Black fine line script tattoo reading endless love across the top of a finger, with a floral fabric background.

Endless love script on a finger

Lettering · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a finger bearing the words endless love in black cursive script, with the letters running across the finger. The linework is thin and even, and the ink is solid black with no shading. The background is a dark floral fabric with pink and teal blooms, and pink nail polish and a gold ring are partly visible.

Lettering Hand Love Word Script Finger

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Frances had been painting shop fascias for eleven years and could tell from across a street whether a signwriter had been drinking. On the Thursday before the Saturday dance at the Palais on Wellington Street, Mr Hollis brought her a strip of cream calico gone grey along its folds. "Something with a bit of swing," he said, "but the girls like it soft."

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She chose a script she had learned from an old copybook, thin strokes that swelled only where the pen turned. She worked on a trestle in the back room with the wireless low. When she reached the second word her hand wanted to loop the l too far, the way her mother's had on birthday cards, and she let it. The ink dried black and even. Hollis came in with his hat still on, read it twice with his lips moving, and nodded once.

On Saturday she stood at the edge of the floor with a cup of stewed tea while couples turned beneath the banner. A young sailor home on leave asked a girl in a green frock to dance, and she said yes before he had finished the question. Frances watched the letters swing above them, the tails of the l and the d running out past the hem, and thought that some things were only ever painted to last as long as the cloth.

At closing Hollis asked what she was owed. She said nothing, and asked him to put her name down for the Beverley Road window instead. Walking home in the cold she stopped by the Palais, where the banner was already rolled up on the step for the rag man. She pulled a scrap from the corner where the calico had been cut short and folded it into her coat pocket, where it could still be read.