The Girl in the Scrapbook by Carolyn Ruffles (reading women TXT) 📕

the field. Stop fretting, Norah.’ They helped to calm her, to dampen her rising terror, as she arrived, breathless and panting, at the entrance to the field. She paused and stood for a moment, eyes scanning the furthermost corner where the men were working. There were children out there too, smaller figures, some dressed in white. She could hear their shouts above the noise of the corn binder. From this distance, she could not tell if one of them was small enough to be Jimmy.

She strode across the stubble. No point calling now. If he was there, he would not hear her above the other noise. ‘Please let him be there!’ she murmured. ‘Please God, let him be safe with his Dad!’

She drew closer, eyes desperately searching for a sign that her son was amongst the throng. She could see Arthur now and the figures became identifiable. She could not see Jimmy.

Arthur’s welcoming smile turned to a look of puzzlement as he looked at his wife’s face, now streaked with tears. ‘What’s up, love? What have you done with the little ‘un?’

Norah clung to his arm for support. ‘He’s gone missing!’ she cried brokenly. ‘Oh Arthur, I’d thought maybe … he’d gone down the field … on his own. You know how he likes to be independent … But he’s not here!’ She finished on a wail, crying openly.

Arthur hugged her to him. ‘Try not to worry. He’ll not have gone far. We’ll soon find him. He’s probably round at Cissy’s or down by the stables. I’ll come and help you look.’

‘But the harvest ...?’ Nothing was allowed to come before harvest, she knew.

‘They’ll manage without me for a few minutes. Try not to fret so, love. If he’s wandered off on his own, someone will have found him and brought him home. He’s probably back there already. Let’s go and look.’

Norah took his arm and together they set off at a brisk pace. ‘Did I tell you about the time I ran off?’ Arthur’s voice was cheerful, comforting. ‘I was about Jimmy’s age. Ma had left the back door open and I wandered out. I didn’t mean to go far, just a bit of exploring. You know what boys are like. Anyway, I was out in the street when I saw this cat. I can still picture it now. It was a great, big ginger cat with a long, bushy tail. I just wanted to stroke it but before I could reach it, it shot off down the street. I followed it … it must have been for some while. Never got close to it. Eventually it disappeared and I thought I’d better go home. That’s when I realised I didn’t know where I was. I started to cry, I remember, and this nice lady found me. I couldn’t tell her where I lived but I told her my name and she managed to find out and take me home. My Ma was beside herself with worry and I got a good hiding from my Da when he came home that night. I bet our Jimmy has done the same – got himself lost.’

Norah said nothing. She was already blaming herself; she should not have left him alone outside; she should not have fallen asleep.

There was no one standing outside the cottage when they reached it. No one standing there, smiling, holding Jimmy’s hand.

‘You wait here. You need to rest. I’ll go and find him.’ Arthur patted her hand but his voice was suddenly serious, its tone urgent.

‘I’ll go and look too,’ Norah said immediately.

‘No. Someone needs to stay here in case someone brings him back. I’ll go around the houses first and maybe anyone who’s not out in the fields harvesting will come and help me.’ He gave her shoulders a quick squeeze and headed down the lane towards the village. As she watched him, struggling to suppress the panic rising inside her, he turned and called back to her. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll find him. I’ll bring him home.’

She could not rest. How could she? Instead she again searched the immediate vicinity of the cottage, always keeping it in sight, and calling Jimmy’s name until her voice was hoarse. She then walked up to Willow Farm, her old home. When the Brooks had bought the farm, they had sold the house separately to a family called the Catchpoles, the same people who had given Jimmy the toy soldiers. Douglas Catchpole had just returned home from work and immediately headed off to join the search in his MG motor car. Ellen, his wife, offered Norah a cup of tea but she refused. She needed to get back, she said.

After that, she was forced to sit and wait - long, agonising minute which stretched into hours. Every time she heard a voice outside, she leapt to her feet ... but it was not him. As the shadows lengthened and the skies darkened, she could not help herself from imagining the worst. Something had happened to him, she knew it; all her nerve endings tingled with the certainty of it.

Still she waited, sitting in the chair, stiff and alert, as night fell. The harvest moon cast a ghostly glow across the fields and she could still hear voices calling for her son, somewhere out there, in the distance. Norah stood, walked slowly outside and stared up at the star-laden sky, looking for a sign that all would be well. Nothing. The stars winked coldly, dispassionately, and, deep down inside the core of her, she felt her hopes unravelling. Then, she sank to her knees, closed her eyes and prayed.

◆◆◆

Chapter 19

Emily – January 2017

Daisy Stanhope lived in a sandy coloured, brick bungalow just off the High Street. In front of it, a small, overgrown garden rambled across a narrow path and the building itself looked sad and worn. The brickwork was flaked and chipped and the wooden window frames creaked of neglect.

Emily parked Alex’s buggy round the