Winged heart with crown design

The fair pulled into Harrowgate on Tuesday and set up on the old cricket field behind the chapel, same as last year, though the ground is softer now and the big wheel sank an inch on its left leg before Mr Oakes got the packing under it. I have the ticket booth by the dodgems. Mother would have hated the smell of the diesel, but I've grown fond of it, the way you grow fond of a noisy neighbour.

The strangest thing happened on Thursday. A lad came to the booth with a sheet of paper folded in four, asking whether we could paint the drawing on the side of the shooting gallery. It was a heart, black as a coal sack, with a red line round its edge and a red cross scored through its middle as if someone had gone at it with a nail. Above it sat a little silver crown, tipped sideways, like it had been knocked off a head and put back in a hurry. Wings ran out from either side, all spiky stripes and hooked feathers, the sort of pattern you see worked into the old chapel gates.

I asked him what the cross was for. He said it was where the keys went, then went red to the ears and said he'd been reading too many comics. I gave him a free go on the coconut shy anyway.

I've pinned the drawing above the till. Mr Oakes says it'll bring bad luck, but the rain has held off all week and nobody has tried to tip the wheel. Write back soon and tell me whether Dad's knee is any better.

Love, Bea