Botanical tattoo of a bellflower sprig with small round leaves running up the inner forearm, shown with a hand resting palm up.

Bellflower sprig on the inner forearm

Botanical · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A sprig of drooping bell-shaped flowers, with a few buds and small round leaves, runs diagonally from the wrist up the inner forearm. The linework is fine and the petals and leaves are softly shaded with grey and muted purple and green tones. The design sits on the forearm against a patterned floral cloth, with the hand open below it.

Botanical Forearm Flower Bud Leaves Stem Wildflower

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The hall still smelled of floor polish and squash, and Ruth had promised herself she would not stand near the trestle table where the old class photographs were pinned. She stood near it anyway. Kirsty Dunn was there, greyer and louder, holding a biscuit tin against her chest as if it might escape. "You kept the book," Kirsty said, nodding at the nature diary Ruth had brought in her handbag without quite knowing why. Miss Hale's diary, its cover soft as cloth, with harebells pressed flat between the pages from the chalk path above Tenby.

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They had walked that path the summer they were eleven, after the last bell, when the sea below was the colour of pewter and the flowers nodded on their wiry stems. Harebells never last once they are picked. Miss Hale had told them that, and so they had pressed them fast, between blotting paper, under the heaviest dictionary in the library. Kirsty had lost hers in a house move in 2003. Ruth had never mentioned that she kept hers.

Kirsty lifted the lid of the tin. Inside there was no pressed flower, only a single bell on a fine grey stalk, dried to the colour of wet slate, and a folded slip of paper in round, careful handwriting. Ruth unfolded it. You said we would go back in September. The bus had left without them that year, and neither of them had ever said sorry for it.

For a moment neither spoke. Then the caretaker rang the brass hand bell for the raffle, and the sound went up into the rafters. Ruth took the flower between her finger and thumb, very gently, and it held its shape for the first time in thirty years.