A Wedding Card Through the Canvas

I knew what it was before I'd even got the satchel open. You develop a feel for these things, in this line of work. Stiff card, a bit of ribbon stitched somewhere under the paper, that particular smug weight a wedding card carries, as though it knows something the rest of the post doesn't.

I'll admit I sat on the harbour wall a moment and just held it. Not reading anything, mind. I have standards. Simply allowing it the dignity of a pause, the way you'd let a decent cup of tea sit before you drank it.

The gulls by the chip shop wanted to know what I was carrying on about. I did not tell them. Some things are not for loiterers.

I delivered it with both wings, which I don't do for the gas bill, and I stood a moment at the gate after, listening for a reaction through the door. Heard a gasp, I think, though it might have been the wind off the point.

Walked the rest of the round a little straighter after that. A gull who has personally handled a wedding card is not the same gull he was that morning, and I think the others on the wall sensed it, even if they wouldn't say so.