I heard

Also, black did suit her, she decided. It did make her skin look creamy. And the style made her waist look reed-slim. With it she wore sheer black tights and, thankfully, medium-heel black suede shoes.

But as she stared at herself with her hands on her hips something seemed to be missing.

Her make-up was nearly as good as Mary’s efforts. Her nails were not painted—dogs and kids didn’t seem to go well with painted nails—but they were smooth, neat ovals and a healthy pink.

Her hair might not have quite the extra—what was the word?—zip it had had after Mr Roger had combed it, but she was happy with the fair, tamed curls.

‘It just needs something to lift it—I know, I need a flower. Maybe Mrs Mills or Stan could help me out?’ she said to her reflection.

They both helped out.

Stan found a perfect white gardenia for her and Mrs Mills pinned it into her hair with a tiny pearl clip.

‘There.’ Mrs Mills stood back. ‘You look lovely, Irene! Doesn’t she, Stan?’ ‘She looks beaut!’ Stan concurred.

S