Small black and grey cross tattoo on the ankle of a person wearing white slides, pink toenail polish and rolled denim jeans.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small cross tattoo on an ankle

Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A close view of two feet in white slides on grey asphalt, with jeans cuffed above the ankles. A small cross tattoo on the left ankle has shaded grey linework with some ornamental detail along its arms. The image is in natural daylight and is composed from above, with the tattoo framed beside the pink toenails and toe rings.

Ankle Cross Jeans

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The ferry Aurelia had not left Tallow Sound in nine days, and Nell Brannock had counted every one of them in chalk on the board outside the harbour office. The wind came from the north-west and sat on the water like a dog on a step. Her brother Joss wanted to row across regardless, and she told him no, that the cross-tide would carry them out to the Skerries whether they liked it or not.

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The old ironwork cross on the quay had been painted white every spring since her grandmother's day, though nobody could say why. Salt had worn its arms thin, and the scrolled ends, like unfurling fiddleheads, had flaked to grey. Nell scraped at the paint with a putty knife that morning and found, underneath, a name scratched into the iron: a woman's, with a date from the year the lifeboat went down.

She carried the name to Mrs Ferrier at the shop, who knew everyone's business back four generations and said nothing for a long while. Then she said the woman had been waiting for a boat that never came in, and that the cross was set there so the living could see where the sea ended and the land began. Nell thought that a grim thing to paint on a jetty, but she went back down and painted it again anyway, leaving the name showing through.

On the tenth morning the wind dropped. Joss stood at the rail with his hands in his pockets and said the water looked like poured slate. The Aurelia's engine coughed, caught, and they pulled away from the quay with the cross behind them, pale as bone, its scratched name turned to face the open water.