**Diary Entry 12th June**
I found Evelyn standing in the kitchen, twisting a piece of paper in her handssome official notice about a DNA test for Lucy. Why now? Who even wanted this? Had Lucys birth parents finally turned up? If so, why hadnt they come themselves? Questions swirled, but answers were nowhere to be seen.
“Mum, whats wrong?” Lucy touched her shoulder. “Ive been calling you.”
“Just thinking,” Evelyn muttered, shoving the letter into her apron pocket.
“The blackberries are ready. Sweet as ever. I filled the water tank toowe can water the garden later. Need anything else? The girls and I are off to the river. Its boiling out.”
“Go on, then. Just be careful,” Evelyn said absently.
Lucy snatched a couple of warm pasties, grabbed a towel, and dashed off.
Evelyn needed to clear her head. She stepped outside, sitting on the porch steps. *What do I do? Tomorrows Lucys birthday. Some gift this turned out to be.* She hadnt slept properly all week.
A posh car rolled slowly down the lane, stopping at the gate. An elegant older woman stepped out. “Hello, Im looking for Evelyn Nicholson.”
Her heart clenched. That letter and this woman were connectedshe felt it.
“Thats me.”
“May we talk? Im Margaret Whitmore.”
“Of course, come inside,” Evelyn said, flustered.
The woman signalled to her driver, who pulled a large bag from the boot. Evelyn watched, uneasy.
“Alexander, youre free until three,” Margaret said, checking her expensive watch. “Ill call if needed.”
“You could walk down to the river,” Evelyn suggested, fussing. “Just follow the path. Its lovely there. Take a towel. And park the car under the birch treesno sense leaving it in the sun.”
“May I sit?” Margaret asked once the driver left.
“Make yourself comfortable.” Evelyn brushed invisible crumbs from the table. “Ill put the kettle on. Fancy tea with a bit of elderflower?”
As the kettle heated, Evelyn turned to see Margaret staring at a large photo of Lucy on the wall. Tears welled in the womans eyes.
“Thats Emily. Ive found her.”
Evelyns legs turned to jelly. She gripped the chair to steady herself.
“Thats *Lucy*! Her name is Lucy!” Evelyn slammed her hands on the table, burying her face in them as she sobbed.
Margaret rested a hand on her back. “Im not here to take her. I just want to be part of her life. Please, calm yourself.” She hugged Evelyn gently. “We need to talk properly.”
Sitting opposite, Margaret took Evelyns hands. “Tell me how she came to you. I know bits, but not everything.”
Evelyn met her gazethose eyes full of sorrow.
“I found her at the edge of the woods, near where I was looking for our missing cow,” Evelyn began, voice shaking. “Twelve years ago tomorrow. Thats why we celebrate her birthday then. She was filthy, soaked, curled in a ditch with a stuffed bear just as grubby. At first, I thought it was a bundle of rags.”
Evelyn twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “Poor lamb couldnt stand, too weak to even cry. I carried her home, fed her, and she slept for hours.” A tremor ran through her at the memory.
“I sent the neighbours lad for the nurse and to call the police. The nurse rushed over, but Lucy clung to me like a vicewouldnt let go. The nurse reckoned she was about two, healthy but starved half to death.”
The kettle whistled softly, but neither woman noticed.
“The constable came, took notes, said no missing children had been reported. Promised to follow up. Neighbours brought clothes and toys, but she wouldnt let go of that bear. Washed them together, I did.”
Evelyn paused, lost in thought. Margaret waited patiently.
“Wouldnt leave my arms for three days. Always hungry. The nurse said little and often. For a year after, she hid bread crusts everywhere. Named her Lucy cause I found her in July. Learned to walk, then run. Slept with me, screamed in her sleepnightmares, I reckon. Didnt speak at first.”
She took a breath. “When social services came a month later to take her, she was calling me *Mum*. They couldnt pry her away. Left a notice for me to bring her in, no deadline. I panicked. Knew what orphanages were likeId been in one.”
Margaret stroked her hand. She wanted to ask something but hesitated.
“Tried to adopt her, but they said nounmarried. In desperation, I asked a local lad to marry me. Told him straight: Its just for the paperwork. Well divorce after. Wrote him a note saying Id make no claims. Ended up with a husband *and* a daughter. Life works strangely. Were still together, happy as anything.”
Calmer now, Evelyn studied her. “You had a question?”
“Yes, dear. Howd you end up in care yourself?”
“Parents died on an expedition. Volcanologists. I was eight, staying with Gran here in the village. They wouldnt let her take mehealth issues. No relatives qualified. Too poor, bad housing. Someone pulled strings, sold our London flat right before they died. Their friends tried investigating, but…”
Margaret watched her. *Good soul*, she thought.
“They sent me to a home far from the city, but near Gran. I kept running away. They threatened to send me to a psych ward. Then the headmaster, Mr. Thompson, arranged for me to live at home but stay on the homes books. Three years later, Gran got custody. I owe him everythinghe helped with Lucy too.”
Evelyn snapped back to the present. “Blimey, I promised you tea! Ive got fresh pasties too.”
“I brought treats as wellchocolates, biscuits, fruit.” Margaret unpacked elegant boxes.
“You didnt have to. So, youre Lucys…?”
“Grandmother.”
Evelyn sank into a chair. “But you said you wouldnt take her?”
“Calm down, dear. Shes been through enough. Ive had time to think.” Margaret pulled out pills. “Water, please?”
“Youre ill?”
“Worse than Id like.” She hesitated. “Youre wondering how I found you. Mind if I say *you* now?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“Hired a private investigator. All trails led here. He dug up your history too. After meeting you, Im certainEmily stays. I might buy a place nearby to be close. Well figure it out.”
“We? Ive never hidden that Lucys adopted. She knows. Asks for the story sometimeshow I found her in the woods. Stares at that bear like shes trying to remember. I let her. She shares most things, but some spaces are just hers.”
“Its not you. This is a fifteen-year mess. Our son fell for a university classmateflashy, sharp-tongued. Something off about her, but he didnt see it. They married in their final year. We werent thrilled, but we welcomed her. No family at the weddingjust mumbled excuses about drunk parents and brothers she never let us meet.”
Margaret spoke quietly, weighing each word.
“We gave them our London flat, moved to the countryside. Emily was born in Maywe were overjoyed. Oliver adored her. He graduated; she dropped out, stayed home with the baby. Later, we hired a nanny. She claimed to return to uni, but never went. Started demanding moneyscreeched about a promised car for giving us an heir. Wed just invested in the family business. Oliver threw himself into work.”
She wiped sweat from her brow.
“We flew to Germany for equipment deals. Called homenanny said Samantha had taken Emily the day we left. No answer from her. Rushed back to find the flat ransacked, things missing. Police took printsmatched a known criminal. Never found them. Oliver reported them missing, but they brushed him off: A mother has rights. Just a form letter: Unable to locate.”
The forgotten kettle shrieked.
“Nine months ago, I lost them both. My husband had a heart attack at the wheel. Oliver was with him. In hospital, his last words were, Find Emily. I had to honour that.” Her voice was steady, but the grief was raw.
“I hired an ex-detective. He tracked the prints to Samanthas brotherfresh out of prison. Admitted theyd tossed Emily from a car when she cried. Gave a rough location. Samanthas whereabouts unknown.”
Evelyn shook her head in disbelief.
“From there, it was recordspolice reports, social services. The investigator overstepped, got that DNA order. I was in Israel, didnt know. Came straight here after.”
Evelyn silently laid the letter on the table.
“Sorry, dear. Mustve been a fright.” Margaret reached into her bag. “Herephotos of Oliver and Emily. No test needed, but well have to. Shes his heir.”
Evelyn studied them. It was Lucy, unmistakably.
“How do we tell her?”
“Guests? Hello! Whats going on? And whys the kettle screaming?”
They hadnt heard Lucy return. Margaret went pale, clutching her chest.
“Lucy, this is your grandmother,” Evelyn blurted.
Lucy eyed Margaret warily. Then”Grandma! I *knew* youd find me!” She flung herself at Margaret. “You gave me the bear!”
All three hugged, weeping. There was much to settle, but one thing was clearMargaret hadnt just found a granddaughter.
And the kettle kept whistling.
**Lesson learned:** Lifes twists are beyond predicting. Sometimes, the family we chooseand those who choose usmatter most.
