Close photo of a fine line black script tattoo reading C'est la vie on the side of a person's torso, near the ribs.

Fine line C'est la vie script on the side

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

The image shows the phrase C'est la vie written in a thin, cursive script in black ink across the side of a bare torso. The linework is delicate and even, with the lettering sitting horizontally across the centre of the frame. A knitted cream sleeve sits at the left edge against a dark background, and the warm skin tone contrasts with the dark ink.

Fine line Lettering Ribs Script Phrase Text

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Frankie, Your postcard of the Rhône came on Tuesday, and I've pinned it above the kettle where I can see it while I pretend to tidy. I'm sorry I didn't write sooner. The reunion at the Co-op Hall was every bit as dreadful as you'd have wanted. Mr Pickering still calls everyone by their Year Nine nicknames, and Sandra Duckworth brought a photo album the size of a paving slab.

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Nobody mentioned the French trip, though Gail did ask whether I still had the rucksack with the broken zip. I said I did, which isn't true, and she looked at me the way Madame Oakes used to when we mangled the subjunctive. Remember her? Every Tuesday she wrote C'est la vie on the board in that thin, looping hand and told us it was what the English say when they give up. She'd have hated the raffle, and she'd have loved the way Gary Ackroyd cried into his pint about the coach that broke down outside Dover.

Afterwards I walked home past the bus shelter where we used to smoke and found myself thinking about Gary's hands, which wouldn't keep still, and his wife, who had the face of someone already halfway out of the door. I don't know what happened to them. I didn't ask. It seemed rude to pry into other people's lives when mine was only a list of sensible things.

Anyway, I've decided to stop waiting for the next reunion to tell you anything. Come up in October. Bring the rucksack if you still have it. I'll make tea in the proper pot, and we can shrug at the whole thing together. Love, Bev. P.S. Gail's address is on the back, if you fancy sending her a card. Write it in that loopy hand of yours.