Black and grey fine line script letter F tattoo on the side of an ankle, with a grey sneaker with a dotted swoosh below it.

Script letter F on an ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A single cursive letter F with looping strokes is tattooed on the outer side of a lower leg, just above a grey trainer. The linework is thin and dark, with no shading, and the lettering sits near the ankle bone. The image is black and white, and the photo is taken close up from a low angle, with the shoe filling the lower half of the frame.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The Majestic on Saturday nights smelled of Brylcreem and wet wool, and Dennis Rowe always stood by the pillar nearest the cloakroom as though someone had nailed him there. I had watched him for three weeks before he crossed the floor. He asked for a foxtrot, which was a mercy, because I could not have managed anything quicker in the shoes I had borrowed from my sister.

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We danced through two Glenn Miller numbers without speaking. He counted under his breath, one two three, and I counted with him so neither of us would tread on the other. Halfway through the third tune he told me his name was Frank. I said I would call him Frankie once he had earned it, and he laughed so hard he missed a step and apologised to the couple we nearly knocked over.

He came every Saturday after that, and on the fourth week he wrote something on the back of my dance card with a stub of pencil. It was a single letter, F, looped and looping like a ribbon someone had dropped and not bothered to pick up. He said it was for Frances, which was my name, though nobody had called me that since my mother died. I did not tell him that.

The next Saturday the pillar stood empty. A letter came in the spring from a station I could not spell, saying he had gone where dancing was no use to anyone. I still wear my sister's shoes to the Majestic, though it has been a bingo hall for years. Each week I count one two three under my breath and leave a little space before the F.

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