Black and grey shaded rose with a stem and leaves tattooed on the side of a neck, just behind the ear.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Black and grey rose on the neck behind the ear

Botanical · Neck · Black and grey · Photo

A shaded black and grey rose in bloom sits on the side of the neck behind the ear, with a bud and two leaves on a thin curving stem. The rose is rendered with soft grey shading and fine dark outlines that give the petals depth. The photograph is a close side profile against a dark background, with the tattoo as the clear focus.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The climbing rose by the coal shed came from a cutting my aunt Ida took off the churchyard wall at Holm Edge in 1961, and in all the years I knew it, it never once flowered the red everyone expected. It came out the colour of wet slate, grey at the edges and darker at the heart, the petals folding over each other like something keeping a secret.

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I was fifteen when I first tried to dig it out. Ida caught me at the gate with the fork in my hands and said, "Leave it. It's only sulking." She took the secateurs from her apron pocket, cut a single thin stem with a bud at the tip and two leaves no bigger than a thumbnail, and pressed it into my palm. "The bud's the hard part," she said. "Anyone can make a flower. Waiting is the trick."

Ida died in February, the year I turned thirty-one. The solicitor's letter listed the cottage, the mangle, eleven jars of marrow chutney and a rose. That spring I dug out the bush root by root and found the old stem still wrapped in newspaper on a shelf in the shed, brittle as biscuit. It had never taken. I had kept it anyway.

I set the bud in a pot on the kitchen windowsill and watched it turn grey and then soft. In June it opened, dark as wet slate with a pale fold at its heart, and I stood at the sink with my hands in cold water, laughing at myself for crying over a flower that had never been the right colour.

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