Peacock and pink flowers on a back

The rain has stopped at last, so I can hear the trams again over the river, and the gulls have gone quiet on the chimney of the Paragon. I am writing this at the back of the sign shop with my boots on the stove rail, because I cannot sleep after tonight. Mr Okonedo has finally given me the big job: the peacock for the Regal's new hoarding. Forty feet of it, lit from below so the eyes shine over the car park when the second house comes out.

I should tell you how it went, because you will not believe the bird. I spent three days on the neck alone, mixing a violet that would not go grey under the arc lamps. Every time I thought I had it, the blue crept in and the thing looked drowned. Then at midnight, when the boys had gone for their chips, I went up the ladder with the small brush and painted the eyes. Five of them, each a ring of copper and teal, with a dark blue pupil shaped like a drop of ink. They looked back at me. I swear it. The old shop cat sat at the foot of the ladder all night and would not come in.

Mrs Pryce from the flower stall brought round a bundle of pink blossom this morning for the border, and I laid the blooms in the corners where the feathers fan out, five of them, to balance the blue. When I stepped back at dawn the whole thing seemed to hold its breath. Tomorrow they hang it. I am frightened and glad at once.

Write soon and tell me Dad's chest is better. If it is not, tell me anyway.

Love, Nell