Words tattooed on the upper arm
Lettering · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo
A small line of black text reads It All Works Out and runs across the outer upper arm. The letters are a serif typeface with even spacing and slightly uneven edges. The skin is shown in close focus against a plain white background, with a white top sleeve at the left edge.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The lock at Hatton Green has been broken since spring, so every boat on the cut sits in a queue of cold engines and short tempers. I was third in line with a load of cement under a grey tarpaulin and Dad's dented kettle on the stove. My sister Bea came down the towpath carrying a paper bag of Chelsea buns and a face like a wet Sunday.
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Dad used to say it all works out. He said it the way other men swore, at gates that stuck, at diesel that wouldn't catch, at the lock-keeper who was always having his tea. He never painted it on the cabin or carved it on the tiller. He just said it, and the words went ahead of us along the water like the wash off a bow.
Bea had the letter from the agent in her coat pocket. The cottage by the lock, the mortgage, the boat that would have to go to pay for both. She waved it at me and I said nothing, because I had heard the sums before. Then she pulled out the old logbook, its spine taped twice, and turned to the last page Dad had written. Under the weather and the gauge readings, in his square pencil, he had put the same four words, and beneath them, smaller: Bea laughing at me again.
The top gate groaned, the paddles dropped, and the chamber filled from below like a held breath let go. We rose a yard in five minutes. I put my hand on the tiller and felt the whole boat lift under it, and I stopped arguing with my sister.
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