The Girl in the Scrapbook

it held a special place in her heart because her mother was raised there. Sadly, those visits became less frequent and I didn’t see her again for twenty years. Then, out of the blue, I had a phone call from her asking if she could come and see me. She arrived in a taxi the next day. I could see straight away that she was ill. Apparently, doctors had given her less than six months to live. She had bone cancer. Poor Iris, she was only sixty-one and her husband Charles had died a few years before. I did feel so sorry for her.’ The brown eyes filled with tears and Emily could feel her own emotions building in her chest as the history unfolded. ‘When she came, she told me something she had never told anyone, not even her husband. The reason she had left Chalkham in 1945 was because she was pregnant. She had a daughter, she told me, whom she loved with all her heart but had to give up for adoption. She had always hoped her daughter may one day come looking for her but that had never happened and now, she knew, it would be too late for her. She decided to write a letter and she asked me to look after it for her, just in case anyone ever came looking. I’ve kept that letter for twenty-six years. I’d completely forgotten about it, to tell you the truth, and then David phoned …told me you were asking about Iris.’

Emily sat completely still, trying to absorb all the details of Iris’ story. There was so much to take in; she felt completely overwhelmed. She realised that David’s mother was speaking again.

‘David, the letter’s in the top drawer of the dressing table. Can you fetch it for me please?’

He passed her a white envelope with the name ‘Elizabeth’ written across it in spidery, black ink. She turned once more to Emily.

‘Maybe Elizabeth is your mother’s name, or grandmother’s?’

‘Not my mother – she was called Grace, Grace Smith. I don’t know about my grandmother.’

‘Well, I think you should have this. Read it and see what the connection between you and Iris is. Believe me, I know from looking at you that there is one. No, don’t open it now!’ she said, as Emily started to tear at the envelope. ‘Later … when you can be private. If it’s good news, then I’d be very pleased if you came back to tell me.’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Emily squeezed the frail hand once more and rose from the bed. She gave Jennifer a shaky smile. ‘I guess we’d better go and see what Alex has been up to.’

‘Thank you so much, Mrs Brewer. I know how much this means to Emily,’ Jennifer said warmly.

‘My dear, you can call me Hannah. I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot more of you. I’m looking forward to …’

‘Mother, you need to rest!’ David interrupted quickly. ‘I’ll pop back and check on you later. No more overdoing things, you hear.’

He ushered the two women from the room and they headed out to Caroline’s studio, where they found Alex happily covered in clay.

‘Made pots!’ he declared, pointing proudly at his efforts.

‘Wow, aren’t you clever! I especially like this one.’ Emily indicated a fat, lopsided bowl, ‘but I think they’re all fantastic.’

‘I’ll fire them for you,’ Caroline beamed at her. ‘He’s been such a good boy and tried really hard. I’m very impressed.’

‘You’re very kind. Thank you so much.’

‘How did your meeting with Mother go?’

‘Very well thank you,’ Emily said politely. She could not say any more; the information was too raw and fresh for her to spill carelessly to another.

Caroline nodded in understanding. ‘I’m glad,’ she said simply. ‘When the pots are ready, I’ll get David to run them over to you but feel free to pop in any time.’

Alex chattered happily all the way home about the sticky, wet clay and how it kept falling off the wheel while Emily gripped the envelope tightly in her right hand, all too conscious of its weight. Memories of holding another letter, the one from her mother, came flooding back. Would this one hold the answers she'd been seeking?

When David dropped them off and drove away, Jennifer took charge. She gave Alex a drink, found a DVD for him to watch and poured two glasses of wine.

‘I think you could use one when you read your letter,’ she said, ‘and it would be rude for me to let you drink alone!’

Emily wandered into the living room where Alex was already engrossed in his film. Molly was there, her face serene, waiting patiently on one of the sofas. She sat down beside her and twisted the envelope between her hands. All she needed to do was to tear it open and read it but, now that moment had arrived, she felt the enormity of it and wished Adam was with her. Molly continued to watch her with her sad, green eyes; it felt right that she was there but still someone was missing. Those eyes were telling her so. Then, suddenly, she knew who it was.

She returned to the kitchen where Jennifer was chopping onions. ‘Jen, I would like you to sit beside me, to read the letter with me.’

‘But it’s private. It was given to you. It’s nothing to do with me,’ Jennifer insisted. ‘Obviously, I’m curious but I think you should read it first.’

‘No. I’m not sure why or how I know but you need to read it with me. We’re in this together, you and I, linked by the spirit of poor Norah. She’s in the living room waiting for us, by the way.’

Without another word, the three of them sat together on a sofa, Emily opened the letter - there were four pages of it - with trembling fingers and they began to read.

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Chapter 24

Iris – March 1991

Iris Miller picked up her best writing pen and stared at