Vera sighs. “She was a young girl who worked here a very long time ago, Seraphine. I hardly remember what she was like. Why do you want to know?”
“She was here on the day Danny and I were born?”
“She helped your mother deliver you, yes. Ruth was ridiculously resistant to the idea of calling a midwife or doctor. It was part of her illness.”
“I’m sorry, Gran, to bring up bad memories. But—what happened afterward? After Mum died? Did Laura leave straightaway? Edwin doesn’t think he ever saw her again.”
She frowns at me. “Why have you been discussing her with Edwin?”
“Oh, just—I found a photo. In Dad’s desk. It made me wonder.”
“What photo?”
I jump up and fetch it from the kitchen. She puts her reading glasses on and stares at it for a long time.
“I’ve never seen this before,” she says eventually.
“Edwin thinks he remembers it being taken by Laura. But I don’t understand why Mum looks so calm, when it must have been just hours before she...” I shake my head. “And why there’s only one of us in the picture. Why not both of us? I don’t understand.”
The photo trembles in Vera’s hand, and she drops it on the table. I snatch it up again, fearful of it being damaged by a stray drop of tea, reminding myself that I must scan it tonight, save it safely in digital format.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
“Yes, darling. It’s just a shock, to see that after all this time. It must have been taken not long before I arrived, and everything happened. It’s—it’s actually quite nice to see a shot of them looking so happy together.”
“So what was Mum like when you got here? What happened?”
She shakes her head slowly. “She was—confused. Unwell.” She gives me an anguished look. “I’m sorry, Seraphine. I didn’t know she was going to jump until it was too late. I should have saved her.”
I nod, pressing my lips together. The corner of the photo is damp under my thumb, and I switch to holding it by the edges. My mother’s face seems more blurry than ever.
“Well, why do you think they took this without both of us being in it?”
She shakes her head slowly, her forehead creased. “I can’t think. Perhaps one of you was asleep and they didn’t want to disturb you?”
“Can you tell which of us it is?” I hold the picture closer to her, but she keeps her hands folded on her lap.
“No. I’m not sure. You were bigger than Danny, of course. But I can’t tell from that—it could be either one of you.”
“Maybe it’s Danny, then. It looks small to me.”
“Maybe.”
“I tried to get in touch with Laura,” I say, and then leap to my feet again as Vera starts to cough. She pushes her chair backward and half stands, bent over the table, catching her breath.
“Are you all right, Gran?”
She waves a hand at me. “Fine.”
“I’ll get you some water.”
As I wait for the kitchen tap to run cold, I slide the photo between two pages of a heavy old recipe book to keep it flat. A dragonfly batters against the window, but when I push the pane open it just skitters higher to buzz metallically at the ceiling. I fill a glass.
Vera stands at the edge of the patio, looking out over the neglected lawn, her back to me.
“How did you find her?” she asks.
“I went to her old address, and they told me where she works.”
