He was a strange sight in the tattoo parlour. Clutching his New Look and M &S bags, he looked like any number of beleaguered dads on a Saturday afternoon shopping trip. Except it wasn’t Saturday and he wasn’t in a shopping centre. He was in Angie’s tattoo parlour – a forgotten dive in the shadow of the Western Docks that specializes in cheap body art and drug dealing.
The place had only been open five minutes when he entered. It was still a mess from last night’s trade – sailors, hookers, stag parties – and the grumbling owner seemed irritated to have custom so soon. She was still half asleep and more than half intoxicated. She offered him her body art menu with a shaking hand:
‘Choose your poison,’ she said without smiling.
He looked her up and down before replying.
‘Actually I’d like to buy some needles.’
She paused with her tidying and turned to face him.
‘You want kit?’
‘I need round liner needles, flat shader needles, some curved stacks and inks too, of course.’
‘Any particular colours?’
‘The full palette please.’
Angie looked him up and down – he hadn’t a tattoo anywhere and didn’t look the type – then rooted around for the items. He watched her intently, alive for any signs of curiosity or suspicion on her part.
But he had chosen his quarry well. Money was all that mattered to Angie.
She placed the items on the counter, but as he reached out to take them, she slammed her hand down to stop him.
‘Money first. No cards, no cheques.’
He handed over the cash and departed with his purchases. As he walked through the back streets of this forgotten part of town, he afforded himself a small smile. He now had everything he needed and though he didn’t normally go in for such cheap amusement, he had to admit to a small thrill at having paid for it with Ruby’s own money. She wouldn’t thank him for it – who would given the pain that lay ahead? – but he was prepared to face down any protest or defiance. After all, she had been put on this earth to make him happy. And the best way to do that was to learn how to submit.