Swans and Angels

By Gill James

Location: Outwood Park, Radcliffe

It was the swan that clinched it. The house was pleasant enough – the right size, clean and bright, in a nice enough area but not all that exciting. True, better than many we’d seen but it still wasn’t quite right.

‘Come and look at the lake,’ the estate agent said. He must have seen the glaze in the eyes, the shadow of disappointment as I took in the all-too-conventional-end-of century-four-bed-detached.

And there she was. White, graceful. Shiningly glorious. It was almost as if she knew we were coming. The swan glided over towards us, made herself the focal point of my golden-segment-seeking eye lens.

I knew it was a she because the estate agent knew. I don’t know how he knew.

‘Beautiful isn’t she?’ said Simon. ‘Shame though. Lost her mate a couple of months ago. Just disappeared.’ He looked at me expectantly then looked at the ground.

I thought he was bracing himself for my negative response about the house.

‘Oh, look. She’s left you a gift,’ he said. He bent down and picked up a bright white feather.

He handed it to me. There was a question in his eyes.

‘We’ll take it,’ I said.

Simon grinned.

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