Page 14 of Sorry, Not Sorry
It was freezing by the time Delilah left the cemetery.
The anaemic rays of afternoon sun did nothing to warm the air and after several days of heavy rain, the grey clouds overhead threatened a further deluge.
It was too early to meet Armenique for the sandwich lunch they’d planned, and Salome’s house, which was a short walk away, was currently a hotbed of infection.
Maya had brought home a streaming cold from nursery and passed it on to Arin.
With time to spare, Delilah decided to walk into the town centre rather than take the bus.
While she waited to cross the busy high street, her gaze fell on to the purple awning of a tattoo parlour across the road.
Suddenly, it was as if she had been yanked from her body as the noise from the heavy traffic faded away and the past roared back.
‘Go on, then. Ladies first,’ he announced with a grin.
Seeing the needle on the tray surrounded by pots of coloured inks and clear plastic cups sent Delilah’s stomach into a nervous spasm. The bravado, fuelled by half a bottle of wine, which had spurred her to agree to this, was long gone, and she pushed Noah towards the black padded chair.
‘No, no, you go first! That way I’ll know what to expect when it’s my turn.’
He looked sceptical but slid onto the worn leather chair without comment, deftly rolling up the sleeve of his shirt and laying the back of his exposed arm on the padded armrest. Delilah stood back, her mouth dry with apprehension, while Stan, the tattoo artist, wiped Noah’s forearm and got to work.
Instantly nauseous, she turned her head away, but that didn’t stop the buzzing of the tattoo gun making her feel even sicker.
By the time Noah raised his arm to display Stan’s handiwork – a stylish black crown topped with the initial D – it took every ounce of her willpower not to keel over.
‘Hey, Del! Are you okay?’ Noah’s jubilant expression turned into a concerned frown.
Stan took one look at Delilah’s face and disappeared, returning moments later with a glass of water.
She gulped down its contents in one go and then wiped her lips and handed Stan the empty glass with a muttered thanks.
Burning with embarrassment, Delilah reached for Noah’s arm to inspect his new tattoo.
‘Do you like it?’ Hearing the doubt in his voice, she smiled at him, feeling guilty for her feeble reaction.
‘Of course I do! It’s – it’s awesome!’
‘You sure? You had me worried there for a minute.’
‘Your arm’s gone all puffy.’ She hesitated. ‘Was it really painful?’
‘It wasn’t that bad. Besides, it’s worth it for my queen. Ready to do yours?’
A fresh wave of nausea washed over her, and she clutched his arm in panic, scarcely noticing him wince at the pressure on the tender patch of skin.
‘I can’t! I thought I could, but I can’t handle the sound of that drill or having that needle stuck into me! I’m so sorry… Please don’t be upset with me.’
Noah shushed her gently and swivelled round to pull her close with his good arm. ‘It’s okay, babe. You don’t have to do it. It’s all good.’
‘I feel terrible! I love you so much and I wanted us to do this together.’
‘It’s fine. I promise. You don’t need to prove anything to me.’
‘Hey, lady! Are you planning to cross the road or what? I’m on the clock here!’ The irritated shout from the red-faced van driver leaning out of his window jolted Delilah sharply back to the present.
Mortified, she wrapped her coat tightly around her and hurried over the pedestrian crossing, picking up her pace with each step as if hoping to outrun her thoughts.