A thread of GOLD

Kelly needed to get out of her flat. There were only so many times you could pore over job websites and fill in application forms. Since losing her job three months earlier as a marketing executive, she reckoned she’d applied for over 80 jobs, to no avail.

‘Time’s on your side, Kel,’ her family often said. ‘You’re only 33. You could reinvent yourself. Think outside the box!’

This was well meant advice, but made her wonder if she was expected to become a lion tamer or lumberjack. Her skills were transferable, but transferable to what, exactly?

To avoid moping, she took the bus into town. She savoured a slice of red velvet cake in The Pink Cupcake, buying an extra slice to take home in a ribboned box.

Then, walking to the bus stop for her trip home, she noticed an item in the window of her favourite charity shop.

It was a vintage clutch bag, its stiff satin covered in zigzagging gold thread. And only £3.99!

Kelly was what her dad laughingly called a ‘bag lady’. But in her opinion, you could never have too many (with her sister, it was shoes).

Before she knew it, she was in the shop and asking the elderly assistant, whose name tag said ‘Paul’, to fetch the bag for a closer look.

‘A lovely piece,’ he said, handing it over. ‘Only one slight imperfection.’

IT LOOKED LIKE A LETTER, DELIBERATELY CONCEALED

Kelly had already noticed it. The very first zigzaggy line of golden thread had been unpicked or fallen off. Still, you could only see if you looked closely.

It reminded her of ‘golden thread’ breathing in her weekly yoga class. As you exhaled, you imagined a golden thread spinning out of your mouth into the air around you. You then had