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

They had both died within three months of each other when she was still small, maybe six or seven, and all she had felt was a sense of relief. Her other grandparents, her father’s parents, were also strict, like Victorian school teachers. They were fiercely religious and preached hell and damnation after every small sin she had committed. They insisted the whole family went to church every Sunday morning and that Jennifer should also attend Sunday School in the afternoon. She remembered listening to sermons telling her that the Lord God was a loving God and wondering why her grandparents never preached this to her. Instead they held God over her as an instrument of retribution and punishment. No wonder she herself had grown up an atheist. Her grandfather had died when she was about ten and her grandmother had lived another six bitter years before she too passed on. Jennifer had shed no tears for them.

Emily’s story had reawakened old, long suppressed emotions, those feelings she had as a child when she spent time with her friends’ families, when she saw how they laughed, joked and even argued together. There was warmth there, a security blanket of love and support, which contrasted starkly with the cold, distant veneer of politeness which ruled her own home. There were glimpses of it from her mother who always kissed her goodnight and briefly comforted her when she cried until her father ordered her to ‘stop mollycoddling the child’; but then her mother had died and even those small comforts disappeared. There had been love in her life - friends, lovers, people with whom she shared parts of herself – but she had never actually been a part of a real family unit and all which that entailed. Still, it had always been that way and she needed to get on with it. Too late now to mourn the fact that she was childless.

A glance at her alarm clock told her it was five minutes past seven, fifteen minutes since the ringing had woken her. Time to get up and prepare breakfast. Emily had requested an eight o’clock start but Jennifer also wanted to get some cleaning done while the cottage was quiet.

She was downstairs unloading the dishwasher when her mobile phone rang. The caller ID told her it was Angela Carr.

‘Morning Angela. How are you?’

‘Very well thank you. Sorry to disturb you so early but last night I was looking through the press cuttings people had given me about events in Chalkham and I came across something which Emily may well want to see.’ Angela’s voice was slightly breathless. ‘Can you still come around as we agreed this morning?’

‘I’m sure we can. I’ll have to check first with Emily and get back to you if there’s a problem. What have you found?’

‘I think you need to read it, see it for yourselves,’ Angela said mysteriously, clearly relishing her own involvement. ‘I do hope you can come this morning as I have a dentist appointment this afternoon and then I’m visiting my sister in Norwich for a few days.’

‘Ok, we’ll do our best.’

Jennifer ended the call and was speculating what kind of news the clipping might contain when Emily and Alex appeared.

‘Morning Jen. Mm, are you making pancakes? Fab. We love pancakes, don’t we Alex?’

Jennifer frowned slightly at the abbreviation of her name. Emily had obviously picked it up from David. She decided to let it go – what was the harm, after all? ‘That’s good. Coming right up.’ She then told her about Angela’s phone call.

Emily glowed. ‘Oh, how exciting! I can’t believe how well things are going. Definitely I’d like to see the news cutting this morning. We can go by ourselves if you’re busy.’

‘No chance. I want to see it too, if you don’t mind.’

‘Course not. It’s great to have you along, like a big sister looking after me.’ Emily picked up plates to carry through to the dining room. ‘Come on, Alex. Let’s go and sit down for breakfast.’

Jennifer smiled after her. A big sister. She did feel a bit like that where Emily was concerned. Just several years too old, she thought ruefully.

◆◆◆

It was another cold, bright day, with clouds scudding swiftly across a blue sky so they wrapped up warmly and walked to Angela’s house. She was waiting for them, excitement, tinged with something else, written on her face.

‘Come in, come in, my dears. Now can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?’ Her effusiveness was even more pronounced than when she had welcomed them yesterday.

‘Nothing for me, thank you,’ Emily said as she unravelled Alex from his outer layers. ‘Jen said you'd found something. You’re so kind to take all this trouble.’

‘Oh, no trouble at all,’ Angela declared. ‘Let’s get you sitting down then and I’ll show you what I discovered yesterday. Lily Baker had kept press cuttings which she found when her grandmother died. Do you know Lily? Lovely girl. Well, I say girl. I suppose she’s got to be in her fifties.’ She paused briefly, contemplating the accuracy of her information and then nodded. ‘Yes, at least fifty. Anyway, her grandmother, who was called Doris Allen, made a point of keeping anything about Great Chalkham when it appeared in the newspapers. I had a proper look through them for the first time yesterday evening. Fascinating, they were. Did you know that the Queen herself visited the village in 1978? No? I’ve met the Queen. My husband and I – sadly he’s no longer with us – were invited to a garden party at Buckingham Palace in 2010. It was wonderful. The Queen was so gracious, such an incredible woman.’ There was another brief pause while Angela beamed at her guests, affording them the opportunity to reflect upon the importance of such a meeting. ‘Of course, while my husband was alive, I met all sorts of amazing people.’ She lowered her tone confidentially. ‘He worked for the