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But for her, the highlight of the school trip was the textiles: the bed hangings and wall coverings of silk, richly embroidered or woven in intricate patterns. How she wished she’d been allowed to take them out of their glass cases, to feel the smoothness of the silk, the rich textures of the brocades.
    She’d had to be content with the coloured postcards she’d bought as well as the sketch-book she’d filled with drawings of the designs she’d seen. One day she’d be designing her own materials.
    The time flew as she became absorbed and the bell marking the end of the exam made her jump.
    Judith was waiting for her in the corridor. ‘Was it that bad? You love art – why so glum?’
    ‘I’m just thinking it was all a waste of time. It doesn’t matter how well I do, they won’t let me go to college.
    ‘They’ll have to if you get the scholarship.’
    Ellie didn’t answer. It was impossible to make her friend understand.

     
    At home, all was quiet. Mary had left a note propped on the mantelpiece saying she was round at Gran’s and that Dad wouldn’t be home till late. Good, Ellie thought, I can do some more painting. Might as well, while she had the chance. She wouldn’t have time once she started work. Since the exam her mind was buzzing and she had an idea for another design. She sat down at the kitchen table with her box of paints and a selection of brushes. Soon she was lost in a world of colour and beauty. The delicate combination of scrolls and ribbons, with tiny butterflies interwoven, was based on a Chinese silk hanging she’d seen in the museum.
    As she worked, using a fine brush to paint in the gossamer wings of the butterflies, she imagined the finished painting reproduced many times over. It would look equally nice on material or wallpaper, she thought. She pictured her bedroom done out in the shades of turquoise and mauve she’d used in the painting, with matching curtains and bedspread.
    The idea excited her. That was where Dad and Auntie Vi were wrong. They said art was a waste of time, just painting pretty pictures. She could understand why they thought she wouldn’t earn a living from that. But if she showed this to them, explained how it could be used in a practical way, perhaps they’d stop their carping. Harry would understand, she thought, wishing he was here. Then the realization hit her with a jolt. She’d been so absorbed in her work that for a few hours the memory of his devastating news had faded into the background.
    Another dream shattered, she thought, as she washed her brushes and cleaned her paintbox. Despite her desperate hope that Harry wouldn’t go through with the marriage, she knew she was deluding herself. She’d have to get on with her life and make the best of things. If only she’d be allowed to follow that other dream of a career in art, she might feel better, she told herself.
    She studied the finished painting – the best she’d ever done. She couldn’t waste her talent. Squaring her shoulders, she decided to pluck up her courage and tell Mum about the art scholarship. Perhaps she could talk Dad round, especially if she explained it wouldn’t cost too much with the grant she’d receive.
    She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn’t hear her father come in.
    She jumped when he said, ‘Where’s your mother?’
    ‘She’s round Gran’s. I’ll get your tea, Dad.’ With relief she saw that, for a change, he didn’t look as if he’d been drinking. Instead of getting angry, he smiled. ‘No rush, Angel.’ He came over to the table and looked at her painting. ‘What you bin up to, then?’
    Ellie smiled back uncertainly as Bert picked up the painting. ‘What’s it meant to be?’ he asked.
    ‘It’s a design – for wallpaper,’ she said. Hope flared. He was showing an interest for a change. Perhaps now would be a good time to mention the art scholarship.
    He turned the paper round in his hand and looked at it again. ‘Oh, I see,’ he