“I know. It was done illegally when I was sixteen. That’s why I’m here this time round. I’ve seen the stuff you guys do on your website. I’d like another plant filling the space around the branches, sort of winding in and out of it. I’ve got a drawing.” I pull out the botanical illustration of myrtle I’d downloaded earlier.
“Ah, let me see if Dave’s free,” she says, as soon as she sees the drawing, before going to a room up some steps. I admire some of the photos of past clients hanging on the walls as I wait and know I’ve come to the right place. It is the beautiful, intricate work of real artists.
A bear of a man follows Glamour Girl out and shakes my hand. Looking at his own floral sleeve, I know she’s made the right choice.
“Hi. Dave. Cally says you’re after a cover-up?”
“Not really a cover-up, more like an enhancement.” I show him my arm and the drawing, again explaining how I wanted the myrtle and oak tree to be fully joined.
“Yeah, I can do that. We can cover up some of the bad lines with bits of the myrtle. It’ll take a few hours. You’re lucky as I’ve got a cancellation today, if you want it. Can you come back at two? I’ll be finished with my current client and have some stencils made up by then.”
By half past two, I am beginning to regret my decision. Maybe a sixteen-year-old’s sense of rebellion is a better pain suppressant than the paracetamol I took earlier, but, shit, this hurts more than I remember it doing last time. My arm is raised over my head so Dave can work on the underside and I’m tempted to tell him not to worry about that bit as it’s not that visible. Telling myself off for being such a *, I clench my fists and think about the reason for going through this.
Neve.
Myrtle.
In a weird way, this is about me proving I can take more pain than I am expecting her to cope with. This is real pain I can man up to. I have no defence in the face of the agony caused by the hundreds of thousands of shards I broke my heart into.
I was so na?ve to think it would get easier as time passed. Every day, another ounce of doubt is added to the weight of the pain I carry wherever I go. If Neve is feeling even one-tenth of the pain I am, I will always hate myself for putting her through this.
Do I wish I had kept my mouth shut and not gone through with it? Definitely.
Do I wish she had got in touch in one of my weaker moments? Hell, yes.
Do I still believe it was the right thing to do? I don’t know.
Since almost breaking down when bloody Fix You by Coldplay came on the radio at one of the houses I was working on, I’m doing everything I can to keep myself out of pain’s way: listening to some god-awful thrash metal on my iPod and steering clear of Grace’s sympathetic glances, encouraging me to bear my soul.
Yet here I am, putting myself through this burning pain because it distracts me from the real pain that I can’t get rid of any other way.
“You okay, mate?” Dave smoothes Vaseline into the area he was working on.
“Yeah, just forgot how much it hurts,” I admit.
“It hurts more the second time. Not so much adrenalin. Just say if you need a break or want to grab a drink. No problem. It’s coming along great.”
“Nah, I’m fine,” I say, pretending that I am.
Other than taking a quick piss break, I manage to contain myself for the next few hours, watching other clients come in and out. Dave senses the time when I want to talk, filling it with banter about past jobs and the numbers of feathers he inks onto girls, and keeps quiet in my more reflective moments. The whole experience is completely different to the first time. I smile ironically, remembering the snarling of Staffies which had been the only soundtrack that day.
“There, you’re done,” Dave says, with a last wipe of paper towel across the back of my shoulder. “Take a look.” I stand and admire his handiwork in the full-length mirror, twisting to see it from every angle. Wow. It’s fucking amazing. The whole top-half of my arm is filled with myrtle, delicately winding in and out around the oak tree. Even the tree looks so much better than it did before. I tear up, glad that this is honouring Dad better, as well as permanently keeping Neve with me. The two people who have truly loved me. The two people I have truly loved. Forever with me in the only way they can be.
“It’s great. It’s amazing.” I’m sure he can see how much it means.
“Cool. Sit back down and I’ll wrap it.” I do as he says. “So, can I ask, why myrtle?” I can’t tell him about Neve, about love, about me starting to realise I might have made the biggest, most fucked-up mistake of my life.
“Long story, mate. It’s personal, you know?” I guess the tears visible in my eyes are enough to stop him asking any more questions.
“No problem. It’s just I’ve never been asked to ink it before. It’s cool.”
When I walk out, the sun is shining, reminding me of the day Neve and I spent in Stratford, messing about in a boat we hired. It was another reason to come here today. Another link. Another way of making every moment we shared a permanent part of me.
What if I was wrong?