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

cool her face and neck, letting the velvet night caress and soothe her, her eyes all the while fixed on that one tiny star. Her hand, almost of its own volition, crept upwards and reached, stretching out towards it like a lightning rod, waiting for the fizzle of a connection. If she willed it hard enough, she would feel it. She stood like that for some time until the hairs on her arm were prickling with the chill.

How she wished she could believe it! But some small part of her, a stubborn kernel of doubt, held her back and now the moment was lost. She pulled back her arm and scanned the sky once more but, however hard she looked, that star was no longer calling out to her. It had been absorbed by the others and she could not distinguish it.

Her shoulders slumped; she shut the window and turned away, still feeling unbearably restless. There was no point returning to bed where she would only disturb her husband, sleeping blessedly soundly after a long day at work. Instead she padded through to the sink, poured herself a glass of water and fetched her knitting. She had been making a matinee jacket for the baby and this was a chance to do a bit more. Settling herself in the chair, she picked up where she had left off, letting the rhythmic click of the needles fill her consciousness.

Her knitting had grown by two inches when she set it aside, rubbed her eyes and stretched her back. She just did not feel comfortable in the chair. Listlessly, she began to heave herself upright when a sudden pain clutched her stomach. It clawed and pinched for a few seconds and then eased off. She had experienced similar, mild contractions at odd times over the past week but she had ignored them. Her baby was not due for another five weeks at least.

‘Be patient, little one,’ she murmured, rubbing her bump. ‘It’s not time yet.’

Over the next half hour, she suffered four more, increasingly intense contractions and she could deny it no longer. The baby was coming early. She shook Arthur’s arm urgently.

‘Arthur, wake up. You need to fetch Dr Darkins. I’m having contractions and …. oh!’ She gasped as another wave of pain hit her.

Arthur sat up, eyes wide in shock. ‘But it’s too soon. The doctor said another five weeks.’

‘Tell that to Iris,’ Norah replied wryly. ‘I think you’d better hurry.’

He shot out of bed and began dressing, wildly grabbing trousers, socks and a shirt. ‘Will you be alright on your own? I’ll be as quick as I can.’

‘Yes. Hurry!’ Norah sat down on the bed as he sped out of the door. Alone once again, she nestled back into the pillows and waited.

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Chapter 21

Jennifer – January 2017

Jennifer awoke the next morning with an eager sense of anticipation. She had immersed herself entirely in Emily’s quest and could not wait for the next chapter to unfold. Her feelings also had something to do with David Brewer and the clear intention in his brown eyes whenever he had looked her way. It was ridiculous at her age to indulge in such giddiness, she told herself, especially as, just a few short weeks ago, she had found his domineering personality so irritating. She had to admit, though, that she'd been grumpy about his lack of attention since they'd last been out together. Now she knew that was because of his mother’s illness, she felt much happier. He could have sent her a text or phoned her to explain the situation but she was prepared to overlook that. After all, one date hardly constituted a relationship. It also didn't explain what he was doing with Pandora Pardew two days earlier but, she rationalised, that could have been for any number of reasons. He'd promised to call this morning once he had spoken to his mother and she was allowing herself to look forward to it.

Her thoughts turned once more to Emily and her determination to track down her real family. It reminded her of the television programme, Long Lost Family. Previously she had watched and dismissed it as sentimental nonsense when people described how, all their lives, they had felt like a part of them was missing without a particular family member. Jennifer had loved her mother but, when she had died, her relationship with her father was one of duty and responsibility. Yes, she had loved him because that was what was expected but now she questioned the depth of that love. Certainly, it was nothing like Emily described when talking about her adoptive parents and her desperation to find her birth parents.  After her mother’s death, her father had retreated even more into a cocoon of disapproval as far as she was concerned. She hadn't minded. It had made her focus entirely on her career and that had been immensely rewarding. She'd had a good life …except now she couldn't help but wonder if perhaps something was missing. Perhaps she was a homemaker after all. The cool, analytical part of her brain pondered the question. She loved nurturing others, taking care of them; that was why she had decided to go into the teaching profession in the first place and now why she had chosen to create space in her home for paying guests. Was her whole career path a substitute, an attempt to compensate for the lack of a real family?

She thought about her grandparents, people she remembered more from photographs than real memories of times spent with them. Her maternal grandfather was in the army and she had been terrified of him. He showed her his war medals and told her in gruesome detail how he had carried a friend whose leg had been blown clean off to safety. She remembered her grandmother, a small, timid woman, commenting that such a young girl did not need to know such things.

‘Nonsense,’ he had bellowed. ‘Life is