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

Susan quickly wiped her face and shoved the soggy tissue in my pocket. ‘It’s just my contact lenses playing up.’ She turned apologetically to Jennifer. ‘I’m sorry but I really need to get their tea. Maybe we can catch up tomorrow. It’s my day off.’

Jennifer glanced quickly at Emily who gave her a nod. ‘Good idea. We’ll be round at about ten o’clock. Do you have a phone number I can contact you on should there be any problems?’

They exchanged numbers and hugged a brief farewell.

‘I am really pleased you came.’ Susan smiled tremulously at Jennifer. ‘I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.’

She turned to Emily and enveloped her in a hug, suddenly fierce in its intensity. ‘And you too, Emily,’ she whispered. ‘We’ll talk more tomorrow.’

◆◆◆

Chapter 26

Susan – January 2017

Much later, when her daughter in law, Lucy, had bustled the children out of the house, after she and George had eaten their supper, Susan sat alone in the living room staring unseeing at the television and chewing her bottom lip. She had said nothing to George about her visitors or Iris’ letter. It was all too new and she felt too raw and exposed, like layers of her, the solid, comfortable, safe layers of her unremarkable history, had been peeled away.

Secrets. Did all families have their secrets, buried and hidden beneath bluff exteriors, then surfacing when they were least expected? Her own secret was safe for now but for how much longer? It was the one thing she had kept from George, her solid, dependable, stubborn husband, for the last almost thirty years of their marriage. Then again, it was not her secret to tell and she had promised she would tell no one.

Her mind drifted back to memories of her mother, the forthright, sometimes brutally honest, straightforward, ‘call a spade a spade’ Iris. Who would have thought that someone like her could have kept such a painful secret for so long? Then again, the same could be said for her. Maybe she was more like Iris than she thought. Physically, they had not looked alike, apart from the green eyes. Her mother had been tall and willowy with dark, tumbling waves whilst she herself had always been short and inclined to chubbiness, like her dad and she had his fair colouring too, pale and freckled. He was bald by the time she knew him but in earlier photographs he had sandy coloured hair, always cut short. Her own hair was dead straight -  how she had envied her mum’s curls - and had an auburn tint which she hated. She had not even minded going grey – at least it wasn't ginger!

Her dad, Charlie Miller, had been a carpenter. He was a loud, gregarious man, quick witted and ready to laugh. People had always made comments about her parents being a mismatched couple but that was because they were always quick to assess their marriage on the basis of looks – a stunningly beautiful, tall woman could surely have done better for herself than a short, plump, bald man. It was not as if he had any wealth to speak of either although he made a decent living from his business. Susan knew better though. Her parents were very well suited and happy together. Quite simply, he made her laugh but there was more to it than that. He was such a gentle, caring man who always put his family before himself.

‘You two are the world to me,’ he would say, enveloping her and Iris in his beefy arms. ‘I’m the luckiest man alive to have you.’

Iris would smile and kiss him tenderly on the cheek. ‘We’re lucky to have each other,’ she would say.

That was the thing looking back – Iris always seemed utterly content with her lot. There never felt like something was missing. Yet she had given birth to another child, a daughter whom she had loved dearly and never forgotten. Why had she kept it a secret? Why had she not told the family who loved her? Susan sighed heavily. She wished now that she had known sooner, that she had been able to meet her sister but maybe, looking back, Iris had been worried that such a revelation would tear apart their tight, family cocoon.

She remembered asking her mum once, when she did not have long to live, if she had any regrets. Iris had not replied at once. Her lips had tightened slightly and there had been a flash of something in her eyes. For just a brief moment, Susan had thought she saw pain there. Then her mother had smiled wryly and patted her hand. ‘I’ve had a good life and I’ve got no complaints. In my youth I was ambitious for myself and I would have said that I regretted being unable to go to university but, if I had, I might never have met your dad, might never have had you, so I’m glad things turned out as they did. You have made me so proud … always.’

Susan had fought back the lump in her throat and put her arm around Iris, now very thin and frail. ‘That’s why you were so keen for me to go to uni ... so that I could have some of the opportunities you missed out on ... and I messed up. That’s something I regret. Dropping out of uni and getting married at nineteen wasn’t my best decision. Look at me now! Here I am, doing two dead end, part time jobs. Not much to be proud of there!’

‘You’re entitled to make mistakes. We all have. At the end of the day though, Susan, you always put your family first. That’s the best thing that can be said of any mum. Nowadays, so many women focus on their careers and have no time for their children. That’s not right either, not in my book.’

‘Bless you, mum, but I’m hardly mother