Fine line black tattoo of a ringed planet and three small stars on the inside of a wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Ringed planet and three stars on a wrist

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A small black tattoo shows a ringed planet with an outlined body and a single curved ring, surrounded by three small outlined stars of varying sizes. The linework is thin and even, with no shading, and the ink is solid black against pale skin. The design sits alone on the wrist, with the planet near the centre and the stars placed around it.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The function room at the Crown smells of carpet shampoo and someone's vanilla candle, and Gary Pike is still telling the joke about the caretaker's van. I hold a warm glass of Chardonnay and look at the corkboard by the bar, where somebody has pinned photos from the Year Eleven trip. We didn't go to Kielder, whatever the picture says. We went to the top field behind the sports hall with Mr Lusk's borrowed telescope, and he let us look at Saturn for ten minutes before the cloud rolled in from Stoke.

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Tamsin Reade drew on everything that year. Star charts, the backs of maths homework, the inside of her pencil case. She gave me one sheet with a planet on it, ringed in a single curved stroke she must have pressed hard enough to dent the paper, and three small stars arranged around it like people waiting to be introduced. She'd numbered them one, two and three, and written in tiny capitals: THE FOURTH ONE YOU HAVE TO LOOK FOR SIDEWAYS. When I asked what that meant she just shrugged and said her gran had told her.

Tonight her chair is empty and the organiser says she has sent apologies from Lisbon. I hadn't expected to mind. I dig through my handbag for the car keys and find the folded chart instead, soft as cloth now, kept for twenty-odd years in a tin with the Brownie badges. I unfold it on the bar. The planet is still there, the ring still sits at the same slant, and the three stars still look as if they've just noticed something off to one side.

I look sideways, past Gary and the candle and the corkboard, and there is nothing but the bar mirror, and in it a woman my age holding a chart and trying to work out which of us is the fourth star.

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