With Cass holding my hand, I walked through the door of Shakespeare Ink. Before my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the reception area, I was hit by the smell. I don’t know if I was expecting the place to smell of something which evoked greasy rockers, but it was nothing like that. The air was filled with the reassuring odour of antiseptic. This, combined with the sound of machines buzzing somewhere down the corridor, made the feeling more like being at the dentist. Except the guy manning the reception desk was nothing like the high-pitched bimbos who fronted my dentist’s office: his arms were covered in brightly-inked sleeves and his face was hidden behind a full beard. He mouthed hello and waved us into the waiting area whilst he continued with a phone call. Listening to him chat with the caller, I wasn’t sure if he was discussing piercings or tattoos; the language and environment belonged to an unknown world, yet it was one which had the power to bring me closer to Jake.
The waiting area was also nothing like being at the dentist. Two old, leather sofas were the only place to sit, but the walls made sitting seem like a waste of time. The room was a gallery, hung with framed images of inked body parts. One was a whole body, entirely covered in a kaleidoscope of tribal swirls and patterns; another showed an inked man holding his small baby, revelling in its pure skin contrasting against his own. Looking at the photos, I smiled. I knew Jake would have liked this display of creative beauty; he appreciated anything where somebody put their heart and soul into making something beautiful. Like he did with his gardening. He had probably even stood on this same spot, admiring these same images. I closed my eyes and focused on the moment, as though I could somehow absorb any lingering trace of him through the soles of my feet. Jake.
“Sorry about that, hun” the bearded guy said, forcing me back to the here and now. “How can I help?”
“I’ve got an appointment. At two. With Dave. I’m Neve. For a tattoo.” Oh, yeah, I was completely at ease. Cass smiled at him in response to my wittering.
“Hi, I’m Cass. I rang and made the appointment.” She leaned over and shook the hand he proffered, as though this was the sort of place she always hung about in. It was true, though; I had asked her to ring them up as I hadn’t trusted myself to make the call without crying.
“Cool. I’m Dave.” He smiled warmly at me. “So, this myrtle, I’ve got a couple of designs to show you. Pick which one you prefer and I’ll make up a stencil. Here you go.” He laid three pages of sketched images on the table in front of us. For some reason, I was drawn to one of them, even though it was the simplest of the designs: a curved sprig of two intertwined stems of myrtle, dotted with its delicate flowers.
“That’s the one.” His raised eyebrow confused me. “What? Won’t that look good?”
“No, it’ll look great. It’s just… look, Cass explained about Jake on the phone and I could remember the tattoo clearly. It was me who did it.” My chest tightened at this revelation. “The one you’ve picked is taken from the stencil I used on him.
“Really?” The tears were already threatening to fall and I was nowhere near a bloody needle yet.
“Yeah, it took hours to wind it around those branches. It looked shit-hot by the end of it, though, if I do say so myself.”
“It did. It was beautiful.” I could visualise Jake’s bicep as if it was only yesterday that I last saw it, not two months ago.
“Yours will be, too, chick Come on. Are you coming, too?” He directed the question in Cass’s direction.
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Knowing the depth of meaning behind her words made me so glad I wasn’t doing this alone.
We followed Dave up a few steps into the home of the buzzing. The room was divided into several black booths, each with its own massage table, stool and work surface topped with various bottles and jars. I noticed the tattoo machine, discreetly tucked away, in the same way the doctor keeps the painful equipment hidden when you go for a smear or something equally invasive. I gulped.
The other booths hummed with both mechanical noise and the deep sounds of men talking. I could see the head and shoulders of each booth’s occupant; the only clue as to what they were getting done being the position of the tattoo artist in relation to their bodies. Dave pulled a second stool over for Cass and then sat down in front of me.
“So, where is this going, chick?” This was the bit I’d been dreading and now, seeing there were so many other people in the room, my discomfort grew at the idea of undressing. Cass and I had researched what was the best thing for me to wear and I’d opted for a tunic and leggings – and plain black boy shorts. I pulled the leggings down to the top of my knickers and pointed to the patch of skin just above my hipbone.
“Good choice,” Dave reassured me. “Not too painful. Lie down here and just roll your leggings down a bit further.” I did as he asked and looked at Cass to check I wasn’t revealing anything I shouldn’t be. She smiled but shifted her stool slightly to offer me more privacy from the rest of the room. “Here it is,” he said, pulling a stencil of the myrtle from one of the drawers behind him.
“Can I see?” He handed me the stencil, labelled with Jake’s name and the date in the corner. I thought the tattoo itself would bring me closer to him, but this whole experience was uniting us in more ways than I could have believed possible. Handing it back, I felt calm.
I could do this.