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

on a blanket sharing a picnic. There was something about those relaxed family group shots that reawakened an old, long forgotten ache in Jennifer. She would have loved a large family like this, lots of siblings to play with, argue with, tease and grow old with. This was the kind of family to which she would have liked to have belonged.

She passed them in turn to Emily who carefully perused each one, showing it also to Alex before setting it aside. ‘What a lovely family!’ she sighed. ‘They look so happy together.’

Some of the photos also contained other people. There was an older couple, possibly grandparents and also various other adults and children, good humouredly smiling at the photographer. One of these made Jennifer pause.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said, passing it to Emily, ‘but the dark-haired man on the right looks like an older version of the man in your album.’

Emily stared at it intently for at least ten seconds before exhaling in a rush. She looked up at Jennifer, eyes bright with recognition. ‘I can’t believe it. It is him. Let’s look at the others. There may be one of Norah or their little boy.’

Excitedly, they scanned the rest of the photographs but the man did not reappear and there were none of Norah herself. They returned to the first picture and looked again. In this, the father was missing and only four of the children framed there belonged to the family group. Another child, a little girl with dark curls was sitting on the grass. One of her shoes had been discarded and it looked as if she was trying to pull of the other one, her face screwed up in a grimace.

‘I wonder who she is,’ Emily said, pointing at her. ‘Her curly hair looks like Norah’s husband’s. She could be their daughter.’

Jennifer nodded. ‘Perhaps the son is actually taking the photo, or maybe Norah is.’ She reached across and squeezed Emily’s hand. ‘This is so exciting. It’s a real lead.’

At that moment, Angela poked her head around the door. ‘How are you getting on? Are you ready for another cup of tea? Oh, I forgot the biscuits! I’ll just go and fetch some …’

‘Actually,’ Emily interrupted, ‘could you just take a look at this photograph for me? One of the people in it is the same as a man in an album I had handed down to me. I’ve never been able to trace him.’

Angela took a pair of wire rimmed glasses out of her pocket and peered at the picture. ‘Oh, how fascinating. Golly, that’s an old photo. Now I wrote the surname of the person who gave them to me on each envelope.’ She picked it up. ‘Ah, Stanhope,’ she read. ‘That’ll be Daisy Stanhope. She’s in her late eighties now but still as sharp as a tack. These are her photographs. I’m planning to make copies of them all and then put the most interesting on display in the village hall,’ she explained. ‘I’m also hoping to write a book so I’m currently making notes on all the things I’ve been given and then I’m going to interview the people who gave them to me. She’s top of my list but I just haven’t got around to it.’

‘Does she still live in the village?’ Jennifer asked.

‘Yes, she does. All on her own. Looks after herself. Amazing woman. Did you want to ask her about the photo?’

‘That would be brilliant.’

Angela beamed at them. ‘Oh, I’m so pleased that you’ve found something useful. Do you think this man could be one of your ancestors? How thrilling! I feel just like one of those people on Who do you think you are? I love that programme. Well, you carry on looking through the photos. I’ve got a whole stack of newspaper clippings about the village too, if you’re interested. Is this the period you’re particularly interested in? I could have a look through them if you like. I’m afraid I haven’t managed to sort them yet and they’re all in a bit of a jumble.’

‘That would be great. Would it be possible for us to come back, maybe tomorrow, and have a look at them then, and the rest of the photos? I think we’re reaching the limit of Alex’s patience,’ Emily said, smiling ruefully at the child squirming on her lap. ‘And, in the meantime, we’ll pay a visit to Daisy Stanhope. Perhaps we could phone her first, if you have her number?’

‘I’ll give her a ring if you like,’ Angela replied. ‘Might be better if I ring her first, you know, to explain. Daisy is rather suspicious of strangers now, ever since that wicked man … oh, what was his name … Edward something …horrible chap … smooth as you like … anyway, he tried to con her out of a fortune to repair her roof. Told her she needed to pay up front, so he could buy the materials and so on. Almost got away with it too. She had the cheque written waiting for him to turn up when I just happened to call round. Thank goodness I did! I soon sent him packing with a flea in his ear. Some people think nothing of taking advantage of older folk. That nice builder, David Brewer, repaired her roof at a fraction of the cost.’

‘That would be very kind,’ Emily said politely, responding to Angela’s original statement. ‘May we take this photo with us do you think? So, we can show her.’

‘I’m sure that will be fine. I’ll ask her when I ring. If she’s agreeable, shall I suggest half two this afternoon?’ Angela headed towards the door.

‘Great. Thank you.’ Emily gave up the struggle of keeping Alex still and let him, slide to the floor, still holding his hand.

As they packed away the photographs back into the folder, having made a note of the names on the three envelopes still to look at, they could hear Angela’s voice bellowing down the phone.