The Gown(14)

“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.”

“I’m scared,” Milly whispered.

“I know. But it will be a fresh start for you. I really think you should do it.”

They sat there for a few minutes, silently regarding one another, and at last Milly nodded.

“When are you thinking, then?” Ann asked.

“Dan and Des said it’s best to wait for summer. It won’t be such a shock that way, they said. Will that give you enough time?”

“Loads. Now, what do you say to a spot of supper?”

“I didn’t get started yet. Sorry about that. I opened the letter, and then . . .”

“Not a bother. You sit there and drink your tea, if it hasn’t gone completely cold, and I’ll sort it out. Why don’t you turn on the wireless? That way we can hear the news when it comes on.”

All through supper and afterward, listening to the Light Programme as they sat by the fire, Ann maintained a veneer of resolute good cheer. What else could she do? If she fell to pieces, Milly would change her mind and insist on staying. So she kept the conversation light and bright, in the process nearly boring them both to death with descriptions of Doris’s wedding plans, and never once did she let on that a part of her felt like weeping.

Once Milly was gone, she would be alone, with no one to notice if she was sad, or sick, or struggling. She’d be on her own, with nothing but her own strength of will to sustain her. Never mind that it was already worn thin from nearly a decade of grief and strain and hunger and war.

She would manage. She’d find a lodger and continue to pay the rent on time. She would manage, somehow, and spring would come, and her garden would grow green and bright. And she would survive.





Chapter Five


Miriam


May 2, 1947

She was ready.

Her suit was perfection, its precisely fitted jacket and voluminous, calf-grazing skirt bringing to mind Monsieur Dior’s sensational new designs, but in a gentler, less aggressively chic way. Here in England, she knew, they were wary of the New Look, constrained as they were by their rationing and coupons, and she had no wish to antagonize anyone by reminding them of things they could not yet have.