The Lost Sister by Kathleen McGurl (i can read book club .TXT) 📕

the table to Lily, who had tears streaming down her face. Lily squeezed her hand, and gave a tiny, forced smile that Emma returned. They had each other, and together they would help Ma come to terms with Ruby’s loss. Despite the troubles Ruby had brought to the family, Emma had always suspected she’d been Ma’s favourite. And now she was lost to them forever.

That night, Emma decided to sleep in the little room she’d shared with Lily the last few times she’d been home. Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to take Ruby’s room. She stood by its door for a moment on her way to bed, looking in. Everything was just as Ruby had left it – her clothes still hung in the wardrobe, a dent in the pillow where her head had lain, a spare nightdress she’d not needed on board tucked under it.

‘It’s hard to believe she’s never coming back, isn’t it?’ Lily said, coming to stand beside her. Lily’s arm crept around Emma’s waist, and Emma leaned against her younger sister, grateful for the support.

‘It’s impossible to believe. Even though I saw the ship go down and heard the cries of all those people in the water, I can’t believe it.’ She bit her lip to stop the tears coming – surely she’d wept enough? ‘How’s Ma been?’ She whispered this last. Ma had gone to bed only a few minutes before.

‘Up and down. One minute saying you’d both have been saved, the next saying she’d lost you both.’

‘You’ve done a good job, supporting her.’ Ma looked older, ill from the stress and worry, Emma had thought.

Lily shrugged. ‘It’s my job, isn’t it? Glad you’re back, Ems. I’d not have managed if I’d lost two sisters.’

In Lily’s room Emma picked up one of the two remaining copies of the photograph of the three sisters and gazed at it – Lily’s sweet shy smile, her own cheerful one, and Ruby’s defiant, chin-up glare at the camera. Such a precious picture – the only one there would ever be of Ruby. She held it against her heart, and mouthed a silent apology to Ruby that she had not been able to save her.

The next day Emma took the photo to the photographic studio where it had been taken. ‘Is it possible to get more prints of this made?’ she asked. Ma and Lily still had theirs, but she wanted a copy for herself.

The photographer checked the number printed on the back of it, and thumbed through his records. ‘I am afraid we no longer have the negative. We only keep them for six months, and this was taken a year ago. But if the three of you return to the studio, we can take another picture at a reduced rate.’ He smiled at her expectantly.

She could not bring herself to tell him that was not possible, but just nodded, thanked him and left the studio quickly.

It was one of the hardest things she had ever done. In some ways, it was even harder than facing Ma and Lily without Ruby. But she had promised herself and promised Martin that she’d do this. And so, two days after returning from New York, Emma took a train to Salisbury and then walked across the town to the address she’d memorised. It was a small Victorian terraced house, with neatly painted window frames and a tiny front garden. A rose climbed up beside the door, its early blooms framing the front room window. It was a well-cared-for house. As Emma approached the front door she felt a pang of regret. This, surely, was the kind of house she and Martin might have had. He’d have cultivated the rose, she’d have snipped blooms from it to put in a vase on their mantelpiece. There’d be pretty lace curtains at the window and the door would be painted a cheery red.

She took a deep breath and rapped on the door. Time to meet the people who might have become her parents-in-law.

The door was answered by a small woman with grey hair pulled into a neat bun. She was wearing a darned but tidy dark grey dress and her eyes were red-rimmed. Emma introduced herself and Mrs Seward invited her inside, offering her a seat in the front room, which did indeed have a small spray of roses in a vase on a side table.

‘Let me fetch you some tea, Miss Higgins, and then we can talk. It will be so nice to hear from someone who knew my Martin. I’m afraid my husband is out at work.’ Mrs Seward left Emma in the front room for a few minutes. Emma looked around. In the middle of the mantelpiece, where she’d have put a vase of roses, there was a framed photograph. Emma stood up to take a closer look – it was Martin, in his steward’s uniform, looking a year or two younger than she remembered him. He was smiling, happy, proud. She picked up the photograph and felt her eyes fill with tears.

Behind her, Martin’s mother was returning with a tea tray. She placed it on a small table and came to stand beside Emma. ‘He was a handsome lad, wasn’t he?’

‘He certainly was,’ Emma replied. She put the photograph back and sat down, waiting while Mrs Seward poured the tea.

‘You worked with him, then?’

‘Yes. On both Olympic and Titanic. I don’t know if he ever mentioned my name when he was home but …’

The older woman nodded. ‘He did, yes. Many times.’ She smiled at Emma. ‘I’d been very much looking forward to meeting you.’

‘And I, you. But I never imagined it’d be like this.’ Emma took a sip of her tea as she battled to control her emotions. ‘He was a hero, at the end, Martin was. He didn’t stop, trying to help people out of their cabins, putting life jackets on children and helping people into the lifeboats.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Including me. He insisted I go.