Small script tattoo on a forearm
Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
A small black script tattoo sits on the forearm, with thin, even linework and no shading. The arm is held against a pale blue background while the hand grips a red quilted handbag with a gold and red woven chain strap and a gold clasp. The beige satin dress and red nail polish add warm colour to the composition, while the tattoo remains black and grey.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The band at the Lantern Ballroom had been murdering the same foxtrot since eight, and by midnight the floor smelled of talc and spilt lemonade. You had come only because Ruby Fenn promised you a dance with the man who ran the Margate boats, and now she was dancing with him while you leaned on a pillar, counting the brass buttons on the bandleader's jacket.
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Sidney Okonedo, who sold tickets at the pier kiosk, crossed the floor with two glasses of lemonade and the serious face of a man about to propose a bet. He had been trying to dance with you since Easter. "You'll have to lead," he said. "I've only ever practised with my mother." You laughed, which ended your refusal. He stepped on your hem twice and apologised each time, and somewhere between the second and third turn you caught yourself saying the words you had copied from a Parisian postcard onto the back of a ledger page, the ones your aunt used whenever something delighted her too much: ooh la la.
"Say it again," Sidney said, grinning, so you did, and he repeated it in a dreadful accent until the drummer threw a cymbal at him. At half eleven the tram bell rang outside and Ruby came back for her red handbag from the cloakroom shelf, snapping its gold clasp shut with the air of a woman who had been promised a second dance and got a boat trip instead. She hooked her arm through yours on the steps. "Well?" she said. "Was he worth the pillar?"
You looked back through the glass doors at Sidney, who was still hunting for the beat, one hand raised as though the music were a bird he meant to catch. "Ask me on Thursday," you said, and let the sea wind take the rest.
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