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

as they joined her. ‘There’s a car there so she might be at home.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Quarter to four.’

Emily shot her an amused glance. ‘Thanks for the time check!’ She took hold of Jennifer’s arm and started to steer her towards the drive. ‘Come on. Let’s do this.’

Assorted plant pots were vying for space in the porchway and the green shoots of spring bulbs were already visible. As they waited by the door, having rung the bell, Jennifer wondered if Susan was a keen gardener. What would she learn about this aunt she never knew she had? The thought was slightly overwhelming. Seconds ticked by and no one came. Already she felt her nerves being squeezed by strangling disappointment. Susan was not there. Shaking her head, she turned away.

‘Hang on a sec.’ Firmly, Emily rang the doorbell once more. ‘Give her a chance. She might have just got out of the shower or something.’

Again, they waited. Already the sky was beginning to darken as dusk approached and Jennifer shivered. She was regretting leaving her coat in the car, unlike Emily and Alex who were both wrapped up warmly.

Then, suddenly, the door burst open and a small, dark-haired boy of about six or seven years of age stood there.

‘Ryan, I’ve told you before not to open the door.’ A small, slim woman in her mid-sixties with short grey hair and green eyes bustled up behind him.  ‘I must remember to put the catch up.’ She turned her attention to the women on her doorstep. ‘Yes? Can I help you?’

Jennifer cleared her throat with a cough. ‘We’re looking for Susan Miller. I don’t know if you ….’ Her voice tailed off.

The woman was eying them suspiciously now. ‘Who are you?’ she asked bluntly. ‘I’m busy and whatever it is you’re selling, I’m not buying.’

‘I’ve reason to believe,’ Jennifer leapt in quickly before the door was shut in their faces, ‘that Susan Miller may be my aunt.’ She had talked it over with Emily and together they had decided that a forthright approach would be best.

The woman shook her head firmly. ‘That’s not possible. I was an only child. I don’t have any nieces or nephews, except by marriage. My husband had three sisters and they all have children.’

So, you are Susan,’ Jennifer said quietly, although she had known it from the moment the woman had opened the door. ‘Look, can we come in? This might take a bit of explaining.’

The woman hesitated, her face creased with anxiety.

‘Please.’ Jennifer persisted.

Susan sighed and took a step back. ‘Alright, but you had best be quick. I need to give my grandchildren their tea before their mum picks them up at six.’

They took their shoes off at the door, watched by an audience of two identical boys with tousled, red hair and an older girl with long, brown plaited hair.

‘My grandchildren.’ Susan introduced them. ‘Sasha’s ten and the twins are Harry and Ryan. They’re seven.’

‘Pleased to meet you all. I'm Emily and this is Jen.’ Emily flashed them a friendly smile as she removed her hat and coat. ‘And this is my son, Alex. He’s only three.’ She pushed him forward but he clung shyly, as usual, to her right leg.

‘Hey Alex, do you want to see our den? It’s really good. We built it in Grandad’s study under his desk yesterday and Gran let us leave it up so we could play in there today. Come on.’ One of the twins seized Alex’s hand and, much to Emily’s surprise, he allowed himself to be led away.

Emily glanced anxiously at Susan. ‘Is that ok? Will he be alright with them?’

Susan stood staring at her, trance-like. She seemed transfixed by Emily’s face and hair.

Emily cleared her throat, feeling slightly uncomfortable under the intense scrutiny. ‘Is that ok?’ she repeated.

‘He’ll be fine.’ Susan snapped out of her reverie and ushered them into a large living room with bold, patterned wallpaper and old fashioned, blue fabric sofas. ‘I know they’re my grandchildren and I’m biased but they’re good kids, even if they wear me out.’

‘Do you look after them every day?’ Jennifer asked politely.

‘Yes, just for a couple of hours after school. I work mornings at the garden centre just down the road and then pick the children up from school at quarter past three. No wonder I feel so old.’ There was a pause. ‘So …?’ she said expectantly.

‘I’m really sorry to turn up out of the blue like this,’ Jennifer began, ‘but just this morning I learnt that Iris Fletcher was my grandmother.’

Susan frowned. ‘My mum’s maiden name was Fletcher but then she married my dad, Charles Miller. What makes you think they are the same person? There must be lots of Iris Fletchers out there.’

Emily reached into her bag and took out the letter. ‘I think perhaps you ought to read this.’ She handed it to Susan, her eyes full of concern. ‘I’m sorry. It may well be a bit of a shock.’

Susan unfolded the pages with trembling fingers. ‘This is my mum’s writing,’ she said, her face crumpling as she looked across at Jennifer. ‘I’d know it anywhere, even after all this time.’ She let the pages fall back onto her lap. ‘I’m not sure I want to read this. Who’s Elizabeth?’

‘She was my mother … and your half-sister,’ Jennifer said quietly, her heart aching for Susan. Perhaps they had been wrong to confront her like this. ‘She was born in 1945 and was given up for adoption when she was two years old.’

Susan was shaking her head in disbelief. ‘That can’t be right. My mum was born in 1930 so that would mean she was only fifteen.’

‘I know.’

Somewhere, in the distance, the occasional high-pitched shrieks of children’s voices filtered through the air.

‘My turn!’

‘Harry, let him have a go!’

‘Moron!’

Emily twitched nervously. ‘Do you mind if I just go and check on Alex?’

Susan did not look up but waved her hand distractedly. ‘Go ahead,’ she murmured.

Jennifer sat perched on the edge of the