Script quote across upper back

The ice came off the Severn on Tuesday and Dad had us out on the Mary Ellen before the light. You will laugh at me, but I have blisters on my blisters, and my hands look like something the gulls picked over. Mum would have had a poultice ready. Instead I have the tar tin and your old gloves, which are far too big, so I keep them on anyway.

The worst of it was the tow at Gloucester lock. The line snapped across the deck and took the kettle clean off the stove. Dad didn't shout. He sat on the cabin step with his face gone grey and said the thing he always says when the water wins a round: with pain comes strength, Tess. Then he went back to his splicing as if he'd remarked on the weather.

I wanted to hate him for that. Instead I found myself working beside him until the light went, my fingers learning the lay of the rope the way you learn a hymn you never meant to memorise. By dusk I had made a fair eye splice. He turned it over in his hands for a long time and said nothing, which from Dad is practically a medal.

Come down at Easter if you can. I'll show you the splice and you can tell me whether it holds. Bring the ink pen you borrowed in April and don't lose it in the reeds this time. Your loving sister, Tess.

P.S. The gloves stay with me.