Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Pink rose and lace patterns on a forearm
Realism · Forearm · Mixed · Photo
A large pink rose with soft grey shading dominates the upper forearm, with several pink five-petal blossoms below it. Black lace-like ornamental linework and small leaves wrap around the flowers and continue down towards the wrist. The tattoo sits against a plain black background, and a hand wearing a ring with a dark stone is visible at the lower edge.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Dear Ida,
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You will say I have gone soft since the Co-op lost the lace contract, but I have spent the whole afternoon with my sleeves rolled, picking black thread out of the cuff of Mr Pemberton's good coat, and I am not sorry. The Palais has put up its bunting again for the Saturday hop. Mrs Gorse insists the rose on the poster be painted pink, not red, because the committee thinks red looks like a warning. I told her roses have never once asked permission.
Last Saturday I wore the blue dress with the lace yoke I made from the offcuts, and Walter Lyle asked me to dance before the band had properly tuned. I said yes the first time and pretended not to hear him the second. He smelled of Brylcreem and wet pavement, and he counted under his breath like a schoolboy learning his times tables, which I found more charming than I ought to.
Since then I have been working on something for him in secret. It is a long cuff of fine black net, worked with a scroll of leaves that trail down towards the wrist, and at the top, where it will sit beneath his rolled shirtsleeve, three pink blossoms and one great rose with petals folded over like the pages of a letter nobody has finished reading. Mother says a girl should not make a man gifts before he has asked for one. Mother also says the sea at Morecambe is perfectly warm in August, so I have decided to ignore her.
I will leave it folded under the cloakroom ticket on Saturday. If he finds it, he will know where to look for me. If he does not, the lace will still have been good work, and you may tell Mrs Gorse I said so.
Your loving sister, Marjorie
P.S. Do not tell Mother about the rose.
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