Black and white side profile of a person with long wavy hair, showing a small fine line cross tattoo on the neck behind the ear.

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Small cross tattoo behind the ear

Fine line · Neck · Black and grey · Photo

A black and white side profile of a person with long wavy hair tucked back, head tilted down and turned away from the camera. A small, thin black cross sits on the skin behind the ear, on the upper neck, with simple fine linework. The background is a blurred pale ground with a white line, and the person wears a light top.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The line-marker coughed twice on the hill and then stopped, the way it always did when Dennis had forgotten to top up the petrol, so Ruth walked it up from the gate with the can in one hand and the tape in the other. Saturday's game was against Lower Ashby, and Lower Ashby never let a boundary go unmeasured.

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Dennis had been groundsman at Hollin Green for thirty-one years and had painted every white line on that field with a steady hand and a bad temper. He said the trick was to stop looking at the crease and look at the far oak instead. Ruth had tried it. Her lines wandered like the path to the pavilion after a pint.

She found him in the shed doorway with a folded tea towel and a tin of Brasso, polishing the old brass plate from the scorebox. It had been a gift from the club's first secretary, engraved with initials nobody could read any more. Dennis rubbed at it until the letters came up thin and crooked, then tapped a small cross beside them with the tip of his penknife.

"Who's that for?" she asked.

"Nobody. The fellow who scratched the first set of creases in nineteen twenty-two. He never got his name on anything." He held the plate to the light. "Mark your own marks, Ruth. Then nobody can say they were someone else's."

She went back out and drew the crease straight to the oak, then twice more to be sure. The church bell rang five. The line held all the way to the boundary, and the cross on the plate caught the last of the sun.

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