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“You can do that?” Alexandra asked in awe.

Izzie laughed. “I’m a dressmaker, remember? I reworked my own uniform during my very first make do and mend.”

“How clever. I was wondering how it was that that your uniform looks like it fits you so much better than any other girl’s,” said Alexandra.

Moving efficiently, Izzie cut a length of thread and threaded her needle while Alexandra peeled off her shirt. Izzie took it and set to work securing the button, wrapping the shank, and tying off the thread.

“There you are,” she said, snipping the thread and handing the shirt back to Alexandra.

“Thank you!” said Alexandra, sounding utterly delighted. “Do you really think there’s anything that can be done to make it fit properly?”

As Alexandra buttoned her shirt, Izzie tilted her head to examine the way it stretched over her chest.

“It won’t be regulation,” Izzie warned.

“I just want something that fits,” said Alexandra.

“I can insert some panels through the sides that will give you a bit more room. And maybe some darts for shape.” She nodded firmly. “Why don’t you come back here in the afternoon and I’ll see what I can do?”

Alexandra pulled on her uniform tunic and then clasped Izzie’s hands. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It isn’t. I appreciate it.”

“You go,” Izzie said, blushing a little. “I’ll tidy these things away.”

As Alexandra rushed off and out of the hut, Izzie couldn’t help but feel that, for the first time since she’d arrived at Innsworth, she might have made a friend.

“Is someone knocking?” asked Gladys, the girl with the bunk across from Izzie’s later that afternoon.

“Hello!” called out Alexandra, sticking her head inside the door of the hut. “Permission to enter?”

Izzie, who had been idly drawing a floor-sweeping gown that would never pass rationing, set aside her pencil and sketchbook and waved. “Over here.”

Alexandra, who was holding a spare uniform shirt and her tunic in her hand, hurried along the rows of beds. “Hello. I hope that this is still all right.”

“Absolutely. Why don’t we start with your shirts first? It seems like they’re in the most need of attention,” she said.

Alexandra obediently stood, arms held slightly out, while Izzie took up her tailor’s chalk and began to mark where she wanted to insert the panels on each side.

“Right, that one is done. Why don’t you pop the other one on?” she said.

“Who taught you how to do all of this?” asked Alexandra.

“My mother. She worked for a tailor before she met Dad, but she stopped working after they married. He died when I was seven and left us without any income. She opened the shop because she really didn’t have any other choice,” said Izzie, standing back to check the fit of the shirt. “That one’s done too. Why don’t we look at your tunic?”

Alexandra put on the tunic and said, “That must have been difficult for your mother.”

“It was,” she said, reaching for a box of pins and beginning to lift and pin the shoulders on the tunic to correct the fit. She would have to chip in the shoulders, which would require a bit of work, but it would make a world of difference.

“Mum loved him very much,” she continued. “She was devastated when he died. My sister was too. She’s a few years older than me, so she remembers him far better than I do.”

“Sylvia is your sister?” asked Alexandra.

She smiled. “You have a good memory.”

“It can be terrible when someone dies unexpectedly,” said Alexandra. When Izzie looked up at her sober tone, Alexandra blushed and said, “My father’s older brother died in the last war.”