Back of a person's neck with short dark hair, showing a small solid red heart tattoo with a dark outline on the nape, above a red beaded necklace.

Small red heart on the nape of the neck

Neck · Colour · Photo

A small heart sits on the nape of the neck, just below the hairline and slightly right of centre. It has a solid red-pink fill and a thin dark outline, with the shape kept simple and clean. The photograph is taken from behind, with the tattoo framed by dark hair above and a red and metal beaded necklace below.

Neck Heart

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mr Pargeter left Number Six in March with his bags packed and no forwarding address, and my mother wrote it in the ledger the way she wrote everything, in pencil, with a line drawn underneath so nothing could be argued. I was nineteen and thought the line was meant for us. It was only ever for the rent.

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He had paid through the winter with coins from a cocoa tin, and on his last morning he came down to the kitchen and set something on the oilcloth beside the teapot. It was a piece of sea glass no bigger than a fingernail, worn smooth and the dull red of a holly berry, its sharp edges gone soft. He said he had found it under the groyne at low tide, and that a thing like that ought to be somewhere people looked at it every day. Then he picked up his case and walked to the station without waiting for his toast.

I put the glass on the windowsill above the sink, where the light off the water comes in green in the afternoons. My mother saw it there and said nothing, which for her was a kind of permission. Over the summer I took to turning it with my thumb while the kettle boiled, and I found that it had a shape if you held it at the right angle: two round sides meeting in a point, the top dipped in the middle. I had been looking at it wrong for months.

In August a letter came, forwarded from a Bristol address, asking whether a cocoa tin had been left behind. It had not. I pushed the tin to the back of the cupboard, behind the tea caddy, and wrote back that we had found nothing of his but a red stone, which I was keeping for him. I still have it. The tide takes most things off this shore, but it has never once taken that.