Real stories · A little piece of the night sky

A Little Piece Of The Night Sky

A little piece of the night sky, on a chain, for less than a round of coffees — that's the Lunestia, and it's the nicest thing I've bought myself all winter.

It started, as most things do in this house, with Winnie. Her last walk of the day falls after dark now, and all through December the moon hangs over the rooftops like it's been hung there specially. I kept coming home saying so to Malcolm, who kept not looking up from the crossword. So when I saw a necklace that was exactly that — a slim crescent moon dusted with tiny crystals, with one small star caught inside it — I didn't deliberate for long.

It's from York Boutique, a British label I've ordered from often, and the photographs undersell it. The crystals are small and close-set, which is why it sparkles the way frost does — lots of tiny points rather than one showy stone — and the chain is fine and light, so you forget it's on until someone mentions it.

And people do mention it. It's the sort of piece that lifts a plain jumper into an outfit — I've worn it over navy, over burgundy, over the black dress at dinner, and it quietly works over all of them. It sits comfortably all day, too; no itching, no catching, none of the fuss cheap chains give you.

Sandra leaned across the teacups and said, 'Now where did that little moon come from?'

I'll tell you where my head went next, though: Christmas. It arrives looking like a present already — gift-ready, moon for dreams, star for guidance if you want the meaning, and a price that lets you buy one for a sister and one for yourself without confessing either. I've already put one aside for Margaret, who notices the moon on her walks the way I do.

It comes in a gold or silver finish — mine is the gold, which is warmer against winter jumpers. If somebody on your list keeps pointing at the sky on the way home: here it is, on a chain.