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

path to the left of the house as Jennifer, clutching a gift of biscuits and chocolates, rang the front door bell. The yellowing net curtains twitched in one of the windows and they stood waiting patiently for the door to open.

After the promising start this morning, Emily was still buoyed up with optimism, even though their plans had stalled at lunchtime. The food at the Fox and Hare had been delicious but Jill hadn't been there so Jennifer had been unable to ask her anything. Someone called Harry, whom Jennifer seemed anxious to avoid, was sitting on a stool by the bar but otherwise the pub was deserted.

Emily was once again whispering to Alex, exhorting him to be on his best behaviour, when Daisy finally appeared. She was a tiny, shrunken woman, shrivelled as if she had been in the bath too long. Wispy, white hair hung wildly round a thin, wizened face. She moved slowly as she stood aside to allow them entrance and her voice was frail and reedy as she greeted them and directed them through to her sitting room.

They sat down on a paisley print sofa in a room stuffed with memories. Photographs cluttered every surface and Emily’s eyes were drawn to them, searching the older, black and white portraits for a face she recognised.

‘Thank you so much for agreeing to see us,’ Jennifer was saying.

‘It’s nice to have visitors and thank you so much for these. It's very kind of you.’ Daisy held up the gifts she was still clasping with gnarled, misshapen fingers. ‘Would you like a cup of tea? I could open the biscuits.’

‘Please don’t go to any trouble. Tea would be lovely but why don’t you let me make it?’ Jennifer said politely. ‘If you could just show me where everything is…’

Daisy nodded and hobbled painfully out of the room with Jennifer following. Emily got her iPad out of her large, brown, leather bag and clicked on Alex’s favourite app, something called Monkey Mayhem. He held out his hands impatiently. ‘Me, Mummy,’ he demanded.

‘Just be careful with it. You’ll need to keep still. Stay sitting down, there’s a good boy.’

She would have liked to wander around the room, taking a closer look at the photographs, but she thought she'd better stay where she was, keeping Alex under strict supervision. There were so many things for him to knock over. In addition to the countless frames, there were ornaments everywhere – vases, figurines, old perfume bottles - all covered in a layer of dust. She could hear Jennifer’s voice clearly, coming from the kitchen, but the older woman’s responses were more mumbled, indistinct. Angela Carr had implied that Daisy was still sharp mentally but Emily’s first impressions were of a woman struggling to cope physically. Her heart went out to her. Poor woman. All alone with just her memories to keep her company and clearly enduring the pain of arthritis.

Daisy shuffled back into the room and sank carefully into a worn armchair. She smiled at Emily. ‘I’m very slow these days - can’t get about like I used to.’ She turned her attention to Alex. ‘What’s your name, young man?’

Alex was too absorbed in his game to hear her and Emily gave him a nudge. ‘This is Alex. Say hello to Mrs Stanhope, Alex.’

In the way of all young children told to do something by their parents in front of a stranger, Alex remained stubbornly silent and Emily’s cheeks reddened slightly. ‘He’s a bit shy,’ she explained apologetically. She changed the subject. ‘You have lots of wonderful photographs. Are they all of your family?’

Daisy nodded. ‘More or less. Some are pictures of my godchildren. I have four, you know.’

At this point, Jennifer appeared carrying a tray. She set it down carefully on the coffee table, nudging a china ballerina aside to make some room, and began efficiently pouring the tea. ‘I know Emily doesn’t take sugar. How about you Daisy?’

‘Just three for me. I’m cutting back!’ She chuckled to herself. ‘Got to think of my figure!’ Her laugh was infectious, a joyous, cackling sound, and the other two women laughed with her. ‘Now I’m sure you are very busy – everyone is busy these days – and Angela mentioned something about one of my photographs, one of the older ones. She said you were interested in it and thought one of the people could be one of your ancestors. Is that right?’

‘Spot on.’ Emily was already fumbling in her bag for the picture and leaned across to show it to Daisy. The old woman’s face creased into a smile as she stared at it for some time. She smelt of peppermints, Emily thought. It was a nice smell – the scent of childhood, journeys in the car.

Daisy looked up at her with sudden intensity, her watery, blue eyes sharpening with interest. ‘This takes me back,’ she said. ‘It must have been some time around nineteen thirty-six or seven because I was only about six years old in that photograph.’

Emily gasped and pointed to an elfin-faced girl, grinning at the camera, hands on her hips, her head tilted at a jaunty angle. ‘That’s you!’ she said.

Jennifer stood and came around to look over her shoulder. ‘My word, Daisy,’ she teased. ‘Looks like you were a right handful.’

Daisy beamed, eyes glowing. ‘I was that all right. Used to tease my brother, Tom, something rotten. That’s him there.’ She indicated a serious looking boy of about ten years with his hair slicked back like a matinee idol. ‘My Ma was always on at me to leave him be. That’s her.’ She pointed at the pretty woman with the upswept hair. ‘And that’s Bert and that’s little Freddy. He must have been about three then.’

‘You had a large family,’ Jennifer commented.

‘We did indeed. There were eight of us children altogether. We’re not all in the photo. I was the third youngest and probably the most trouble.’

‘Can you tell us anything about this man in the photo?’ Emily