Script quote along the ribs
Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo
A black script tattoo reads We need never be hopeless in a slanted, flowing hand, running diagonally down the side of the ribs. The linework is thin and even, with no shading, and the ink is solid black on pale skin. The photo is taken close up, with a hand holding back a green and blue plaid shirt at the top edge of the frame.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The boarding house at Saltcombe had a rule painted over the door in letters so faded the gulls had taken most of them: rooms by the week, bread by the morning, nobody goes past the breakwater after the bell. Mrs Ffoulkes kept the rule and nobody asked why, though the lodgers talked of it over their kippers.
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Her daughter Nell was the one who stayed up the winter the lamp failed. She watched the tide come in and saw a rowing boat drift with no one in it, and on its thwart a tin box, and in the box a slate. Someone had scratched a line on it in a slanting hand, smudged where the wet had got in: we need never be hopeless. Nell carried it up the cliff path without reading it twice, because her mother was already at the gate with a shawl.
The old woman took the slate, held it to the lamp, and said nothing for so long that the kettle boiled over. Then she told Nell that the boat belonged to a man who had rowed out the year before to fetch his brother from a wreck, and had come back alone, and had never once stopped writing to the sea. Every bottle that washed up in Saltcombe carried a line like that, she said, and each had been kept in the attic under the eaves where the damp could not reach.
They climbed there that night with the lamp. Nell counted eleven slates hung from the rafters on bent nails, each scratched in a different hand with the same words. Mrs Ffoulkes reached past her, wiped the newest line with her thumb, and wrote it again herself, slanting, so that anyone who came looking for the boat would know the house had kept faith.
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