Two solid black moustache tattoos on the side of two fingers, held together, in a black and grey blackwork style.

Matching moustache tattoos on fingers

Blackwork · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

Two black moustache designs sit side by side on adjacent fingers, one with curled tips turned up and the other with a flatter, downturned shape. The ink is solid black with soft edges and no visible shading or colour. The close-up composition shows the fingers pressed together against a grey pavement, with a shoe and another person's hand in the background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bet was struck over a dart board in the Crown and Anchor, and by closing time it had grown a second clause. Ivo Marsh said his moustache, the proper curled handlebar that had carried him through thirty-one years on the Harwich postal round, would outlast Gerald Tipping's droop by a full winter. Gerald said a droop was honest and a curl was just a man who couldn't leave a thing alone. Nell Kettering, who ran the tattoo room above the chip shop, offered to ink both designs onto the second fingers of their right hands for nothing, provided she could put the photograph in her window.

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They sat in her back room under one bare bulb, each with a hand flat on the cold counter, while the needle hummed and the gulls argued on the gutter outside. Ivo swore at every line. Gerald said nothing at all, though his jaw went pale at the corners. Afterwards Nell wiped the ink clean and held the two fingers up to the window, side by side, and neither man would say which one he thought was better.

Through November they carried the bet everywhere. Ivo combed his curl with a little brass comb at the bus stop. Gerald trimmed his droop with the kitchen scissors and insisted the ink was doing the real work. By December the black had softened at the edges, and the whole town had taken a side, the bakers for the curl and the Methodists for the droop.

On Boxing Day the landlord cleared a table for the decider, and the two men met it with their fingers pressed together, neither willing to be first to pull away. Nobody could tell who was pushing harder. The landlord asked who had won. Ivo looked at Gerald's droop, and Gerald looked at Ivo's curl, and both of them pretended the other had got the better of it. The landlord chalked a draw on the board, and the two moustaches stayed where they were, black against black, the way they had been all winter.

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