“Well, that’s your first tattoo done,” said Amy the beauty therapist, with a smile of professional satisfaction. I nearly sat up on the heated bed. What tattoo? Had I fallen asleep and succumbed to a small blue dolphin on my ankle, or on the upper arm, just below my shoulder, which a fashionable novelist friend had done years ago? Or had I given the sleepy nod to an inked bouquet of rambling roses to disguise my rice-pudding tummy?