Matching "you're my person" tattoos on calves

They had met over the breakfast urn three winters ago, when Ruth was a stranger with a suitcase of ledgers and Maud was the one who knew where the spare keys hung. Nobody had planned for them to stay. The boarders went home in October, the rooms went cold, and somehow the two of them kept finding reasons to be in the kitchen at the same time.

On the last morning the wind dropped, and Ruth walked Maud along Marine Parade to a tattooist above the chip shop. Mr Okonedo had a cabinet of flash and a steady hand, and he asked only how wide the letters should sit. Ruth chose a small red heart, the sort printed on lifeboat collection tins. Maud, who had never let anyone decide anything for her, pointed at the words before he had finished asking what they were.

Back at Seaholme the lights came on with a click and a hum, and the kettle started before anyone touched it. Ruth read the words twice, then laughed until she had to sit down on the stairs. "You could have told me," she said. "I'm telling you now," Maud said, and went to fill the kettle, leaving the heart on the table where the lamp had caught it.