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

each other with a degree of wariness and trepidation. Jennifer reached into the large brown, leather bag she was carrying and pulled out her photograph album. ‘I’ve brought some photos of my mum, Elizabeth,’ she said, sliding the book across the table. ‘I thought you might like to see them.’

Susan turned the pages with trembling fingers. ‘Oh,’ she sighed. ‘Oh, my word, she looks just like Iris. Wait a second. I have some pictures too.’ She crossed the kitchen and picked up a pile of old Truprint envelopes. ‘I keep meaning to put these in an album but I’ve never got around to it.’

She handed the pile to Jennifer and she and Emily pored over them while Susan looked at the album.

‘There’s certainly an unmistakeable resemblance between them and me too,’ Susan murmured. ‘Look at this.’ She pointed to a photo of a teenage Elizabeth grimacing at the camera. ‘I have a picture of me at a similar age wearing just that look! Oh, I wish I could have known her! Tell me,’ she turned to Jennifer, ‘What was she like?’

Jennifer smiled warmly. ‘She was a lovely mum,’ she said simply. ‘She used to stick up for me when my dad was angry and then she could be quite feisty. Her parents were incredibly strict and she was quite rebellious as a teenager, that was how she ended up marrying my dad and having me when she was just sixteen. Sadly, though, my dad was quite overbearing and never really trusted her. She was very beautiful and always drew men’s eyes when she walked into a room. They used to argue about it. He would accuse her of flirting when she had done no such thing. I have to say she did have quite a sad life and then she died of cancer when she was only thirty-eight.’

‘That must have been awful for you.’ Compassion shone in Susan’s eyes. ‘What did you do?’

Jennifer shrugged. ‘Threw myself into work, became an accountant and then retrained as a teacher. Eventually, I ended up as a headteacher in Norfolk, believe it or not, and now I’m retired and running a bed and breakfast cottage in Great Chalkham in Suffolk. That’s how I met Emily.’

‘Oh,’ Susan looked surprised, ‘so you’re not related? I thought …’ Her voice tailed off.

‘No,’ Emily chimed in. ‘I booked to stay in Jen’s cottage because I recognised it in a photograph I was given so I went to Great Chalkham to find some answers and we’ve ended up here.’

‘Oh,’ Susan said again. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’ She gave Emily a searching look.

‘Sorry. I guess I need to start at the beginning. That might help!’ Emily reached for her own capacious, cherry red bag and pulled out Norah’s album, the box containing the locket and the letter from her real mother. ‘My parents died in a car accident in 2007. That’s when I discovered they had adopted me at birth; they had never told me. The solicitor passed on these which had been left with me by my real mum.’ She looked up. ‘Are you alright, Susan?’

Susan’s face was chalk white and she was staring at the brown, leather album initialled N.D.

‘This,’ she said, reaching forward to stroke the soft cover, ‘and this.’ She indicated the jewellery box. Slowly shaking her head, she met Emily’s eyes. ‘I never thought I would see them again. My grandfather gave them to my mum, Iris, and she gave them to me when I was just a small child. I remember the moment so clearly. It was when I first saw the woman, dressed in old fashioned, black clothes, sitting at the foot of my bed. I was a little bit frightened but mum explained that it was just my grandma, Norah, watching over me. I couldn’t understand that because this woman was young and grandparents, I knew, were older so mum told me that Norah had died after giving birth to her. She said that Norah had made a promise that she would always look after her daughter and that, now I was born, she would watch over me too. Then she showed me the album and the locket. The initials stand for Norah Dunn – that was her maiden name.’

Emily stared at her, open-mouthed. ‘Molly,’ she breathed and then, ‘I can see her too –  I have done since I was little but I never knew who she was. I thought she was a figment of my imagination … and then I was given the album and I realised she was a real person but, until now,  I didn’t know what the initials stood for. That’s why I always called her Molly - I still do – because I never knew her name.’

‘Oh, my goodness!’ Susan’s knuckles were white as she gripped the album. ‘That means …’ Her voice tailed off and she continued to stare at Emily, drinking in every detail of her face.

‘What does it mean?’ Emily asked. ‘How come the album ended up with me?’

Susan took a deep breath. ‘That’s a secret I swore I would never tell another living soul. It’s not my secret to tell.’ She glanced at the kitchen clock. ‘Hopefully, you won’t have to wait much longer for the answer to your question.’

‘What do you mean?’

Susan shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Emily but …’

At that moment, there was the rattle of keys in the door. Jennifer and Emily looked expectantly at Susan but she remained sitting at the table, her eyes fixed on the kitchen door.

‘Mum?’ The voice calling was husky with emotion.

‘We’re in the kitchen,’ Susan called back.

The door burst open and a woman stood framed in the opening. The first thing Emily noticed was her hair - long, wavy and dyed purple. The next was her multi-coloured dress, leggings and black biker boots. Finally, she zoned in on her eyes, green like hers, searching her out across the room and that was when she knew. She was half rising from her chair