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

everything. Maybe your search could form part of my book!’ she exclaimed.

Emily frowned slightly. ‘I’m not too sure about that …’

‘No, no,’ Angela interrupted hurriedly. ‘It was just a thought. Of course, I will respect your privacy. Silly me. What was I thinking?’ She was still berating herself under her breath as her visitors departed, promising to keep in touch.

‘Poor Angela. I’m sure she means well,’ Jennifer said as they headed back down the lane.

‘I think I’ll walk Alex down to the play park.’ Emily turned the buggy towards the High Street when they reached the junction. ‘I’ll see you back at the cottage in time for lunch. Hopefully you might have heard something from David by then.’

Jennifer stood and watched Emily’s retreating back, dressed in a navy, woollen coat and jaunty, red scarf, her long hair scrunched into a ponytail, swinging as she walked. She felt a ripple of protectiveness and, for the first time since she had learned of her search, a genuine fear that she could well be hurt. The hunt for Emily’s birth parents could just as easily end in tears; there were no guarantees of a happy ending.

◆◆◆

By lunchtime there had still been no word from David and, despite Jennifer’s best efforts at conversation, the meal was a sombre affair. Both women were all too aware of Molly standing by the window, her shoulders tense, watching, waiting. It was painful to look at her. It felt like being witnesses to the tragedy, reliving it, like watching a film which you know is going to have a sad ending.

Alex was uncharacteristically fractious and Emily felt his forehead anxiously. He was certainly hot but she did not know if that was from temper or fever.

‘I wish I’d remembered to bring my thermometer,’ she said, her face creased with worry. ‘I hope he’s not going down with anything.’

‘The chemist in the village is very good.’ Jennifer spoke soothingly. ‘I’m sure, if necessary, we can get anything you need …and we can always phone the doctor.’

‘Thanks. I do know that. It’s just I worry about him and especially after… well, you know.’

Jennifer nodded. ‘Why don’t you put him down for a nap? Maybe he’s just a bit over tired.’

‘Good idea.’

While Jennifer was clearing the dishes, her phone pinged. It was a brief text from David.

Haven’t forgotten. Waiting to hear back from my sister. Speak soon xx

She'd hoped they would be able to visit his mother that afternoon but that was looking increasingly less likely as time went on. Perhaps, if Alex was a bit under the weather, it was for the best. Her gaze lingered on the two kisses at the end of the message. Were they a promise of things to come? Personally, she always signed off texts to friends, female and male, with kisses but David did not strike her the type to use them lightly, carelessly, as she did. With a snort of self-derision, she put the phone down and opened the dishwasher. Honestly, was she really mooning over a couple of xx like a lovesick teenager? ‘Get a grip, Thompson!’ she muttered under her breath. ‘Surely you’ve got more important things to think about!’

When Emily returned a few moments later, she seemed more relaxed.

‘He’s asleep,’ she said. ‘I expect you were right and he was tired. He does still need an afternoon nap every now and again.’

Jennifer told her about David’s text and asked what she planned to do next if they were not able to visit his mother.

‘I’ve been wondering about visiting the churchyard,’ Emily replied. ‘I know that’s a bit gruesome but, now we know their names, there’s a chance we might find their gravestones if they were buried here.’

Jennifer smiled at her serious face. ‘I don’t think it’s gruesome at all. In fact, I find it fascinating looking at gravestones, thinking about the people who have gone before us. When I went to Paris, I spent a whole morning going around the cemetery there, the Père Lachaise, looking for the graves of Jim Morrison, Chopin, Maria Callas and a few other famous people I’ve now forgotten. The cemetery was really busy. Apparently, it’s a real tourist attraction. I would definitely want to see the graveyard where my ancestors may be buried. Not weird at all.’

‘Ok.’ Emily returned her smile. ‘We’ll see how Alex is when he wakes up.’

Fortunately, he was back to his placid, easy going self when he reappeared with his mum an hour later and allowed himself to be strapped once more into his buggy.

‘You were right. He must have just got himself hot and bothered. You must think I’m a right old worryguts,’ said Emily.

‘Don’t be daft. I’m sure I would have been just the same.’ Having responsibility for a child, Jennifer knew, meant so much worry and heartache. She thought briefly of Jasper Jones, the poor lad who had died on the school trip, and succumbed once again to a fierce pang of regret. Losing a child was the worst thing anyone could endure. Poor Norah. How could she ever have recovered from such a terrible tragedy? Her eyes strayed to Molly, still gazing morosely out of the window. Was her son’s accident the reason she could not rest, why she still drifted through time and space as a troubled spirit? Did she blame herself? What had happened to the family afterwards?

‘If only you could tell us,’ she murmured but the sad figure paid her no heed and, with a heavy heart, she left her to her vigil.

◆◆◆

Once again, they strode along the High Street and turned right down Church Lane. It already felt late although it was barely three o’clock in the afternoon. The clouds had darkened the sky to grey and, with the chill wind, it was now feeling very cold. The church was an imposing, flint construction with a square, early English tower. As they walked towards it, their eyes were drawn to the monument which stood, in the shape of a cross,