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

sofa, stiff with discomfort. There were no easy words to smooth the way forward; she waited and said nothing. A marble clock ticked ponderously on the mantelpiece above the fireplace; traffic hummed on the nearby A47. Susan stared with distrust at the pieces of paper in front of her. They were alien to her life, bringing a message from the past that she may not want to hear.

‘Why have you come here?’ She looked up, suddenly angry. ‘Telling me lies about my mum!’

Jennifer shook her head sadly. ‘They’re not lies. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. You don’t have to read the letter.’

Susan snorted, her nostrils flaring. ‘But that’s the problem!’ she snapped. ‘I do have to read it. I have no choice.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Can you give me a moment?’

‘Of course.’ Jennifer left the room without looking back.

◆◆◆

She followed the voices and found the children and Emily all squashed under a large mahogany desk covered in sheets.

‘That looks like fun,’ she smiled as she peered round a pink cotton wall.

‘Do you want to come in?’ the girl, Sasha, asked excitedly. ‘There’s room!’

‘Tell you what…I’ll just sit in this lovely annex here,’ she indicated another space formed from sheets draped over sturdy mahogany chairs with bean bags on the floor. ‘This looks very comfy.’

‘It’s our bedroom,’ one of the twins informed her,’ but you can sit there if you like.’

With as much dignity as she could muster, Jennifer sank down gingerly on a superman beanbag and the children disappeared back into their den. She closed her eyes, letting their chatter wash over her, wondering how the woman in the other room was faring. It was bound to be a shock. How would any woman feel upon discovering that her mother had lied to her, albeit by omission, all her life? Her mind drifted back to her own childhood; she remembered the moment she learned that her mum had been adopted as a young child. They had been reading a book together at bedtime about a fairy called Twinkle who grew up to be a star. It was one of her favourites. In the story, Twinkle’s parents had died when she was a baby and she had been adopted by a witch who treated her cruelly.

‘What’s adopted?’ she could hear her six-year-old voice asking.

Her mum had not answered straight away and she had been distracted by the story, turning the page to find out what happened to Twinkle. Luckily, the unfortunate fairy had been rescued by a fairy godmother who helped her become the brightest fairy in the land, so bright that she became a star. She remembered looking out of the window with her mum then, staring out at the sparkling canvas, trying to decide which was the brightest star, which one was Twinkle.

‘What does adopted mean?’ she asked again. She had searched Elizabeth’s face, looking for answers, wondering at the pain she saw momentarily in hooded eyes.

‘It means you live with a mummy and daddy who are not your real mummy and daddy.’

‘Why would you do that?’

Elizabeth had hugged her then, one of those rare moments when she had felt truly loved. ‘Sometimes your real mummy can’t look after you anymore. That happened to me when I was very small. My daddy had died before I was born and my mummy had to find another home for me. As soon as I was old enough to understand, probably about your age, Gramps and Grandma sat me down and told me that they had adopted me.’

‘But what happened to your real mummy?’

‘I don’t know.’ Her tone was suddenly dismissive.

‘But wasn’t she really sad?’ the young Jennifer had persisted.

‘I don’t know. Enough of the questions!’ She had swept her up into her arms and carried her to the bed. ‘It all turned out for the best, I expect. Night night.’ A quick kiss on her cheek, the light was turned off, the lingering floral scent of Elizabeth’s perfume and lots of unanswered questions tumbling through a child’s brain.

Those questions surfaced regularly over the next few years but her mum’s responses were flimsy, incomplete and increasingly impatient.

‘I don’t want to talk about it anymore.’ That had been the last time. She knew her mum was fragile; she did not want to upset her.

The air shifted and Jennifer opened her eyes. Susan was standing by the door, still gripping the pages of the letter in her right hand, silent tears threading their way down pale cheeks. Jennifer struggled to her feet and crossed the room, folding the other woman in her embrace. Silently, still clinging to each other, they walked back to the sitting room.

‘I’m so sorry …’ Jennifer began.

‘No!’ Susan raised her hand abruptly. ‘Don’t be sorry. You did the right thing. I needed to know. I just wish I knew sooner; I wish she’d told me. I feel so sad for her. I can’t imagine what that must have been like, losing your child like that. She must have been completely desperate.’

‘I know.’ Jennifer nodded sympathetically. ‘It’s a tragic story.’

‘And was she happy? Elizabeth? What happened to her? Is she still alive?’

Jennifer took a deep breath and skimmed through the pages of Elizabeth’s life, recounting all the happier moments and leaving out many of the low points, the disappointments, the agony of her final days.

‘So, the two of them never saw each other again. That’s so terribly sad!’ Susan croaked through her tears, her voice muffled by the tissue clamped to her face. ‘And I never got to meet my half-sister.’

‘I should have brought a picture of her. I didn’t think.’

Susan nodded. ‘I’d love to see a photo of her.’ She looked across at Jennifer, studying her face. ‘This means you are my niece. I have a whole family I knew nothing about.’

‘Just me, I’m afraid. I was an only child and I’ve never married.’ She paused as the two boys galloped into the room, followed at a short distance by Sasha, Emily and Alex.

‘I’m hungry, Grandma. What’s