Tattoo’s Company

It was a grand romantic gesture, so I was glad I’d only have to do it once . . .

OH, Violet.” The word melted in my mouth like milk chocolate. “Yes, Jonty?” Her blue eyes smiled at me.

“I love you so much,” I heard myself saying.

“Do you know what Kevin did to show me how much he loved me?”

I didn’t want to know anything about her last boyfriend.

“What?”

“He had a sweet little tattoo done of a violet.” “Oh?”

I’m the first to admit I’m a bit – well, square. I’d only started wearing aftershave because Violet told me she liked it.

“Yes,” she murmured, a faraway smile on her face. “It was lovely.”

I didn’t like that smile so I spoke quickly.

“I’ll get one, Violet.” “Oh, Jonty!”

Those big blue eyes beamed at me. I was glad she was happy, but a bit panicked at what I had done.

Where would I go to get a tattoo? I didn’t want to risk any old place, so I texted a mate who knew everything.

“Come to the Crown tomorrow,” he replied. “Dylan’s bound to be there on a Friday.”

****

“There he is.” Owen set down his lager and called across the pub. “Over here, Dylan!”

A man with a straggly grey ponytail ambled over to us.

“Hi, guys.”

“Dylan, this is Jonty. He wants a tattoo and I said you’d show him yours.”

“Sure thing,” Dylan said amiably, proceeding to peel off his jacket, then his T-shirt.

I was staring, mesmerised, at his broad chest.

“The Ringwraiths!” I murmured.

“Turn round, Dylan,” Owen commanded, and he obliged, so that the terrifying horsemen circled his entire torso. “Wow!” I gasped in awe. “I’m thinking of getting some orcs on my arms,” the Tolkien fanatic confided.

****

The next evening saw me climbing the stairs above a second-hand bookshop to where a frosted-glass door proclaimed: R.J. Tattoos. Please ring and enter.

I went in and found myself in an office where a young woman was sitting at a desk.

She smiled at me. “Mr Roberts?” “Yes,” I mumbled. Now I had made it this far, I was beginning to panic again at the thought of what was in store.

“Come on through.” She led me to the back room where I looked round, expecting to see the tattooist.

“Sit down.” She gestured me to a reclining chair and reached for a white coat on a peg on the door.

“Are you . . .?” I floundered.

“Yes,” she said, briskly doing up the buttons.

“I thought R.J. was a man!” I blurted out.

“Oh, that’s my dad. He and Mum went off to Spain two years ago.

“I’m sorry if you were confused – my initials are R.J., too.

“I’m fully trained,” she added with a smile. “So you needn’t be worried.”

“No, I’m sure,” I said hastily. “It’s just, Miss – er – Mrs . . .”

“It’s Jazz. Now, what is it that you would like, Mr Roberts?”

“Call me Jonty.”

I was eyeing the formidable array of instruments on the swivel tray beside me.

“Most of my clients start small.” She smiled again, showing perfect white teeth and a dimple.

“Well, I’d like a violet.” “Oh, that’s easily done. Any particular reason?”

I found myself telling her all about Violet.

“I see. Shall I do it where it isn’t noticeable? Just in case.”

I was puzzled.

“Just in case Violet doesn’t last. It does happen,” she added gently.

“It will,” I said fervently. “She’s my soulmate.”

I try not to think too much about that session.

It turned out I had a needle phobia and fainted for the first time in my life.

But Jazz was very kind, and finally I had a neat little tattoo on my left bicep.

“Perhaps I’ll see you again, Jonty,” she said as I paid with a shaky hand.

“I don’t think so – though you’ve done it beautifully,” I added quickly. “I’m not a tattoo sort of person.”

****

Three months later, I was climbing the stairs to that door again. Jazz gave me a sweet smile.

“Hello, Jonty. Did you want another violet?”

“No,” I said grimly, and I poured it all out.

How I’d gone to a three-day business conference for my firm but the hotel had a fire the first night, so I’d gone to Violet’s flat to surprise her.

Let’s just say that she wasn’t the only one to be surprised.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I know how you cared for her.”

Jazz’s grey eyes were so sympathetic I could have wept on her shoulder.

“The thing is, Jazz, I’ve been to a singles night at a bar to forget Violet for a few hours, and I met this lovely girl and we hit it off straight away.

“But she saw the tattoo when I wore a T-shirt to go ten-pin bowling last night, and she guessed.

“So can you to turn it into a poppy? That’s her name,” I added with a sheepish grin.

I didn’t faint this time, I’m glad to say, though when she finished I was sweating.

“You can open your eyes now, Jonty.”

I looked down and saw a lovely scarlet poppy.

“Oh, great! Jazz, you’re a magician.”

“Thank you. I’m not sure if I could alter it again, though.”

“Oh, no. This is the real thing,” I assured her.

****

It was a dark evening that matched my mood the next time I climbed those stairs.

I knocked and went in. Jazz was at her desk, her face in her hands, sobbing.

Her head jerked up and I saw her cheeks were blotched with tears. “Jonty! I – I’m sorry.” She was struggling to pull herself together. I sat down and took her hand. “Whatever’s the matter?” “Oh – the usual.” She managed a wry smile. “I thought it was for ever, but he thought otherwise.” “I’m so sorry.”

I brushed the tears off her cheeks and we stared at each other, then we were in each other’s arms.

A while later, she murmured against my shoulder.

“Why did you come?” “I want the tattoo off. Things are over with Poppy,” I explained with a shrug.

“Oh, Jonty!”

Jazz started laughing and next moment we were in each other’s arms again.

Finally, I held her away from me.

“Is there a flower called Jazz?” I asked.

“I don’t think so, but in any case my name is Rose Jasmine.”

So that is how a violet was changed into a poppy, then finally a lovely red rose.

When she finished it, and I was admiring it, I turned to her.

“I promise, my darling, that this is my last tattoo.”

But it turned out that wasn’t quite correct.

On my other arm I’m the proud possessor of three more roses, as well as the words Grace, Louise and Felicia – the names of our gorgeous triplets. ■