoyance. She was a woman at odds with her name: there was nothing doll-like in her appearance. Tall, formidable, and big-boned, with a broad flat face above wide shoulders, her only saving grace was long, thick, chestnut-brown hair. However, the only person likely to see it was her husband when she let it down at night. In the kitchen she wore it pulled back tightly and covered with a thick hairnet.
Scowling again, she indicated the remnant of dried egg on the rim of the plate. ‘What do you call this?’
