‘He’s not dead – he lives and breathes. Remember what you said to me? “Be grateful he lives when others have perished. Blame keeps wounds open, only forgiveness closes them.” You said that to me once but Arnie’s better off without a mother who wants happiness only for herself and not for her child. Don’t worry, I’m leaving. I won’t trouble you again. They’ll always be welcome in my home. I envy them their happiness and pity you.’

‘Don’t think I shall put any more work your way. You walk yer own path from now on.’

‘I always have, Mrs Bloom. Believe me, it’s a lonely road and you won’t be far behind.’

*

February was a bleak month for any bridal trader. No one wanted to shed layers and parade down the aisle in the muck and mire of a Griseley winter. Then came Lent when no one married and the order book looked so thin that Netta wondered if she ought to lay Polly off. They beavered away on the few orders coming in for Easter. Sometimes sales reps in smart suits came to show off their latest fabric ranges and bridal accessories but mostly it was quiet and Netta busied herself making hire samples to lift the heaviness in her heart. Then the bell on the showroom door ding-donged, announcing a customer. Netta whipped off her overall and found herself face to face with Ginnie Mackeever who was clutching a magazine.

‘Don’t get excited, Jeanette, I’m just browsing round. Dr Stirling seems to think you’d be able to sew me something rather spectacular for the nuptials so I promised to show you what I want. I can’t seem to make the Leeds stores deliver to my standards: all these shortages. Isn’t it boring?’

‘Congratulations! I hope you’ll both be very happy.’ Netta smiled through gritted teeth. ‘How do you think I can help?’

Ginnie plonked a calfskin leather glove on the table and fingered for the page in her magazine. ‘There, that’s what I want, an exact copy of that. If I could fly the real thing across I would. A design from Priscilla of Boston, all the rage in the States. This is from American Vogue.’

Netta was looking at a vast gown of ballroom dancing proportions with a bodice that cascaded and flounced down the back in an elaborate peplum. It would take acres of material. ‘I’ll have a go – but the cloth… I have only a small quota.’ Her wholesale supply had mysteriously dried up since Arnie’s marriage and there had been no reconciliation with Vida Bloom.