Pennies and Feathers

It started with a feather. White, of course. It has to be white to count. Mira found it under the windscreen wiper, and something in her switched back on. That night she slept for the first time since the call about her mum.

Because it was a message. Her mum saying she was okay. At peace.

My mother-in-law was into all that stuff. Knocking on wood, throwing salt over her shoulder. If an old wives' tale told her to do it, Lynn Chapman did it.

She'd say things like, 'Never thank anyone for a plant. It'll hear you and die.'

Once, in the middle of an argument with Mira, Lynn started turning all the old photos face down. Mira asked what the hell she was doing. You know what she said? And I quote: 'There's no need to involve them.'

The dead. She meant the dead. Yeah. Apparently they have enough to be getting on with.

Mira never bought into any of that rubbish. If anything, we used to laugh about it. And now here she was, getting messages from a feather.

Which tells you how hard losing Lynn hit her. I don't think she woke up one day believing in fairies and unicorns just because her mum died. It's that they were so close. That weird, suffocating sort of closeness. Personally, I'd call it controlling. So would Nell—that's Mira's sister—though Nell never let herself be pushed around the way Mira did. Anyway, that's not important. The point is, I think it was her way of keeping a piece of her mum alive.

And, as long as it helped, I wasn't going to complain. It felt like I had my wife back.

I never planned to do anything. Not then.

It was only when she started slipping.

She’d been fine for a while. I think that made it worse, you know? Believing we were back to normal, then watching it all begin again. And I don't mean a few tears. There were plenty of those, but they weren't the problem. No, it was as though someone had hollowed her out. Scooped out everything that was Mira and left behind something that only looked like her.

I was under some strain myself at the time. Just stuff at the office. But I tried everything to make life easier for her. I took on her share of the housework, never said a word about the business, bought her little presents, always made her tea. None of it worked.

Then I saw the feathers. They might as well have been calling my name. I never go in craft shops, but there was a birthday at work and I needed a card and they were just… there. By the till. Fifty for £2.99. White feathers.

So, yeah. I bought them and, that night, I slipped one into her coat pocket.

Her smile when she saw it. Well. Let's just say I knew I'd done the right thing.

And that was that. I put the rest in the shed. Out of sight, out of mind.

I've only done it a handful of times since. Whenever she needs cheering up or a little boost.

Like what happened with Lynn's bungalow. Mira and Nell kept going back and forth on when to sell. Nell wanted to wait a year, which for Mira would have meant twelve more months of stress and worry. She didn't need that. But she would've given in, because she wants everyone to be happy. Then, on the day the agent came to value the place, she found a white feather on the doorstep. And that settled it. As far as Mira was concerned, it was her mum's blessing to go ahead. I could practically see the weight of the world come off her shoulders. I'd do anything for that.

That's the line I've drawn: I only do what's for her own good. So when she seemed to be managing okay, I stopped for a couple of weeks. Well, that and things being hectic at work.

Then, one night, she told me she was turning down the promotion she'd been offered. She thought her mum didn't approve. That's when I realised: the lack of 'signs' meant as much to her as the signs themselves.

Luckily, she found a penny the very next day, right there by the front gate. Stamped with her birth year, too. Even I had to agree that was especially impressive.

Nell came over last Sunday to celebrate the bungalow sale going through. Over lunch, she announced her brilliant idea for the proceeds: that the two of them should pool their shares and buy a holiday lodge in Margate.

'Just like the one Mum used to take us to every year.'

Mira had hesitated for a second. Then she smiled.

'Let's wait and see what Mum thinks.'

Nell was less than pleased. She'd had her eye on a place that was going to auction on Thursday. But Mira held her ground. I'm so proud of her. Before, she'd have caved and done whatever her sister wanted.

She's become so much stronger. She's even back in the garden, in and out of the shed most evenings.

Thursday came and went without a peep from Lynn.

Now it's Friday. Mira's share is still in our joint account. And after this morning, there won't be any issue with the business. I can't wait. It's been hell keeping this from her.

'I'm just popping out,' I call, pulling my coat off the rack. I avoid looking at the console table, where Lynn's smiling face watches from a silver frame.

I slide an arm into the sleeve and flinch as something sharp catches my finger.

'Are you okay?' Mira asks.

'Yeah,' I mutter, easing my hand back in, more gingerly this time. My fingers close around something thin and flexible. I know what it is before I pull it free.

That doesn't stop me gaping at it.

A white feather.

It looks just like one of mine. Not that I'd know if it was. It's not as if I've counted them.

Mira studies the feather. Her gaze flicks to Lynn's photograph, then settles on me.

'It's a sign.'