Shaded angel wings across a back

The big top came down in Shrewsbury on Tuesday and the wind carried half the canvas over the hedge before anyone could catch it. Mr Halloran has put the angel on the ground for now, though he won't let anyone call her that in front of the other acts. I have been sewing since dawn. The wings Peggy wore in the Easter show split along the left spar when she came down off the rigging, and I have spent three evenings unpicking goose feathers from the old muslin lining.

You would laugh at me. There are sixty-one feathers to sew back in, each one cut from a single grey pinion and bound at the quill with waxed thread so it won't snag on the wire. Some are bent from the drop, and I have been steaming them over the kettle and easing them straight with my thumb. The light in the wagon is poor after six, so I work with the lamp pulled close and the radio off, listening to the generator cough outside the dog tent.

Peggy came by this morning to ask whether they'd be ready for Lincoln. I told her the left wing would be ready, and the right would be whatever it wanted to be. She laughed and said the crowd never looks that closely, which is true, though I always think someone does. A boy in the front row once stood up to point at the spread of them when she turned, and his mother had to pull him back down by the collar.

I'll post this from Lincoln. Tell Mum I'm eating properly. The fair moves on Saturday, and when it does I'll be sewing in the back of the lorry with the wings folded across my knees like something asleep.