It was turquoise, shimmering like a peacock’s feathers, a shantung silky fabric that caught the light. It had a simple line, a bold shawl collar with no sleeves. It was perfect, safe and unobtainable for the shop was now in darkness. She stood transfixed by the colour, drinking in its effect. She thought of kingfishers by the river flashing in the sunlight and the sea shimmering on a summer’s day, rippled with silver. Turning her back, she hurried down to the parking space by the river bank.

7

Turquoise

‘Colour of inspiration,
Sadness and yearning
Coolness of heart to
Keep plodding forwards.’

Into 1949

In that saggy hummock between Christmas and New Year when everyone was back at work and the children at Oldroyds received visits from whatever relatives they could muster, Netta stayed indoors with just her sewing for company, mulling over her amorous tussle with Drew on Christmas Eve and wondering how young Gus was going to enjoy his visit to Ayr. How would he sleep in a strange bed? Would there be squabbles with Morag Huston over toys? Had he missed the fact that Auntie Netta was absent? Did any of them care that they had let her down badly?

Tossing and turning in the dark she wondered if she ought to go to Stratharvar and await their return but the pressure of being her own boss did not allow it. If Polly were to join her workshop then orders must be prepared and the workroom kitted out properly. Only new orders would finance her outlay. Nevertheless Dixie’s challenge was still ringing in her ears: ‘Go back to Scotland and grab him, stop shilly-shallying.’ Now was not the time but it would be her New Year’s Resolution, she vowed. This is the year she would make it all happen and bring Gus home. This time she would succeed.

Then the postman shoved some letters through the door and she shuffled sleepily over to see who was late with their greetings cards. The postcard on the mat had a familiar picture on it and its contents sent Netta rushing for her clothes and boots, scurrying down the hill to catch the bus to Leeds. She must go and see Vida Bloom at once.

The curtains were closed but there was a strange wailing sound coming from inside. A nosy neighbour shook her head from an upstairs window. ‘There’s been a bereavement in the family, love. She’s sitting shivah or something, poor soul, and her a widow and such a hard worker. If you’re not one of them, I wouldn’t go in. Best let them get on with it. The whole tribe of Israel’s been knocking at her door, weeping and wailing. I wouldn’t bother, if I were you.’

Netta was not so easily put off so she banged harder. A strange face came to the door. ‘Yes?’

‘I’ve come to see Mrs Bloom. Please, I must see her.’