“Heart-shaped,” Doris sighed.
“Yes. And you’ll need to take it in at the waist, or make a sash that will cinch it in tight.”
“It looks a bit like something Mr. Hartnell would design,” said Ruthie, and everyone gasped.
“Of course it doesn’t,” Ann said, her voice sounding a little sharper than she meant. “It’s only because I used one of his drawings as a template—I traced the outline of the figure. Otherwise I’d never have got the proportions right.”
At school she’d never been very good at art, but during the war she’d started carrying an old exercise book with her, along with a few pencils, and had taught herself to draw. It was cheaper than buying books or magazines, and easier on her eyes, besides. Some things, like people’s faces or hands, would forever be beyond her capabilities, but it was a nice way to pass the time, and a means of remembering some of the really fine work she’d done over the years.
Last year, for Christmas, Milly had given her a beautiful sketchbook from the shop where she worked, the sort of thing a real artist would use, with thick paper and a lovely pale blue binding. It had taken Ann a week or two to work up the nerve to draw in it the first time, and even now she preferred to save it, like Sunday best, for her favorite ideas. She’d add Doris’s dress to the book as soon as she had a bit of spare time. Maybe on Sunday afternoon, when she’d finished her mending and other small chores.
“It’s perfect,” Doris said. “Isn’t it?” she asked the others, and they all agreed that Ann’s ideas were perfect and Doris would look a dream on her wedding day.
Ann was still basking in the remembered glow of their praise when she arrived home that evening, and even the prospect of a cold house and near-empty larder weren’t able to dim her spirits.
“It’s me,” she called out as she came in. “Are you there?”
“I’m in the kitchen,” Milly responded, and there was something about her voice that put Ann’s nerves on edge. She hastened through the darkened sitting room and found her sister-in-law sitting at the kitchen table, still dressed in her work uniform, an untouched cup of tea at her elbow.
“What’s wrong? Something’s wrong.”
“I’ve had a letter from my brothers,” Milly said. “They want me to come and live with them in Canada.” Only then did Ann notice the airmail envelope left open on the table.
She sank into the chair opposite Milly. “You haven’t seen them for ages. For years.”
“The businesses they’ve opened are doing well, and . . . and there’d be work for me. They say that life is better in Canada. No rationing, no shortages. They—”
“Better? What about the winters? They get feet and feet of snow. You hate the cold.”
“They say it isn’t all that bad. Once you get used to it.”
“How would you get there? It can’t be cheap to—”
“They’ll send me a ticket.”
“Oh. So you’re thinking about it.”
Milly looked up, and only then did Ann see that she’d been crying. “I have, but I don’t know . . . I’d be leaving this house, and my life with Frank, too. And you. I’d be leaving you, and you’re my best friend in the world. What will happen if I go? How will you keep the house?”
Ann knew what she must do. “You can’t make such a big decision based on what’ll happen to me. I’ll be fine. I will. This is a nice place, and I’m sure I can find a lodger without any trouble.”
“What if the council gets wind of it? If anyone notices there’s only two women living in a house that’s meant for a whole family, you’ll be—”
“Milly.” Ann took her friend’s hands in hers and squeezed them tight. “As long as I pay the rent on time I doubt they’ll care. And what’s the worst that can happen? They give me notice and I find somewhere else to live.”
“But you’d have to leave your garden behind, and you love that garden.”
“I do. But the plants aren’t chained down, are they? I can bring some of them along with me if ever I do move.”
Milly was shaking her head. “It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t.”
“Now you’re being silly. Let me ask you something: If it wasn’t for me, would you go?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I would . . .”
“Then you should go. Of course I’ll miss you, but that’s what letters are for. And maybe I can save up and visit you one day. I’ve always wanted to see Niagara Falls and, well . . . there’s sure to be other lovely places to see.”