Black and white photo of a woman seen from behind, with a small fine line cross tattoo on her upper back near the shoulder blade.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small fine line cross on upper back

Fine line · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A woman is photographed from behind with her hair tied up in a bun and a denim jacket slipped off one shoulder. A small, thin black cross sits on her upper back, drawn with delicate single lines and no shading. The black and white photograph is softly lit against a plain pale background, leaving the tattoo as the clear focus.

Fine line Back Cross

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Nan,

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I'm writing this on a flour sack because the bench is covered in tins and Mrs Pryce says I'm not to sit down until the second batch is in. It's ten past four and the street outside is still black, though the bakery is already all heat and yeast. You'd laugh at me. I've been up since half two and my hands smell of rye.

Mrs Pryce, the master, took the lame from my fingers this morning before I'd even got the first tray out. It's a little curved razor on a wooden handle, nothing much to look at. She showed me how to lay the dough seam side down, tip it gently onto the board, and cut the top in one go. Her words: 'Once. Don't chase it.' I tried four times on the practice loaves and each one looked like a child's drawing of a kite. She didn't scold. She just pressed my wrist flat with her thumb until the blade stopped wobbling.

The cross is the mark we score on the buns for Good Friday, but she says it's for the rise as much as anything, so the crust opens where it's been cut and the loaf doesn't split wild in the oven. I believe her now. The first time my cross held, the dough swelled up and parted along the line like a door being unlatched.

I've got eighty-four loaves on the racks and every one has its cut. I don't think I've ever been so proud of something that asked so little of me. Come and see them when you're down at Easter. I'll save you the end piece with the best crust.

Your loving, Bea