Chapter 9
Jacob
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 the mandala 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 of those parents, 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.
“So, Jacob, how’s life?” Leo asks, glancing up with an easy smile.
“It’s fine.” I have no idea how much detail he wants, so I move straight to my real question. “Listen, is there any chance I could squeeze in with one of you today?”
Leo switches the needle off. All three of them stare at me. Tippi’s grin blooms; Sadie and Leo look like I just told them I can turn into a golden retriever at will.
“For a tattoo?” Sadie clarifies.
“Well… yes. That was the idea.”
“Awesome! What’re you gonna have?” Tippi is instantly and completely on board, though she hisses when Leo starts inking again.
“Er…I haven’t decided yet.”
“Wait,” Sadie says gently, laying a hand on my shoulder. “Have you thought this through? Because you don’t have to do this. And once it’s done, it’s done.”
She loves tattoos. I expected delight, not caution.
“I know.” I feel foolish all of a sudden, and I don’t like it. “But I want to… I mean…” I sigh, hating how clumsy my words sound out loud compared to when I type and can edit and refine as I go. “I want something that’s just for me. To prove to myself that I have…” I search for it. “Autonomy.”
Sadie’s eyes sharpen, then soften, like she’s slotting puzzle pieces together. “You mean…” She mouths Dad.
“Yeah.” She does get it, after all.
“As long as it’s something you actually want, bro.” She still sounds wary, but she’s coming round.
“It’ll be a permanent reminder that I’m my own person,” I say. “So, yes. I do want it.”
“In that case, let’s go.” She grabs her leather-bound portfolio and hands it to me.
“Right now?” I hadn’t expected it to be this quick.
“No time like the present. And if you think I’m letting anyone else ink my older brother, you’re dreaming.” She checks the clock. “How big were you thinking? I need to get Rhi in just over an hour.”
“Nothing huge. Just something on my wrist.”
“This is so cool,” Tippi says, shooting me another approving look. For that alone, it feels worth it. “You’d rock a tattoo.”
I give her a sceptical smile. “You think so?”
“I know so.” She squeezes my hand. “Go you.”
A thought occurs to me. “I’m supposed to be keeping you company.”
“No problem, I’m fine here. And I’ll be sitting right there thinking about you seizing the moment.” Her dimples should come with a warning label; they hit with the force of a physical blow.
“Come with me,” Sadie says, then looks to Leo. “You all good?”
“Sure,” he replies.
She glances at the twins. “They’ve been fed, so…”
“We’re fine,” Leo assures her with a soft smile. “Go scar your brother for life.”
That’s… one way of putting it.
Sadie’s studio is very her: skull wallpaper, shelves loaded with inks and machines, and her name in twisting pink neon lights at the far end.
“Are you really sure?” she asks again, turning to me with a worried look. “There’s no shame in changing your mind, but once I start—”
“Sadie.” I keep my tone quiet but firm. “I’m not a child. I know tattoos are permanent. I know this is out of character for me. Maybe that’s the point.”
She studies me for a few long moments, then exhales. “You’re right. Sorry.” She nods at the portfolio while pulling on latex gloves. “Have a look. Towards the back are smaller designs from our thirty-quid days. They can be done in under an hour.”
I flick through the larger pieces first and feel a flare of pride. I’ve always been glad she’s fulfilled and successful, but I never really looked at her work. It’s staggering.
I’m not sure how to tell her that, so I flip to the smaller designs. Some are the size of a two pound coin, others a little larger, but all of them are quirky, imaginative, and ridiculously detailed. Tiny florals. Little constellations. Abstract shapes. Everything has personality.
And then I see it, and I know it’s the right one.
A bird in flight.
It’s realistic, all motion and lift and feathers, captured in a single moment. It looks like it could beat its wings and leave the page.
And it represents Tippi twice over: free as a bird, roaming wherever she chooses; and, as a private joke, her namesake who starred in The Birds. No one has to know but me.
Besides, it’ll remind me that I can spread my wings, too.
“That one.”
Sadie pauses in arranging her inks to lean over. She smiles. “Good choice. Any particular reason?”
I keep my explanation to myself. “I… like how it looks like a still from an ornithology documentary.”
“Why, thank you.” She grins. “Where d’you want it?”
I show her the inside of my left wrist.
“Delicate skin,” she warns. “It’s going to hurt.”
“I expected that.”
“OK.” She finishes setting up, still looking slightly conflicted, then prints the stencil on a little thermal printer. She peels the backing off and presses the design in place. “Happy with that?”
“It’s perfect.”
She gives me one last searching look, then starts the machine.
The pain is sharp but manageable, more scratch than stab. I slide that part of my awareness to the back of my mind, where I can control it, and watch her work instead.