The Girl in the Scrapbook, Carolyn Ruffles [iphone ebook reader .TXT] 📗

of the year. I have a daughter living in London whom I hardly ever see and a teenage son who barely ever speaks to me and treats his home like a hotel.’

‘Tom is just going through a phase, you’ll see. He’ll grow out of it. He’s a fine lad underneath all that hair. As for your daughter … well, she’s stubborn like her mum ... and proud. Her dad has got a lot to answer for, giving her an ultimatum like that. No wonder she’s been reluctant to come home.’

‘I know but I miss her.’

It had broken her heart when her daughter had left home at just sixteen to live in London with her boyfriend, John, but George had been plain furious.

‘Don’t think you can just come back here for us to pick up the pieces!’ he had bellowed, his cheeks red with rage. ‘If you choose to throw away your future, then you’ll have to deal with it. I want nothing more to do with you.’

‘George, you don’t mean that!’ Susan had exclaimed, fearful of her daughter’s set face.

‘Yes, I do. She needs to know the consequences of this choice she’s making.’

He had slammed out of the door; Susan had cried and pleaded but her daughter had gone anyway, not returning to Corriton until 1991, for Iris’ funeral, although Susan had met up with her infrequently on excursions to London and kept in contact with her throughout, via letter and the odd phone call. Iris had never seen her granddaughter again and had never forgiven George. Susan had tried to act as peacemaker between them but Iris was adamant.

‘It was the worst thing he could have said and he was in the wrong but he still won’t admit it. Effectively, he banished that child from her home and family. That was unforgiveable.’

Now, especially in the light of her recent discovery, Susan could understand her rage. Iris had endured the anguish of giving her own child away; of course, she would be incensed that such a stupid thing as stubborn pride would keep a father from his daughter and a grandmother from her grandchild.

At the time, it had taken a long while for her own marriage to recover. In her anguish, she had been quick to blame and unwilling to forgive. Eventually though, the strain of being perpetually angry proved too much and, she decided, she loved her husband too much to lose him too. Instead, she settled into the role of the go-between and became the glue trying to hold the family together. Over the years, the father/daughter relationship had progressed to an uneasy truce and George had, at last, apologised for his impulsive ultimatum all those years before.

Her thoughts turned back to her visitors, Jennifer, Emily and her adorable, little boy Alex. She had liked Jennifer instantly; she had a dry, forthright way about her that reminded her so much of Iris but she was also clearly warm and empathetic. Her niece – it would take a little getting used to but, if you could choose your family, she could not have chosen better. Of course, it was still early days. Time would tell if she was right.

And what of Emily? She was clearly an anxious mum, judging by the way she fussed around her son, but there had not really been an opportunity to get to know her. That would come tomorrow.

Meanwhile, she knew she would have to phone her daughter and tell her what had happened. She had to tell Grace.

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Chapter 27

Grace- May/June 1987

It was uncomfortably warm behind the bar of The Golden Fleece and Grace’s feet were swollen and throbbing. This was her last shift and, at eight and a half months pregnant, it would be a relief not to have to make the trek across London every day. She would miss the people though, the assorted characters who crossed her path and, drawn to her angelic face and warm nature, told her their life stories. More than that though, she would miss the money. Her wages, until recently, had been all they had to buy food.

Today the bar was quiet and she had time to reflect on the terrible mess her life had become. She had followed John Smith to London, a naïve, young singer chasing her dreams, and lived with him in a tiny bedsit in Dulwich. At first it had seemed like such an adventure. They had busked on the streets and in bars, wherever they could, waiting for their big break. ‘Unusual’ and ‘quirky’ was how they were described. John wrote haunting melodies which suited her husky voice and they received good press but they were not commercial enough to get a record deal. Their type of music was branded as a bit outdated in an era of pulsing, electronic pop and rejection after rejection followed.

It was hard to stay positive in the face of constant disappointment and their relationship had certainly suffered. In the early days, they had been so close, so in tune with each other; it had seemed the right thing to get married, on their own, no friends or family. They needed no one else. Then John had hooked up with some musicians living in a squat on the Heygate estate.  Grace was worried by this turn of events and told him so.

‘They’re bad news, babe. We’d be better off staying on our own.’

John refused to listen and, suddenly, they had moved into the squat where drugs were readily available and privacy was non-existent. There were two other men there who always seemed to be high on something and the stench of weed, vomit and smoke clung like a fug. She had hated it - the squalor, the noise, the smell but, above all, the lack of her own, personal space. They slept on a mattress with only a blanket hanging from the ceiling separating them from the four other men living in the squat. When John wanted sex, he made no