**Diary Entry**
I sat on the porch, twisting the crumpled letter in my handsthe DNA test order for Julie. Why? Who needed this? Had her real parents finally found her? Then why hadnt they come, why no word? So many questions, no answers.
«Mum, whats wrong?» Julie touched my shoulder. «I’ve been calling you.»
«Just lost in thought.»
«Whos writing?»
«Oh, no one.» I shoved the letter into my apron pocket.
«I picked a whole bucket of blackberries. Theyre sweet. Filled the water tank too. Ill water the garden later. Do you need anything else? The girls and I are going to the river. Its boiling out here.»
Distracted, I muttered, «Go on, just be careful.»
Julie grabbed a couple of warm scones, snatched her towel, and dashed off.
I needed to clear my head. Stepping outside, I sat on the porch steps. *What do I do? Tomorrows Julies birthday. What a gift this is. No wonder I havent slept all week.*
A sleek car rolled slowly down the lane and stopped at the gate. An elegant older woman stepped out.
«Hello, Im looking for Eugenia Nicholson.»
My heart clenched. Somehow, I knew this woman and the letter were connected.
«Thats me.»
«May we talk? Im Margaret Whitmore.»
«Of course, come in,» I gestured.
She signalled to her driver, who pulled a large bag from the boot. Fear prickled down my spine.
«Alexander, youre free until» she checked her expensive watch, «three oclock. Ill ring if I need you sooner.»
«You ought to visit the river,» I fussed. «Just follow that path. Its lovely there. Ill fetch you a towel. And park the car under the birchesno sense leaving it in the sun.»
«May I sit?» Margaret asked once the driver left.
«Make yourself comfortable.» I brushed imaginary dust off the table. «Ill put the kettle on. Do you like raspberry tea?»
As the kettle heated, I turned to find Margaret staring at Julies photo on the wall. Tears welled in her eyes.
«Thats Emily. Ive found her.»
My legs turned to jelly. The room blurred. I sank onto a chair before I collapsed.
«Thats *Julie*! Do you hear me? *Julie*!» I slammed my hands on the table, buried my face in them, and sobbed.
Margaret moved beside me, rubbing my back.
«I dont want to take her from you. I just want to be part of her life. Please, calm down.» She hugged me. «We need to talk properly.»
She sat across from me, holding my hands.
«Tell me how she came to you. I know bits, but not everything.»
I looked into her eyesdeep, sorrowful pools of grief.
«I found her at the edge of the woods while searching for our missing cow. Twelve years ago tomorrow. We celebrate her birthday then.» My voice cracked. «She was soaked, filthy, curled up in a ditch hugging a soggy teddy bear. At first, I thought it was rubbishdidnt even realise it was a child.»
I twisted a lock of hair around my finger.
«Poor thing couldnt stand, couldnt even cry. I carried her home, fed her, and she slept for hours.»
A shudder ran through me at the memory.
«I sent the neighbours boy for the district nurse and to call the police. The nurse came, tried to examine her, but Julie clung to me so tight her little fingers turned white. The nurse reckoned she was about two, healthy but starved.»
The kettle whistled softly, but neither of us noticed.
«The officer took notes, said no missing children had been reported nearby. Promised to investigate. Later, neighbours brought food, clothes, toys. But she wouldnt let go of that bear. I washed them together.»
I paused, lost in thought. Margaret waited.
«For three days, she wouldnt leave my arms. Always hungry. The nurse said to feed her little and often. For a year after, she hid bread crusts everywhere. I named her JulieJulys when I found her. Soon she was walking, then running. I couldnt have been prouder. She slept with me, screamed in her sleepnightmares, I suppose. Never spoke a word at first.»
I took a steadying breath.
«A month later, social services came to take her. By then, she called me Mum. They couldnt pry her away. Left empty-handed, just a notice for me to bring her in. Thank God no deadline. I was beside myselfhow could I send her to a home? Id been in one myself. I knew the horrors.»
Margaret stroked my hand gently. She wanted to ask something but hesitated.
«I tried to adopt her, but they refusedsingle woman. In desperation, I proposed to a local lad: ‘Marry me, just for the papers.’ Explained everything, even wrote a contract waiving his rights. We wed in a flash. Life had other planswere still together, happy as can be.»
Whether from her touch or her quiet attentiveness, I relaxed.
«You wanted to ask something?»
«Yes, dear. How did *you* end up in care?»
«My parents died in an expedition. Volcanologists.» I moved to take the kettle off, then forgot. «I was eight, staying with Gran in the village. They wouldnt let her take mepoor health. No relatives qualified either. Too poor, bad housing. Think they were covering something up. Our London flat was ‘sold’ the day before they died. Their friends tried investigating, but…»
Margaret studied me. *Good soul*, her expression said.
«They sent me to a home far from the city, but near Gran. I ran away constantly. They threatened psychiatric hold. Then the headmaster, Mr. Thompson, arranged for me to live with Gran while technically ‘in care.’ Three years later, paperwork finally granted her custody. I owe him everythinghe helped with Julie too.»
I snapped back to the present.
«Good lord, I promised you tea!» I bustled about. «Theres fresh scones, baked this morning.»
«I brought treats too. Sweets, biscuits, fruit.» She produced elegant packages.
«Weve plenty. Butwho *are* you to Julie?»
«Her grandmother.»
«Grandmother?» I dropped into the chair. «But you said you wouldnt take her?»
«Calm yourself, dear. I wont. Shes suffered enough.» Margaret fished out pills. «Water, please?»
I handed her a glass. «Are you ill?»
«Yes. Worse than Id like.» She sipped. «Youll wonder how I found you. A private investigator. Everything led here. He dug up your history too. After meeting you, Im certainEmily stays. I may buy a cottage nearby. Well figure it out.»
«Buthow do we tell Julie?»
«Guests? Hello!» Julie bounded in. «Whats this about? And whys the kettle screaming?»
We hadnt heard her return. Margaret paled, clutching her chest.
«Julie, this this is your grandmother,» I blurted.
«Grandmother?» Julie eyed her warilythen gasped. «*You* gave me the bear!»
They embraced, all three of us weeping. So much to untangle, but one thing was clear: Margaret had found more than her granddaughter.
And the kettle kept whistling.
