Pencil sketch of a volleyball design with the words one love in cursive script across its panels, drawn as a lettering concept with no body placement shown.

One love script on a volleyball sketch

Lettering · Black and grey · Flash

A pencil drawing of a volleyball outline with its curved seam lines drawn as bold strokes. The words one love are written in flowing cursive script that runs across the lower panels of the ball. The graphite shading is light and uneven, on a plain off-white sheet with faint red guide marks in the background.

Lettering Script

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The net was still sagging between the two oaks when Maeve found the ball in the hedge, its leather gone soft and grey after a summer of rain. Someone had written on it in biro once, the letters rubbed almost to nothing. She carried it across the wet lawn in her good shoes, held out in front of her like a cake, because the reception had spilled out of the marquee and nobody had thought about the grass.

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Her brother Tomasz was on a stepladder stapling fairy lights to the barn beam, muttering at the damp. 'Whose is that?' 'Dad's. He swears he lost it at a tournament in Bridport the year before we were born.' She turned it in her hands. The seams ran in long curves across the panels, bulging where the air still held. Tomasz came down the ladder, rubbed a smear of mud from the lettering with his thumb, and read it out slowly, the way he used to read the backs of cereal boxes.

Within ten minutes the bride's cousins had kicked off their heels, the old men had hung their jackets over the fence, and the net was pulled taut with a length of baler twine. Nobody kept a proper score. Tomasz tallied points on the back of an order of service with a golf pencil. When their father finally wandered out with his shirt untucked and his tie round his neck, he stood at the net as if he had been waiting all afternoon for permission.

Tomasz served underarm, soft and high. The ball dropped over the twine, and their father let it bounce once, then caught it against his chest like something he had been hunting for in a drawer for thirty years. 'One love,' he said, and for once nobody laughed at him for saying it.