Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Four interlocking rings on an ankle
Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo
A small tattoo of four interlocking outline rings sits on the side of an ankle. The rings are drawn in thin, dark ink with even linework and no shading. The photograph is taken outdoors on pavement, with the ankle and a beige peep-toe stiletto shoe filling most of the frame.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Mrs Pargeter had counted the quoits twice before the Whitsun lodgers came down to the sands, and still one of the four iron rings was missing from the box in the porch. Nell Avery, who kept the linen and the keys, swore she had put it back after the regatta. Her brother Tom swore nothing. He sat on the step with his boots off, watching the tide and pretending not to listen.
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The rings had been forged by a blacksmith called Hobday, who had since drowned off Hastings, which the town considered a fitting end for a man who made things that looped. Every summer the four rings went out linked together, so that none could be lost without the others coming with it. Nell had always thought it a silly design. You could hang a ring on a peg, but you could never hang just one.
She found the missing ring at low tide, snagged on a groyne stake where the shingle gave way to mud, still hooked through the last of its three neighbours. The tide had dragged the chain along the beach all week. Nell worked it free with cold, wet thumbs, and the links fell apart in her palm. She stood there a long time deciding whether to tell her mother. Then she climbed back up the beach with the broken chain in her apron pocket, and she said nothing at tea.
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