Close-up of a colourful traditional style tattoo of an open pearl clam with a pink pearl and bubbles, beside a purple candy heart, on an upper arm.

Pearl clam and candy heart on an arm

Traditional · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A close-up of an arm covered in bold, colourful tattoos, centred on an open clam shell holding a glossy pink pearl with small blue bubbles around it. A purple conversation heart with the word LEO sits below, with partial designs including an umbrella and a banner at the edges. Thick black outlines define the shapes, with flat pink, teal and purple fills and small yellow sparkles on the shell.

Traditional Neo-trad Upper arm Shell Pearl Bubble Heart Banner Umbrella Rose Leaves

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dennis came up from the pit at four with coal dust in the creases of his neck, and Nan had the kettle on before he reached the step. The Saturday coach to Whitley Bay had been booked since March. Lorraine, twelve, had counted pennies into a jam jar for six weeks, and she carried it on her lap all the way down the coast road.

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At the front, the stalls sold sugared almonds and sticks of rock with the town's name running through the middle. Lorraine bought a paper bag of conversation hearts because a boy from the choir had said he liked them. The sweets said things like TEXT ME and BE MINE. She picked out the purple one and turned it over. It said LEO, which was nobody she knew, and she put it in her pocket anyway.

Down on the rocks the tide had left pools full of mussels and one clam shell gaping open like a mouth. Inside, a pink pearl sat in the hollow, round as a sweet, and she didn't think about the bus fare when she prised it loose. Her dad held the shell up to the sun and said the pearl was grit that had been too stubborn to leave. He said it like it was good news.

On the coach home the umbrella Nan had made her bring for the drizzle folded itself across her knees. Lorraine held the pearl in one fist and the heart in the other, and watched the pit wheel rise over the hedges. By the time it came into view she had decided the grit was the best part, and she held on tight so nobody would ask for it back.