Black and grey dotwork tattoo on an upper arm showing a blindfolded woman with an apple on her head, with a leafy sprig to the left.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Blindfolded woman with apple on upper arm

Dotwork · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A blindfolded woman's head and shoulders are tattooed on the upper arm, with an apple resting on top of her head. The piece uses bold black outlines and stippled dotwork shading for the hair, face and blindfold. The design is in black and grey on a plain skin background, with a partial sprig of leaves and stems at the left edge and a brick wall behind the arm.

Dotwork Traditional Upper arm Woman Apple Leaves Sprig Portrait

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The porter arrived at the lost property hatch with a brown leather case under one arm and the easy confidence of a man who had never been asked to prove anything. Ada Pell did not look up from her ledger. She was counting umbrellas by colour: twelve black, three green, one that had clearly belonged to a bishop.

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Describe it, she said. Tom Gilchrist described it: brass corners, initials stamped in gold, a strap that had been mended with wire. Ada asked how heavy it was. He said heavy. She asked what was inside, and he said his Sunday shirts, the good ones. She set her pen down, untied the grey scarf from her throat, folded it twice and tied it over her own eyes. Then she held out her hand for the case.

Blind, she opened it by touch. Her fingers moved over a tin of sardines, a railway timetable from 1911, a pair of child's mittens knitted in red wool, and at the bottom, a letter with the postmark smudged. She didn't read it. She lifted the mittens and held them a moment against the back of her wrist. Your shirts are at the Co-op laundry, she said, because your mother sent this case to the wrong platform in March and you have been too proud to say so. Tom went red to the collar.

The case belonged to Mrs Hollis, who had waited on Platform Four every Thursday since the signalman's funeral. Ada untied the scarf and folded it back into a neat grey square. Take it to her, she said, and tell her the mittens are not lost, only late. When he had gone, she reached for the green apple she kept on the shelf above the ledger and set it on the counter, where it rolled, slowly, until it touched the edge and dropped. She left it lying on the floor where it fell.