Heart (30 page)

“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.

He traced the stencil onto me and then held up a mirror so I could check I was happy with the blue outline. Knowing it was part of Jake’s tattoo meant I didn’t even need to look. Of course I was happy with it.

“That’s going to look great there,” Cass said, obviously picking up on my lack of focus. I watched Dave line up small pots of ink on the cling-filmed surface and snap on his black latex gloves. With a slow, respectful stroke, he covered the area above my hip with Vaseline. The only person I could remember ever touching me there was Jake. There was no inch of my body he hadn’t explored. But this felt nothing like the way Jake touched me, and the lack of response it generated in me proved it.

“Ready?” Even with half of my knickers on show in a room filled with men, even with the knowledge of impending pain, I knew I was.

“Oh, yes!” I squeezed Cass’s hand and braced myself for the pain as the buzzing started.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.
Shit
.” Okay, maybe I wasn’t as ready as I thought I was. The quiet buzzing belied the absolute agony of the needle piercing my skin thousands of times a second. It wasn’t the gentle scraping I’d read about. It was like the school bully was torturing me by dragging a compass through every nerve. I could feel it move across my skin, a trail of burning heat being left in its wake. I couldn’t stop myself swearing. Repeatedly. Words my mum would cry over if she ever heard them spew from my lips.

“That’s okay. Let it out. Women are better than blokes. They admit it hurts. Let me know if you need a break from it. All right?”

“I’ll be fine-
shiiiittt
!” I’m sure I came pretty close to breaking Cass’s hand with how tightly I was gripping it.

“It’s easier if you look at it whilst I’m doing it. The pain makes sense then,” Dave advised. I looked down but his arms concealed his work from me. I focussed on looking at them instead, trying to work out what the intricate sleeves comprised of. Surprisingly, they were mainly flowers, all sorts of elaborate roses, lilies and others I couldn’t recognise. I took it as another sign from Jake and tried to practice the mindfulness breathing they had taught us in school as a stress-management technique.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Maybe it was the breathing, or maybe it was the adrenalin finally kicking in, but I found some sort of zen place which made the pain manageable. All I was aware of was the beat of music I didn’t recognise playing in the background. I synced my breathing to the rhythm and closed my eyes, imagining myself somewhere warm and less painful.

My reverie was abruptly broken by loud coughing from Cass and I looked up to see her flushed face. Just as I was about to ask her what was wrong, I saw the reason. A guy in his mid-twenties walked past us into the small kitchen area and poured himself a cup of water from the machine. He was shirtless. He was inked. He was muscular. He was way beyond hot. Cass and I couldn’t stop ourselves gawping at this perfect specimen of masculinity. As he gulped down a second cup of water, muscles rippling beneath his taut skin, it was like we were having our own personal Diet Coke advert played in front of us.
Hmmm
.

“I’m over here, guys.” Dave’s ironic comment brought my attention back from Adonis. “I think you’re done, chick. Stand up and take a look.” I gingerly moved off the table and walked over to the full-length mirror. I braced myself before focusing in on the tattoo. It was perfect and reminded me so much of Jake’s sleeve. I imagined him calling me Myrtle, a cheeky glint in his eyes.

“It’s beautiful, Neve.” Cass’s smile was reflected in the mirror. I smiled teary thanks in Dave’s direction.

“We’re not quite finished. Lie back down.” He swapped to a new glove and took a scoop of Vaseline from the jar before carefully smoothing it over my skin. “Now, this is the sexy bit,” he joked, covering his artwork with cling-film and securing it with surgical tape. He went through how I needed to look after the tattoo, in the short- and long-term, as I pulled my leggings back up, wincing slightly when they grazed my hip.

“So, why myrtle?” Dave asked as he walked us through to the reception area.

“It symbolises love and immortality.” And Jake.

“Cool. You learn something every day.”

After paying and getting a big bear hug from Dave, we left and stepped into the watery light of the winter sun.

“I’m so proud of you, lovely.” Cass gave me the sort of hug only a best friend can give. “What do you want to do now? Walk down to the river? Grab a coffee?” I knew what I really wanted to do.

“Do you mind if we just go back home? I want to see Jake.”

It was thankfully quiet as I made my way over to the large oak tree which sheltered Jake from the rest of the world. Dropping my things next to the tree, I knelt in front of the small, grey square which was his permanent resting place. It had become a familiar place to me over the last couple of months, and I’d been able to spend some time with him over Christmas and New Year. Just us.

“Hi. I wanted to tell you about today. I went for a tattoo.” I told him about Dave, about Cass being there with me, about what a wuss I’d been at the start. I told him about the stencil being the same one as his and about the way that made me feel. I described it to him, knowing that it was always one of his favourite spots on my body.

For the first time, I was able to talk to him without crying and I felt proud of myself. Maybe someday his memory would trigger smiles before tears. Maybe someday this ache I carried around with me would become a more manageable burden. Maybe someday I would be able to consider a future without a Jake-shaped hole in it. Maybe. Someday.

“I’m going back to uni tomorrow. They’ve been great about… well, you know, everything and I’m not losing any credits for the work I’ve missed. They sent me a letter yesterday saying I don’t even have to do the mid-year exams unless I feel up to it. I don’t know if I’m going to stay there. Birmingham have said I could transfer there at the end of the semester, which would mean being with Cass and Flynn. But I’m not sure. I think Brighton will be a great place to live in the summer and I’d miss Mickey and Ruby. Even Kema! I guess I’ll have to see how it goes over the next few weeks.” I had unconsciously been stroking the smooth stone whilst I talked, craving any physical connection to Jake I could get.

I felt him with me. He was the wind that rustled the few trees still with leaves: I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it. Him.

“Anyway, I thought you should get some myrtle today, as well.” I picked up the plant I had bought from a garden centre. I caressed the small, glossy leaves which replicated the cluster on my hip. Knowing how much it had meant to him, I knew what I wanted to do before I left town and went back to uni.

Using the small trowel I had bought with the plant, I dug a hole behind the headstone and planted the myrtle, just as I had seen Jake plant things so many times. I envisioned how it would grow behind him, framing the stone, protecting him like the oak tree did from the front: a reminder of the two people who had loved him and been loved by him, just like his tattoo.

“See, you’ll never be alone. I’m always going to be here. Me and your dad. Forever.”

After patting the soil back into place, I took a drink from my bottle of water and then used the rest to water the myrtle. I put everything back into my bag and ran my fingertips over the shallow engraving of his name.
Jake
.

“You have my heart, Jake. It will always be yours.” My voice broke on the final word and I stood and walked away, knowing he would forever be there.

Wherever life took me, I would take him.

In my heart.

It is less than two years since I started writing, yet I can no longer imagine a life without it. As much as I write for me, I know that I write for my words to be read and so my first gift of thanks must go to you: to every person who has read
Heart
or
Curve
. And if you’ve left a review, it’s an even bigger gift, wrapped in shiny paper. And if that review was completely spoiler-free, then this gift is nestling in a small box, topped by a discreetly expensive bow. Never forget how much those reviews mean to authors trying to get themselves known in the great book universe.

Thank you.

There were some individual moments which helped me to bring
Heart
to life. Watching Holly get a tattoo at the wonderful Shakespeare Ink (yes, the shop and Dave really exist) turned a smidgeon of an idea into two of my favourite scenes. A late-night conversation with Laura from Bookish Treasures gave me the courage to believe that the concept of a happy-ever-after was negotiable. At a couple of dark writer moments, Joanne and Lisa kept me going: I’ve met both through writing and their friendship and support knows no bounds.