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I shake my head at her as I start to climb. Gran has such a sense of fun. She’s probably been planning this since the moment I told her Lois and Rory were over...
In the loft, I peer around me as my eyes grow accustomed to the lack of light.
‘Hi, Clara.’ Rory’s phone is a small beacon of light over in the far corner. ‘I’m going through this trunk but I can’t find any Christmas decorations.’
I manage to find the light and switch it on, and then the whole loft is illuminated, boxes and old chairs, mirrors and stacked pictures in frames leaping out at me from the darkness.
‘It’s not that trunk,’ I tell him, making my way over to where he’s kneeling beside a pile of old blankets. ‘It’s this one over here. I think that’s just stuff Gran brought over from her parents’ old house after they died. I looked in it once and it was filled with old bank statements and birthday cards, and old bed linen.’
He nods, picking up the blankets and putting them back in the trunk. ‘I found a box with photos in it as well, among the bank statements.’
‘Really? Ooh, I’d like to see those.’ I kneel down next to him. ‘I guess they’ll be snaps of my great-grandparents and maybe Gran when she was little.’
He rummages around, brings out the box and gives it to me with a smile, and a funny little shiver runs through me as our hands touch.
Oh, hell, will I ever get over him? I seem to be a lost cause as far as Rory Angel is concerned.
I set the box on the floor, take off the lid and start looking through them, fascinated, passing certain photos to Rory. ‘My great-grandma May was tiny and so pretty. Look. And my great-grandfather Bert towered over her. He was quite handsome with those whiskers, don’t you think?’
Rory nods. ‘I can see the resemblance,’ he says, smiling at me.
‘I don’t have whiskers.’
He grins. ‘No, but you have May’s lovely smile.’
‘Do I? Aw, that’s nice.’
‘Here’s a photo in an envelope,’ he adds, handing me the whole thing.
Carefully, I remove the picture. It’s a black and white photo of three young women with similarly styled curled hair. Linking arms and smiling at the camera, they’re all in summery clothes– dresses with fitted bodices and billowy skirts– that bring to mind pictures I’ve seen of Fifties fashions.
‘Wow,’ I breathe, peering closer. ‘Maybe they were family friends. I don’t recognise them.’
Rory looks over my shoulder. ‘Isn’t that the Empire State Building in the background?’
‘What?’ I gaze at it, realising he’s right, and my heart does a funny little skip in my chest.
New York?
But surely...
‘Oh, Rory, I can’t believe it.’
‘What is it?’
My heart is hammering, as I peer more closely at the faces. ‘I think one of these girls might be my Gran’s sister, Freda.’ I nod. ‘It is. It’s not a great photo, but I’m pretty sure that’s Freda.’ I point her out to Rory. ‘She went to New York when she was eighteen to be a dancer.’
Rory eyes open wide as he studies the photo.
‘I’ve got to show Gran this. She only has pictures of Freda when they were much younger and Freda was still living at home. She might never have seen this!’
‘There looks to be a letter in there as well.’ Rory picks up the envelope from where I dropped it, and hands it over.
‘A letter? Oh, so there is.’ My hands are trembling as I remove the single, folded sheet of writing paper from the envelope. Something flutters out but I’m too busy focusing on the words in the letter to pay it any attention.
The handwriting has faded but it’s still legible, especially when Rory shines his phone light on the page to help me read it.
Dearest Paula
