Silver metallic temporary tattoo of a mandala on the back of a hand, with chevron and diamond bands across the wrist and lacy motifs on the fingers.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Silver mandala and wrist bands on a hand

Geometric · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A woman rests her hands on her bare midriff, showing silver metallic temporary tattoos. A detailed mandala with lace-like petals covers the back of one hand, with scalloped and dotted motifs on the fingers and a row of chevron and diamond bands across the wrist. The shallow-focus outdoor background sets off the black crochet top, dark nails and silver jewellery.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The rain had come in sideways all week, so when the girl from number seven knocked on the kitchen door asking for the silver, Mrs Pardoe went to the tin under the stairs without a word. It held sheets of transfers her late husband had brought back from the fair at Weymouth, thin as onion skin and stamped with lace that caught the lamplight. Nell took a mandala the size of a crab's shell and pressed it to the back of her left hand, then ran a row of chevrons up her wrist the way the lighthouse steps were cut, and dotted the knuckles like salt on a windowsill.

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Her Tom had gone out on the Thursday tide and the boat had come home without him. The men said the sea was owed a man, and the sea had its pick. Nell had heard enough from the lodgers' gossip to know the sea read a mark the way a clerk reads a ledger. So at dusk she walked the shingle to the place where the tide pools froze at the edges, and she held her hand out flat over the black water, so the silver lace shone like frost on a rail.

The water rose to meet her fingers and went quiet. Something cold and patient turned over under the surface, and she felt the chevrons on her wrist tighten as if a net had been drawn. She did not pull away. She said Tom's name once, plainly, the way you would call a dog in from the yard, and waited.

In the morning Mrs Pardoe found the tin open on the hall table and every transfer gone except one. It lay on the step, a small silver mandala curled at the edges, and beside it a wet man's cap, and the tide was already drawing back from the door.

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