Annie

At 6am, Annie heard the postman open the little wooden gate to her cottage. It was a very cold and icy morning and she felt desperately sorry for him having to work in this harsh weather. The ground had some white frost on it which glistened under the lamplight just outside her gate. It sparkled prettily but could be very perilous if you slipped on the hidden ice underneath. The cars, parked just outside, were white all over. Soon, people would be out there, all rugged up, trying to scrape the ice from the window screens. She shivered at the thought of going into the cold.

Peeking out of her window she saw the Postman was dressed in a thick warm coat, with a home knitted scarf wrapped twice around his neck, and gloves filled with fur, keeping his hands as warm as possible. The poor man had to keep taking one glove off to pick the letters out of his bag as he could not grip them properly with the gloves on. It was a nuisance but worth it as he could not have his hands exposed all day to the bitter cold that surrounded him.  Under his postman’s hat was a beanie with ear flaps to protect him from the cold wind, without them he would surely have an earache. His nose shone bright red, it felt so cold to him that he thought it was blue right down to the very tip of it.  He never looked up, he kept his eyes down towards the ground, walking slowly and carefully so he did not slide and fall. Once, a couple of years ago, he had slipped on black ice and recalled laying on the path with his mail bag and seeing the letters all scattered around him. It took ages to re-sort them into order again and he was determined that would never ever happen to him again. These days he was extra careful with his footing.

Annie put on her long warm dressing gown and slippers and padded slowly down the stairs to retrieve the letter. “Probably another bill” she said quietly to herself. Life had been tough lately since she lost her little alterations business at the local dress shop. They hadn’t survived the recession that the country was now trying to navigate through. Since then her only income was trying to sell her designer clothes on line. But, because they were quite elegant styles, not many people could afford them in this current economical downturn of a climate. She made ends meet by doing repairs and hems, but her dream of making it big as a designer was slowly diminishing as she realised how hard it was to get “noticed”. She had always wanted to design clothes, even as a small child. Once into her last years at school she had taken all the right subjects, art and design, needlework etc. Straight on to college obtaining an honours in design and fabric interpretation. She was on her way to success. But, reality came with the realisation of competing with so many others for a place at the top. She just hadn’t quite cracked it yet. People loved her beautiful designs but her career sat simmering and she didn’t quite know what she had to do to be a success. It was amazing how quickly the years were passing her by.

The shiny envelope caught her eye. Beautifully written to her, it bore a monogram from Buckingham Palace of all places. She popped it onto the kitchen table and filled the kettle with water to make a hot cup of tea. Staring at the envelope she tried very hard to guess what was inside. Maybe an invite to a garden party? Or probably just an advert to tell of the re-opening of the stately rooms. She had been there once before they had to close down for winter, and vividly remembered the opulent decorations and grand winding staircases. She had gone home and designed a ball gown, carefully made so that its little train would dance behind someone when they made their grand entrance down those stairs. She never stopped creating and dreaming. Her little drawing room was still littered with pieces of paper and designs for all occasions. Of course, she was older now, but with a good light and a good pair of glasses, she still had the ability to create a fabulous outfit.

Warming her hands on the piping hot mug of tea, which steamed upwards towards the ceiling, she switched on a small heater to take the morning chill out of the room.  It sure was cold in her little cottage but heating had to be put on as a last resort due to the high bills that could no longer be paid.

Ripping the envelope open she unfolded the letter carefully, noting the expensive paper it was written on and as she began to read it, she could not believe her eyes. Here was an invite to attend the palace tomorrow to meet with the Queen of England who was offering her a position as head designer for her new summer wardrobe. Her mind raced and her heart beat so loudly that she thought it would burst out of her skin. She read and re read the letter until she knew every single word of it. She hadn’t even applied for this job as she would never have thought she could take on the likes of the Queens dressmakers. But somehow, her designs had caught the eye of the royal court and she finally was going to be famous. Somehow, her Majesty must have seen her designs on line. Maybe it was the evening dress that she had designed that had won her over.

She drunk her tea and skipped merrily back upstairs. Time to choose an outfit for my appointment, time to get my portfolio ready to show. She couldn’t have been happier. She couldn’t wait to tell her friends and neighbours the good news. Her heart was singing. She stood alongside the mirror practising her very best curtsey and rehearsing her words "Good afternoon, your Majesty" She was fit to burst with happiness.

She didn’t hear the banging on her door, nor her neighbour calling out to her. She didn’t hear the neighbour letting in the police that she had called as she hadn’t seen her friends curtains open that morning. That had been their signal to each other for many years to show that they were ok and up.  When she hadn’t risen this morning her neighbour had alerted the authorities. They had been good friends for many years, having a morning cuppa with each other every morning. Annie would tell the same stories over and over again about her years as a dress designer and how she had never quite made the big time, but also how she had forged a career out of alterations. She still enjoyed sewing and made Christmas items for the locals women’s institute. She was still a very creative clever lady.

Sadly, the neighbours worries had been confirmed and Annie had passed away in her sleep. She looked at her lifetime friend and saw that she had died with a smile on her face. They didn’t know why she was smiling and they didn’t know what she had been dreaming about. But she had passed peacefully, having finally dreamed of being that famous designer that she had always wanted to be. She had achieved a good long life and finally, if only in her dreams, had become the Queens personal dressmaker.

As they took her body out into the cold morning air, they picked up the letter laying on the mat. Sadly, it was just another bill.