Small fine line tattoo on the inner wrist of a red heart outline overlapped by a black cross and curved stroke.

Heart and cross on the wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A small tattoo of a red outlined heart with a black cross laid over it, plus a curved black stroke at the lower left. The black linework is fairly thin and even, while the red heart is drawn with a lighter, slightly sketchy line. The tattoo sits near the centre of the frame on pale skin, with a plain background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The last of the Bramleys came down in the second week of September, which Aunt Maud said was late and blamed on the wet June and on me for not climbing the ladder sooner. I held the bucket while she worked her billhook through a stubborn bough, the blade ticking against the wood like a clock that had lost its nerve.

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The old orchard at Pensham ran down to the brook in rows nobody had planted straight. Each tree had a name chalked on a tin tag, and most of the names belonged to people who were long gone. Maud kept a pot of red paint in the shed for marking trees that were coming to the end, a single daub on the bark, and she used it sparingly, the way other people save good tea.

On the last tree, an old codlin by the gate, the bark had split and healed over into a pale ridge shaped like a cross with a hook curled beneath it. Maud laid her palm flat against it. Her husband had cut that mark the spring they grafted the orchard, she said, and the heart was for their first apple harvest, and the hook was for the bill the nurseryman never got paid. I laughed, and she didn't, and I understood she was telling the truth as she knew it.

I took the paint pot from her and drew a small heart beside the ridge, my hand shaking the way it does when the line matters. The wasps carried on with their business in the windfalls. Maud pressed the final apple into my palm, still warm from the sun, and told me that a tree marked with paint was not dying, only being remembered.

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