Ornamental floral lower abdomen tattoo

The big top came down on Tuesday, though Mr Vosper still insists we are only between seasons. I have been up since five with the lotus panel for your spangled bodice, the one you wanted for the last date in Margate. Pink silk for the outer petals, the teal we could never quite match from the dye lot, and black thread worked close for the shading so the flowers seem to open and close in the lamplight. The dotted border I did by hand, every dot the same width, because you always said one dot out of line makes the whole thing look tipsy.

The rest of it has gone the way of everything else. The elephant went to a farm near Dorking, the ring curbs were sold for scrap, and the boy who played the drum has joined a dance troupe in Leeds, which I suppose is a kind of promotion. Vosper sold the striped tent to a man who wants it for a wedding marquee in Kent. I watched them fold it on the Tuesday, six of them walking it like a flag, and nobody said a word.

I kept the spare lotus panel back. I told myself it was for repairs, but I think I wanted one thing in the trunk that still had all its edges. Tonight I sat with it under the bulb and found I had left the very centre petal bare, a small black circle with no thread in it at all. I must have stopped there when the telegram came about your mother. I am sending it on to you now, with the needle still threaded through the last loop. Finish it when you're settled, and sew the centre yourself. I'd rather you did the last stitch than me.

Yours, as ever, Ivy