Hello Kitty tattoo flash zip pouch

Sorry it's taken me a fortnight to write. The Palais has been mad since the Whit fair, and Mr Gorse has me on the cloakroom and the ticket hatch both, so I'm asleep on my feet by eleven. Still, you'll want the news. Ray Penhallow has finally opened the back room above the dance hall for proper tattooing, and he's pinned his flash sheets along the wall like a fishmonger's price list.

Everything's there. Swallows with their wings thrown wide, roses wrapped in green leaves, apples and cherries, a heart with a ribbon across it, a dagger slid through another heart, and a mermaid with a tail the colour of a bottle. Then there's the little white cat with the red bow, always the same smiling face, sitting in the middle of all of it like she owns the place. Ray says she's the most asked for, and I can see why. Stars and dots fill every gap, as if somebody couldn't bear to leave any empty space.

Last Thursday Jessie Trewin climbed the stairs with her mother's shawl over one arm and asked for the cat sitting on a swallow's wing. Ray told her the bow had to sit just so, or the whole thing would look lopsided. She said she'd wait all night if she had to. He had it done before the band started its second set, blue and red and black, the outlines so sharp they might have been ruled with a pencil.

When she left, she stood at the top of the stairs listening to the music, tapping her foot in time, and I could've sworn the bow on her wrist was doing the same. Ray says new ink always looks like it's dancing for the first few days. Write back soon and tell me if you're coming Saturday. He says he'll keep you a seat by the stars.

Love, Edie