Colour tattoo of two sisters seated back to back with the words Sisters will always be connected by the heart, on the thigh.

Two sisters seated back to back on a thigh

Thigh · Colour · Photo

The tattoo shows two cartoon-style female figures seen from behind, seated side by side, one with a purple hair bun and one with long blonde hair. Their outlines are dark and fairly clean, with soft watercolour-style fills in green, orange, purple and pink. Below them, a lettered phrase reads Sisters will always be connected by the, followed by a small pink heart, all set on a purple wash.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

'Shift over, Ada, you're sitting on my plait,' Ivy said, and you felt the beech log dip as she wriggled until her back pressed against yours. The fallen tree at the edge of Hollin Wood had been sat on by every child in Little Mersey for fifty years, and its bark had worn into two shallow hollows the exact width of a pair of shoulders. Below you the village smoked its evening chimneys, and the carter's wagon for Leeds stood loaded by the church gate, its lantern already lit for the morning.

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'You don't have to go,' Ivy said, not turning round. 'Mam needs someone at the loom.' You picked at a splinter on the log. 'Mam needs someone who can read a bill of sale without being cheated.' Ivy dug her heel into the moss, then took the knife from her apron pocket, the one Da used for whittling clothes pegs. She cut a heart into the bark between the two hollows, small and lopsided, and beside it a few words that ran out before the thought did: Sisters will always be connected by the. 'Finish it,' she said. 'I can't think of the last word.'

Leeds was all soot and clatter, and for three winters you stitched collars for a man who never learnt your name. Letters came from Ivy in pencil, always folded twice. In the fourth spring one arrived with a pressed violet inside and a single line: the carter says the beech came down in the gale, and the men are sawing it for the new bridge. You wrote back that the heart would soon be on a plank over the Mersey, and that people would walk across it without knowing whose hands had made it.

That night you finished the sentence alone at your window, the words coming easily now that there was nobody to hear them. Then, because the room was cold, you leaned your back against the plaster and felt for the hollow that wasn't there, and found it anyway.

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