Small quote tattoo on the inner wrist
Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
A small black tattoo across the inner wrist reads It's real for us in a handwritten-style script, with a tiny star mark at each end. The lines are crisp and even, with the lettering set in a single horizontal band. The skin tone is light and the image is shot close up against white blinds, with no colour ink present.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Dilys had the ovens lit by ten to four, the way her father had taught her, and the first tray of bloomers was already cooling on the rack when Owen came through the back door with rain on his hood. He didn't say good morning. He never did before the bread was in.
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"The Halloran order's short again," he said, tying his apron. "Mrs Halloran wants six loaves for the christening, and she wants them by nine." Dilys nodded at the bench, where the dough had been folded three times overnight and sat under a damp cloth like something sleeping. "They'll be there. They always are."
He stopped by the proving cabinet and looked at the strip of masking tape on its door, where she had written, in her small slanting hand, the things they had argued about since August. Under the list of oven faults and flour deliveries was a line she had added at three that morning, half hidden beneath a sticker of a lopsided star. He read it, then read it again, and she made a great show of checking the scale.
"You're not going to say anything?" she asked.
"I said it last night," he said. "You were asleep. That counts." He laughed, and the sound rose into the warm air above the flour bins. Outside, the first grey light came through the blinds and laid pale stripes across the floor between them, and neither of them moved to switch on the lamp.
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