The Girl in the Scrapbook Carolyn Ruffles (read an ebook week txt) 📖

the vehicle as the full extent of the tragedy was divulged. Both her parents had been killed in a car accident which had occurred shortly after Emily had left home, probably on their return journey from having delivered her to the local station. The officers would drive her to the hospital morgue where, if she felt able, she would identify the bodies. They were very sorry for her loss.

The screaming in her head went on and on but Emily sat in silence, ashen-faced. Her first conscious feelings were of guilt. It was her fault. The accident would not have happened had they not driven her to the station. What was worse though was the fact that she had made no secret of her boredom during that last final week she had spent with them. She had sat for most of the time in her room, supposedly studying but actually spending a significant amount of time on social media, bemoaning the fact that she had let her parents talk her into spending the week at home. They had made such a fuss of her and she had acted like a spoilt child. When they hugged her goodbye, her only thoughts were for herself – relief that she was going away and embarrassment at their displays of affection in public.

She shook her head. It could not be true; this was not happening. It was a nightmare- a Kafkaesque imagining conjured up by her own insecurities. She began to shiver uncontrollably and the female police officer sent her male colleague after some sugary coffee. ‘It’s the shock,’ she said. Her tone was sympathetic and grated on Emily’s nerves like a knife scraping across a plate. Everything about this was just wrong. She should not be here, not in this car, not being told to drink coffee, which she detested, not listening to this, not while people were rushing past, on their phones, racing to catch the next train, going about their normal business. She should not be sitting there whilst her boyfriend of just a few weeks looked on with pitiful eyes, unsure of his role in this unfolding drama. She needed to get out, escape, go back to the way things were and she reached desperately for the door.

‘NO!’ she heard someone shout over and over. It was some time before she realised the voice was hers.

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Chapter 2

Norah -June 1st 1922

It had been the best birthday ever! Norah stared out of the window at the fields of wheat, lush and green, as she reflected on the day’s events so far.

Firstly, she had received her present - her very own box brownie camera and a beautiful scrapbook in which to stick all her photographs. Her friends would be so jealous when she told them at school on Monday.

Then, this year, it had just so happened that her twelfth birthday had coincided with the Great Chalkham horse and pony show. Rusty, her beautiful bay pony, had seemed to know that today was a special occasion and had not put a foot wrong. Daddy had taken lots of photographs of them in action and then of them both resplendent wearing four red rosettes for their four wins- every class they had entered. Mummy and Daddy had been so proud of her. Lots of people had praised her riding skills and even Arthur, the new stable lad who seemed a lot more impressed by the horses than their riders, had told her she had good hands.

Now she had changed out of her riding breeches and boots into her best cotton frock embroidered with green ribbon which Mummy said matched the unusual colour of her eyes and was waiting impatiently for her parents to join her for her birthday tea. She had already been to the kitchen to see what delights Mrs Morris the cook was preparing but had been immediately shooed out of the way.

‘Out you go this instant!’ Mrs Morris had exclaimed. ‘You’re not to see the cake until the candles are lit.’ Then her face had softened and she had smiled. ‘My, you do look lovely, dearie. Quite the young lady. You are growing up so fast.’

Norah had to admit that she was pleased with her appearance in the new dress. It suited her dark auburn hair, brushed and glowing in long tresses down her back, as well as her eyes. She had twirled in front of the mirror and admired the way it fitted her slim, boyish frame. She had hoped desperately that she would start developing breasts by her twelfth birthday, like her friend Sybil who had a pair that were the envy of all the young girls in the village, but so far they did not appear to be forthcoming. Thrusting her chest out at the mirror made no difference and she resolved to put that minor disappointment aside. She was looking her best and that was what mattered.

‘Hello, young lady. What have you done with my daughter, scruffy, little Nolly?’ She turned to see her father, tall and handsome in his dark suit, striding towards her, wearing a broad grin. ‘Oh, my goodness!’ He feigned surprise. ‘It is Nolly … but she’s all grown up! You look lovely, darling.’ He clasped her in a brief hug and then spun her around. ‘Now let’s have a proper look at you. Gorgeous- just like your mother.’

‘Where is Mummy? I’m starving!’

Her father’s face clouded for an instant. ‘I’m sorry darling but Mummy isn’t feeling too well. All that excitement at the show has taken it out of her. She’s in bed resting.’

‘What again?’ Norah frowned. Her mother had been really quite poorly for the last few months and had taken to her bed on a number of occasions.  ‘But it’s my birthday!’

‘I know darling and she’s very sorry but she’s just not up to it. She wants me to take lots of pictures of you with your camera and said to be sure to go up and see