Fine line script tattoo reading "you are my sunshine" across the top of a foot.

"You are my sunshine" script on a foot

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a foot showing the words "you are my sunshine" written in a flowing, cursive script in black ink. The linework is thin and even, with the lettering running diagonally from the ankle side toward the toes. The skin tone is light and the background is softly out of focus, with a neutral, monochrome feel to the ink.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Marjorie, the kettle in Room Four has finally given up, so you'll have to make do with the urn in the hall, which Mr Pellow insists is perfectly sound and which I would not trust with a boiled egg. I'm writing because the Hendersons left on Tuesday in a hurry and forgot their daughter's sun hat, a yellow one with a torn brim, and I found it wedged behind the radiator with a sandy scrap of paper tucked inside the band. Someone had written the same line over and over in pencil, slanting down the page like a tide going out: you are my sunshine, you are my sunshine. The girl must have been practising her joined-up for the seaside postcard she meant to send her grandmother. I've kept the hat on the hook by the back door in case they write.

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The weather turned on Wednesday, grey as a slate roof, and the bay disappeared behind it for three days. Guests played cards in the lounge and complained about the damp in a comfortable, sociable way. On the Friday the cloud broke all at once, the way it does here, and the gulls came back over the harbour wall shouting as if nothing had happened. I went out with a basket to fetch the washing from the line and there was a rope of sunlight across the wet lawn, sharp enough to read by.

I'll post the hat on Monday, though I don't yet know where to send it. The Hendersons left no forwarding address, only a sticky note on the mirror that said Brighton, maybe. Write back when you can and tell me whether the urn is still making that noise. I'm fairly sure now it's only singing.

Yours in haste, Edith

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