Gold foil feather temporary tattoo sheet

The gilt sheets came up from the wholesaler in Bristol yesterday, rolled in brown paper and smelling of hot tin. Mrs Okafor, who runs the wardrobe at the Lantern, wants fifteen feathers stamped in gold for the finale, the sort you press on with a damp sponge and they stay a week. I cut the long ones first, the ones with the scrollwork Ruth drew by hand, then the little quills with grey-silver spines. I was tidy about it right up until I reached the feather with the green stone in its eye.

The stone is a bead of real turquoise that Mrs Okafor insisted on, because she says the audience at the Lantern is old enough to have opinions about glass. It popped out under the press and rolled off the bench and into the gap behind the sewing machine. I was on my knees for an hour with a torch between my teeth, and I found it at closing time, sitting in a curl of dust like it had been waiting for me to stop being sensible.

So I have kept that feather back. The rest are in the tin box for the dress rehearsal. The one with the stone I have wrapped in tissue and put in the inside pocket of my coat, where you used to keep the hymn card your mother gave you before the first crossing. When you come in off the boat, check your pockets before you check the kettle. I'd like to know if it still turns towards the window the way it did in the shop.

Your sister, May