Small fine line black tattoo of a treble clef and two music notes on a person's ankle, with a gold snakeskin-textured stiletto shoe.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Treble clef and music notes on an ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a woman's ankle and foot in a gold snakeskin-textured stiletto shoe. The tattoo is a small treble clef with two music notes beside it, drawn in thin black linework with no shading. The subject sits centrally against a dark, plain background, with the ankle as the main focus.

Fine line Ankle Treble clef Music note Musical note

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The hall at Ashgrove smelled of floor polish and the same orange squash as in 1998, and Margaret Pell stood by the trestle table with a name badge she had not bothered to read. She had come for one reason. Someone would have kept the choir's old score, the one with the coffee ring over bar nine, and she wanted to see whether anyone still hummed the wrong note in the second verse.

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Tobias Crane found her before she found him. He was balding now and carried two plastic cups, and when she said the opening line he sang the second verse himself, badly, exactly as he always had, and she laughed so hard she had to sit on the radiator. Then he pulled a folded programme from his jacket. On the back, in pencil, were a treble clef and two quavers, drawn quickly, the stems not quite straight. 'You left these on the piano lid in March 1999,' he said. 'I never gave them back.'

She had forgotten. The clef had been her habit, the thing she doodled while the register was taken, and nobody had ever suggested the marks might mean anything. Tobias said he had kept the page folded in his wallet for twenty-five years in case she ever asked for it back. She turned the programme over and read the names of the choir members who had gone, one by one, and stopped at the ones she had lost touch with on purpose.

She folded it along the crease and slipped it into her handbag. Then she took out her pen and, below the old clef, wrote a crotchet rest, because it was the only mark she could think of that meant keep going.