A Fake Tattoo For Luck

“Hang on a second will you? I’m trying to find the instructions. Don’t move, ok?”

I sighed. I was getting fed up standing half naked in Joel’s bathroom with my hand clamped over my shoulder. At first, I’d suggested we put the tattoo thing somewhere else – my leg for instance, but Joel had said it had to be at the top of my arm, like a sailor. Nowhere else would do;

“It’s the best place; besides, it has to be somewhere it’ll show when they examine you, that’s the whole point

Joel had come back into the bathroom now, waving the bit of paper that had come with it. He was looking more cheerful.

“Ok, I know what to do now”

He bent down, splashed some more water on the paper, and, squinting at the instructions again, pressed hard over my hand, counting under his breath, then he slowly lifted the backing away, and we both looked anxiously at the result in the mirror.

After a minute, Joel smiled;

“Perfect. Now you’ll be the only person in Harley Street with an anchor tattoo, for luck”

I smiled back at him. I hadn’t been all that sure when he’d first suggested it, but now I quite liked it. It definitely made me more interesting, and I looked forward to seeing the effect it would have on the face of the person who’d be examining me later on. I put my t-shirt back on, and went out of the bathroom first, keeping one eye on the corridor in case Marnie had noticed us both going in together. I knew she would never have believed the real reason for it, and neither of us wanted any extra hassles that day.

As I went back into Joel’s bedroom, I glance at the clock – god – another two hours to go. I sat on the bed waiting for Joe to come, and I thought back to before it had happened. It was so odd – it seemed like forever but it had only been a week. How strangely time seemed to pass when big things happened!

I remembered walking into the familiar waiting room and looking around. I hadn’t seen my GP for ages, but I’d been going there since I was a child and it all seemed so much smaller now than I remembered. The surgery was a part of the Doctor’s house, and you could hear his family moving around upstairs. I wondered if they were told to be quiet during surgery hours, and I thought what a pain it must be for them.

There were a few people there before me, sitting on chairs placed around the billiard table, which, when it was in use as a waiting room, was covered over with hardboard, and then scattered with magazines. I was too distracted to pick one up; instead, I sat and wondered if they whipped the boards off at the end of each day, and I tried and failed to imagine the portly old doctor circling the table with his cue, cigarette in mouth, one eye screwed up against the smoke, balancing his bottle of lager on the side like Joel and T. did at the North Star.

I started trying to convince myself that I’d probably been imagining things when I’d thought I’d found a lump in my breast. I bet myself that if I had another quick feel around, it would have disappeared and I could just slope off quietly and forget all about it. I remembered looking at the other people there – they were all engrossed in their Woman’s Owns. I put my hand inside my t-shirt and ran my fingers, as discreetly as I could, around the area where the lump had been – there! I was right……it had completely ….. oh fuck, yes, there it was. Shit.

Even so – surely it couldn’t be anything serious; I remembered looking at the closed door, willing it to open and for another patient to go in so I could be one step nearer to getting out of there, spring in step, to laugh about the whole thing with Joel. I’d been so sure it would be ok, I hadn’t even told him what I was doing that day.

When it was my turn, and I stood up to go in, my mouth had suddenly felt dry and I couldn’t swallow properly. He’d known me since I was a toddler, that kind old man, and he smiled benignly as I explained the reason for my visit. I winced as I remembered watching that smile vanish after I’d shown him where the lump was, and how the expression in his eyes had been one of great sadness as he’d said I had to go and have it scanned as soon as possible. He’d scribbled some notes down, looked up at me and added quietly,

“I don’t think it’s harmless. I’m so sorry….”