Lace fan tattoo on the ribs

I have never once sung at that window, Vera, though I hum a good deal, and I cannot think how he heard it through the floorboards. Still, the card was addressed to me, so I took it up to the back bedroom and cut the cord with my hairpin. Inside was a fan. Not a cheap one from the pier shop. The sticks are pale bone, and the paper is a lace of scrolls and leaves, inked so finely the pattern seems to breathe when I tilt it toward the lamp. A small tassel hangs from the base, finished off with a turk's head knot, the way the fishermen's wives used to finish their rope.

I spent the evening opening and closing it until the rain stopped and the gulls started up on the chimney pots. Mrs Ackroyd from number four knocked to ask if I was poorly, and I told her I was only counting leaves. There are forty-one on the left side. I did not tell her I had also been counting the nights since Harold took the Sheila Rose out and never came back.

This morning I went down to the front room with the fan folded in my apron pocket and set it on the sill beside the glass. When Mr Pargeter came in for his tea he stopped in the doorway, looked at it for a long moment, and said the tassel was the wrong way round. Then he sat down, and for once he did not reach for his paper. I have written to tell you that he is mending the cord, that I have decided to let him, and that tonight I intend to hum loud enough for the floor to carry it. Your loving sister, Ida.