I’m going to do it.
When Tippi texted asking if I wanted to keep her company at her tattoo appointment this afternoon, I did something I’ve never done in my life: I took what my managing director calls a “personal day”. He signed it off instantly, mostly, I suspect, because it’s the first time I’ve ever asked him for one.
And not only that.
If one of the artists at Wishbone Tattoos has time available today,I’m going to get a tattoo.
I hope Sadie can do it, but I’m not going to quibble. They’re in demand. I just hope they can fit me in before I lose my nerve.
I want it on my wrist, so I can look at it every day and remember this time in my life, this strange new feeling that excitement and possibility are not privileges reserved for other people. A reminder that I’m allowed to, and should, enjoy my own existence.
All that’s left is deciding what to have. Nothing huge, of course; it’s my first.
Would it be insane to get something that directly represents Tippi? Possibly. But maybe I don’t need to decide now. Maybe, just this once, I can be spontaneous. See something at the parlour and choose it on the spot. That’d be memento enough.
Unsurprisingly, my brain is already turning over possibilities as I push open Wishbone’s door.
Shamefully, despite having family working here, I’ve never set foot inside before. I imagined black walls, graffiti, heavy metal blasting from enormous speakers. The reality is a spacious reception with tan walls, a squashy leather sofa, fat leafy plants in black metal stands, and Vivaldi playing quietly in the background.
“Hello, Jacob!” Emily’s behind the counter, smiling warmly. She has a peaceful presence I’ve always liked, and right now it’s incredibly reassuring. “How are you? Want me to take you through?”
“Fine, thank you. And yes, please.”
“This way.” She leads me down a dark red corridor lined with framed pieces of Sadie’s work. She’s a very talented artist; I’ve always known that in the abstract, but seeing it all together like this makes me more urgently aware, and envious, of her skill. “They haven’t long started,” Emily adds, almost whispering over the insect-like buzz of machines and the chatter from the last room.
I hear Tippi’s voice through the open doorway at the end, muffled, but unmistakable. It makes me want to close my eyes and just listen for a second. That would be something an oddball would do, though, so I don’t.
Emily taps lightly on the door. Sadie opens it and puts a finger to her lips. “They’re asleep,” she whispers. “Keep it down.”
“Is the Vivaldi for their benefit?” I whisper back.
“Yes.”
“Good choice.” I like this piece.
She ushers me in. Relief hums through me when I see Tippi sitting opposite Leo, chatting as he works on the continuation of themandala on her left arm. He’s focused on the delicate skin of her forearm; the pattern is beautiful and intricate. Every few seconds Tippi’s eyes pinch with pain, but when she turns and smiles at me, you’d never know anything was hurting.
“Jacob, you made it!”
“Shh!” Leo and Sadie hiss in unison, both flicking nervous looks at the twins asleep in their carry cots. Sadie rubs her face with one hand. “God, I’m sorry,” she mutters. “I always swore I’d never be one ofthoseparents, but I just got them both down, and if they wake up before I have to get Rhiannon from school, I might rip my own leg off and beat myself to death with it.”
I assume she’s exaggerating, even though her facial expression is serious; logically, her threat is hyperbolic. So I smile. “It must be… tiring,” I guess, pitching my volume just above the buzz of Leo’s machine.
“You’d better believe it,” he says, humour and exhaustion creasing his eyes.
“Better not mess up my tattoo, sleepyhead,” Tippi teases. He shoots her an amused scowl and keeps working.
Sadie’s watching me. She never used to, not like this. We hardly registered one another growing up; she was the alleged tearaway, I was the golden boy, and we orbited separate suns despite living in the same house. Now she looks at me the way some of my colleagues assess a situation in surveillance footage. I’m not sure what to make of it. Her smile, though, is recognizably gentle. Almost sympathetic.
“Come sit with me?” Tippi says, and I don’t need asking twice. I pull up an unused wooden chair beside her. “I might need to hold your hand,” she adds, eyes glittering.
Leo snorts. “Little Miss Tough-It-Out suddenly going all wobbly? Pull the other one.”
“Jacob’s cute,” she says with a shrug. “Give a girl a break. Any excuse, hey?”
She giggles, and I’m helpless not to grin back. I see Leo blink in my peripheral vision, and Sadie’s breath catches a little more sharply than usual.
I wish humans were as easy to understand as Kerberos authentication. A ticket-based system for decoding people’s behaviour would be incredibly useful to me.
