The Feather

‘Perhaps in a wood it wouldn’t be that unusual, but in the middle of New York City? I saw it floating down past my shoulder and I bent down and picked it up! That’s surely more than just a coincidence, umm?

‘Granted there’s people, noise, hustle and bustle, and screeching – but white birds? I couldn’t believe it, Queenie. I swear I was just weaving along the sidewalk, worrying about Daisy and Jack. Were they going to be okay? Daisy working all those hours, rushing about trying to squeeze in extra time to see me - and Jack - for the life of him - moaning at her about forgetting to buy teabags. Teabags! He’s doing bugger-all all day! Christ, I would have brought them with me if I’d known that they would have caused such a rumpus!

‘That it would have all kicked off, first thing that morning. Your mother’s come all this way to see you – and you can’t even offer her a cup of tea? What kind of welcome’s that? What are you thinking of? You’re losing it big time, honey - Jack ranted from their bedroom.

‘So that first morning I went out to Pathmark and brought back teabags, and a white feather. And, give me strength, I thanked St Christopher and the angels for finding it!’

‘So Jack’s not working yet? Does he look after the wee one all day then?’ Queenie had disregarded both the chance appearance and the significance of the feather.

‘Daisy tells me he’s a house husband. Would that we had one, huh? But wouldn’t they just create more havoc? She says she has a better job than Jack could ever hope for, so it made sense that she would carry on working when Charlie was born. That must have been a leap in the dark for her though. A bit of a gamble, I imagine. Leaving a baby with your husband. Wouldn’t you just worry, all day? You would have to trust to luck, for that to work? A flip of the coin: heads or tails. Mum at home, or mum out working. Dad out working, or dad at home looking after the wee one. I know which one I’d bet on!’

‘And babies are a handful! A full-time job! Does a man have that kind of patience, I wonder? But what about the apartment? What was it like? Was it homely?’ Queenie asked.

‘Truthfully, the flat was more than a bit messy. Daisy said that Jack had spent the whole day before, tidying it for me coming. Well there’s cleaning, and there’s cleaning! So like me, you would have been itching to take a hot soapy cloth over all the worktops. Oh, Queenie! Well may you laugh! But the wee toot gave me such a beam when I saw her! The image of Daisy as a bairn! In the photos I’d thought she’d looked more like Jack – or worse still, Jack’s mother! But, thankfully it was a wee Daisy who beamed back at me. Amazing how just a few months had fleshed her out. She smelt of talc and vanilla and honey and baby lotion when I picked her up.  And chocolate was smudged over the pink outline of her mouth. And dobs of cereal were stuck in her terry bib. Isn’t she a bit young for chocolate cereal, Daisy? I’d said without really thinking. ‘Don’t see why, Mary. She likes it.’ Jack had replied coolly.’

‘Mummy Jack!’

‘Aye but Daisy still gets up about 4am for a night feed. Then off to work just before 7am. And she takes Jack in a cup of coffee before she leaves. No wonder she’s got bags under her eyes.’

‘Can Jack not get up and make her a cup of coffee?’

‘I thought the same thing myself, Queenie. But this topsy-turvy life – men women, women men – takes some getting used to. Like someone shuffling a pack of cards – you just don’t know what you’re going to turn over next. I thought I’d just bide my time, not say anything, and see how the rest of the week played out.’

‘Well, Mary, one thing with you – if something needs saying, you’ll say it. You’re not scared to speak your mind. Call a spade, a spade, you!’

‘Quite the traditional mother-in-law then? Well, I’d like to think I’d clear the air. Take the heat out of a situation before it gets too hot.’

‘Like Aloe Vera on sunburn,’ Queenie suggested.

‘Like talc on an itch.’ Mary played along.

‘Like yoghurt on curry,’ Queenie added.

And Queenie held Mary’s wrist and they laughed together. It almost brought tears to Mary’s eyes. Good friends are so irreplaceable! You can love them more than your own flesh and blood – even more than your husband maybe? Mary spent a few seconds considering that statement and concluded that it was, in fact, true. It was so comfortable sitting in Queenie’s front room. The angels on the mantelpiece and above it, the cherub picture with his chubby arms and wistful faraway look. What do angels think about? Do they drop feathers from their wings to remind you they are always there silently watching and listening? To remind stupid mortals to stop worrying about irrational fears. Their healthy skin glowing like ripe peaches!

Still smiling Mary continued, ‘The bairn smelt so wholesome. Edible almost, when I raspberried her belly button – a sticky-ootie! The doorbell rang and Jack went to answer it. You know how people say you notice a stranger’s eyes first? How expression is important? That first contact. You have to make a snap judgement - is it friend or foe? You know what I mean? Well, the first thing I saw was Sharleen’s knockers. She bounced and wobbled her melons towards me in the tightest of lime green tops. Elastane stretched to its limit over two hard nipples, faceted like diamonds, almost cutting through the fabric. In a pair of jeans two sizes too small - a spray paint job! Not flattering, not ladylike, believably tarty! Before I ever reached her face, she was already saying, Missus MacCloud. I’ve heard so much about you! And here you are. Just as I expected - in your plaid skirt and all! And so small and dainty! Looking so unbelievably Scottish! I’m Sharleen and this is Tyler junior! I stood up, speechless for once, and she drew me into those huge warm bosoms, while from behind, a small child with a Red Indian head-dress made a mask of my skirt between my thighs, as he clung onto my knees. It was like an ambush! I looked towards Jack, slightly shocked I imagine, but he just laughed and went through to the kitchen and flicked the switch on the coffee maker.

Queenie’s eyes ran with tears of laughter. There was no one better than Mary at telling a story! She would find something funny at a funeral, no doubt about that!

Mary continued, ‘I couldn’t wait for Daisy to get home. Sharleen arriving like that. So provocative. All that excess skin. Jack could have been on his own. All those hormones wafting about. It was dangerous. At the very least, risky! But Daisy just laughed. Sharleen had admirable breasts - melons maybe - but she could surely show them off if she wanted to? Maybe I was jealous that my jaffas were shrinking? Cheeky monkey! She wounded me like an orange at Christmas getting a clove pushed into it to become a pomander. I felt a pain in my chest, like voodoo. It was a hurtful remark. And she’d added: that I could talk – I’d worn mini skirts in my day, and I didn’t expect men friends to be running their hands along my thigh whenever I crossed my legs, did I? She tries to win an argument with shock tactics does our Daisy. But a man couldn’t help but lower his gaze down that cleavage and where would that lead, I ask you? Jack, as you will recall, was always charming where women were concerned. Remember flirty little Jane Manson up Lothian Road? She was, shall we say, minimal in the clothes department.’

‘Thrifty with material, I agree!’ Queenie sniggered.

‘Cheap, more like!’ Mary concluded.

‘Yes…. but women shouldn’t have to dress in XXL boiler suits, totally zipped up, just in case the sight of female flesh sends a man’s hormones into freefall? Surely a woman can dress as she pleases – just for herself? If she has good legs then why not show them off? And if God endowed her with ample breasts, can she not show them to other women – to make them jealous – whether there are any charming men around or not? After all, a woman is in control of her own life, is she not?’

‘You make that sound so plausible, Queenie. You’ve kept yourself trim. Still got that waspy waist that men like to put their hands round – just to see if they can. Bet Ian grabs you from behind when he’s in the mood! As for charming - it’s like some famous person said: distrust charm in a man. It equals an untrustworthy character and restless genitals!’ And Mary raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes as only Mary could!

‘Remember when I sent Rex that Valentine’s Card and you found it in the shed? How you worried about that! So I just had to tell you it was me having a laugh! You got the joke in the end – but how that brightened Rexie up! Men need a bit of buttering up sometimes, eh?’ Queenie grinned wickedly.

‘You know, I found a feather that day too, by the shed door. So I knew it would be okay. Lying flat on top of a bed of snowdrops. Yellow-tinged white on pure white. It made me smile. Do you know from that day on, Rex always had his bacon grilled? And he bought a can of Lynx – in case there was ever an occasion when he might break out into a heavy sweat and unsuspecting women were around, I supposed! Your card came just after Charlie was born. Silly bugger was already a grandpa! But maybe his genitals were already getting restless?’

‘Jesus, Mary, my Ian’s genitals have been set in aspic, for as long as I can remember! There’s never been any grabbing from behind in this house! Not in a long time anyway.’

‘But that’s my point: a man’s tackle can get a tingle at any point – they’re unpredictable, I’d say. Women just get used to that inactivity between the sheets and we get on with our routines, and our lives fan out in other directions. Then our lives become confiding in our friends and helping our families while our husbands nestle into warm chairs, watching snooker on TV, or playing the odd game of golf with named individuals - not real friends as we would know a friend – and they sink into sponge cake and steak pie and comforting stodginess, and yet their genitals are maybe asleep – or in aspic – but they are waiting, waiting for that sizzling spark to ignite them into indiscretion.’

‘You’re dwelling too much on genitals now. Spare my blushes, Mary! Thought you were telling me about white feathers and angels. Can’t see willies and angels as being happy bedfellows!’ Queenie laughed.

‘But what do you say to your daughter when you know her best friend’s having it off with her husband?’

‘You…what?’

‘What should I have said to Daisy? I caught them – Jack and Sharleen - together in the kitchen. Embracing like they had been suddenly soldered. Spellbound. They jerked apart when they saw me, looking. Did they think I hadn’t noticed? But I’d stood there and, from my stance, time had slowed right down and I’d seen Sharleen’s eyelashes so slowly flicker and close, and the line of her mouth had curved into a smile and opened somewhat, and Jack arranged his chest comfortably against her breasts and his head tilted and his expression had looked charmed - intoxicated. His mouth opened suddenly and his shoulders stiffened and he said, I can see a fly, I think, in the corner of your eye. Yes, let me get a tissue and try to get it out. Keep still now. Sharleen’s head twisted round towards me but she still kept her eye muscles taut – she didn’t blink – not once. I went into Charlie’s room and cried as she slept there. An innocent. Blissfully unaware of everything. I didn’t know what to do. I just didn’t know what to do for the best.’

‘Couldn’t you have been mistaken?’

‘Jesus Christ, Queenie, you couldn’t have slipped a playing card between them! The look they shared was desire – not flirtation. One flirtation and one desire might not be a match – but two desires are a strong combination: 2 reds. Red hot!’

‘Did you tackle him then? Ask him what the bloody hell he was playing at?’

‘I said nothing. I was too scared of his reply.’

‘Oh, Mary. How could he?’

‘The door slammed and she must have left with the bairn. Jack came in and asked me into the front room. There he offered his explanation: she’s just a friend. Someone to talk to. She means nothing. I love Daisy and Charlie. But sometimes I need adult company and adult conversation.

‘But I couldn’t let him off so easily so I put in: do you need adult games as well? I dealt him the challenge. I thought I had the whip hand but then he went on: ask Daisy about Chuck then? Chuck’s a work colleague. She goes to lunch with Chuck, meetings with Chuck, overnight stays at hotels with Chuck. Chuck’s funny – ever the joker. Anyway does it really matter? It’s a game we both play. We get through it as best we can. She loves me and I love her. Besides, it’s all down to family in the end. It’s the main thing. Here, at night, under this roof we are all together. One family. It’s a life that suits us. And we’re happy with it. And being happy is all that matters – whichever route we take to achieve it.

‘I had to ask: what about Charlie?

‘Charlie is the glue that binds us. A child just wants parents to love her. You and Rex love Daisy unconditionally. Anyway this situation is just temporary until Charlie goes to kindergarten. Then I will be back at work, mixing with my own kind, able to take Daisy to lunch and all that. Things will get back on course.

‘I had interrupted with: you make it sound so simple.

‘It’s a marriage. You have to work at it from all angles. Figure it out. Think of new strategies – new ways to keep it solid.

‘Gamble with it – I’d mocked.

‘And you? What are you doing to keep yours strong? Just how pro-active are you, Mary?’

‘What did he mean by that?’ Queenie’s voice sounded a bit shaky.

‘He was talking about you and Rex, Queenie. And you don’t need to look like that. I’ve seen the clues: the glances you share, his over-complicated explanations about where he’s been. But it’s not actually about Rex…. it’s you I can’t lose, my dearest friend! You are so precious to me. So what have I done about it? I’ve collected white feathers from Guardian Angels and kept them together in an envelope. Clutching that, I’ve hoped for the best. After all, such an abundance of feathers must have such a combined strength for someone to use, I wagered. And all the times I have been close to despair, I have always found another, thanked God, and been so grateful for finding it. So grateful that I have not had to confront you and beg you to leave him alone. He is only a man. He cannot stop himself.’

‘Mary, I…’

‘In the envelope, there must be over ten white feathers now. Like a pack of feathers. Together they form just one word. Do you know what it is? Hope? Strength? Peace? No, it’s this one alone. Coward. I am a coward, Queenie. Because I’m scared I’ll lose you.’

~~~~~~~~~~