Isabella Swan: INKspiration

Singer-songwriter bares (almost) all in this month's issue of VOGUE. Exclusive interview and photo-shoot inside.

Isabella Swan was just 17 years old when she debuted at number 1 in the charts and, at 24, she is still there now. Much of her life is a mystery, her personality obscure, but there are some parts of her life the she chooses to display publicly. Written on her skin, in fact. With her dark hair and big innocent eyes, Isabella is the last person you might imagine to have tattoos, but they are a quintessential part of her being.

Currently Isabella is perched beside me, one knee pulled into her chest and her other leg curled under her, waiting for the photo shoot to start. She's wearing a thin cotton top over wickedly sexy underwear, and a pair of sheer stockings held in place by thick black garters. She's a siren-turned-sorceress and she has cultivated this femme-punk look for years.

"I got my first tattoo when I was fourteen – I was a precocious child," She laughs. "I had just read Wuthering Heights and I was obsessed. I had a friend who knew a guy who'd do it without any questions so we went down and, stupidly, I got it done on my collarbone. My dad was so mad when he found out. I had to promise never to do anything like it again. Sorry, Charlie."

The Wuthering Heights tattoo – "Half-savage and hardy, and free" – is a tiny, delicate thing, like a type-written note across her collarbone, shaky and faded by the years but nonetheless beautiful. Isabella has a second Wuthering Heights quote: "She burned too bright for this world", placed on her wrist so it's visible when she is writing her music. The third quote is branded permanently on the side of her ribcage: "I will be calm. I will be mistress of myself".

"I sound like such a nerd, with all these book quotes on me." Isabella says, wrapping her arm around herself to cover the tattoo with her hand. "I got this one when I had my first success, and I began to taste the dark underside of the celebrity world. You hear a lot of stories about young girls who are forced to do nude photo shoots or persuaded to sing songs they didn't write, and I was determined to never let that happen to me. So I have resolved to always be mistress of myself."

"Which is your favourite one?" She asks me, and shyly I point to the one half-hidden beneath the garter: rings encircled in rings like the cross-section of a tree, one for every year of Isabella's life.

"Yeah, this one is a fun one. I like choosing a new colour for the ring every year, seeing how my preferences have changed." She rolls down her stocking a little – to the annoyance of her stylist – so I can get a good look. The colours range from violet through blue to grey: a limited, bruise-like palette. I mention the hate she often gets for her body art, this one in particular: what will she do when she gets older? Will she one day have eighty rings spanning across her entire body?

"That's the thing, I don't know! Maybe one day I will just quit adding rings. Then when I'm ninety everyone might believe the tattoo saying I'm still thirty."

Isabella's PA calls over to her; the shoot is about to start. She promises to be back to finish the interview and as she walks the few feet to the set her entire attitude changes; no longer relaxed and cool, Isabella Swan is poised, fierce, professional.

"Where were we?" She asks breathlessly as she slides into her seat besides me an hour later. I bring the topic around to her love of astrology and the corresponding Virgo tattoo on her shoulder blade.

"My best friend Jake – who happens to be the best tattoo artist in Washington State, by the way – inspired this. He's a big believer in horoscopes and he won me round to them too, in the end. This was actually one of the first tattoos he ever did." She smiles fondly. Could this Jake be Isabella's soul-mate? She laughs when I suggest this, shaking her head.

"If my soul-mate is out there – and I'm not so sure – it isn't Jake. Not in that way." What does Isabella mean she's not sure she has a soul-mate? "The concept seems so bizarre to me. There are eight billion people in the world today and the implication that I'm only compatible with one of them annoys me. I don't want to invalidate any of my past loves by saying they are lesser to this one perfect person."

This sentiment is echoed in much of her music and she has made no secret of the fact that her newest album Past and Future Hearts is about the men – and women – she has loved. Will Isabella ever have tattoos done to represent all these people?

"No. It feels wrong, somehow, to expose someone in that way. I mean..." She takes a sip of water, deliberating her next words. "I could select an extremely obvious aspect of a person – say, their name – and tattoo that on me, and then if they wanted their history with me to remain private, it would be impossible."

Although she would never tattoo an ex on herself – wise choice, Miss Swan – she is happy tattooing her music there.

"My second album. To date it's still my favourite, and in a way I don't think I'll ever top it. My state of mind was not the best when I wrote those songs but I took the raw carbon of my depression and compressed it into Diamond."

She twists in her seat to expose the faceted, bright jewel at the base of her spine. In doing so she also gives me a view of her most famous tattoo, the one always visible at premieres and award shows when she wears a backless dress. It's a depiction of the solar system, jewel-bright circles ranging from a geometric yellow sun at the top of her back to tiny grey Pluto, just centimetres above the diamond. Her explanation for this one is simple: "I love planets, and I love getting tattoos. So why not?"

And the tattoo that spans her breastbone? Below the line of her bra it seems to take the shape of a pair of wings, drawn in an exaggerated, geometric style. But the majority of it is hidden and only the lucky few ever get to see it.

"That's the only one you're not allowed to see," she says coyly, but she lifts the hem of her top to give me a peek at the angular lines protruding from the lacy fabric of her bra.

Mindy Farrow, June issue.

"Love the Vogue cover, B." Jacob says when he calls. "Appreciate the shout-out, but Nessie wants to know why you didn't mention her by name."

"Because she didn't help me break the law age 14," I say.

"Are you talking about the motorcycles or the tattoos?"

"Does it matter? Both were technically illegal. Look, if Ness wants me to pump her jewellery business, I will, but..."

I can hear Jake's girlfriend on the other end: "Bella, I love you but I'm sorry. I have some integrity. I can't allow myself to rely on my rich famous friends to get by."

"'Famous friends' plural? I'm sorry; I didn't know you were also pals with Brad Pitt." Jake retorts.

"Shut up, Jacob."

"Oh yeah? How bout you shut up, Renesmee?"

Uh-oh. When they start using full names and telling each-other to shut up, they're about to make out.

"Jake? Hello?" There are muffled sounds, but no talking. "You're not allowed to have sex while I'm still on the line!"

"Sorry, Bella," Nessie comes onto the line, a little breathless. "We have to go now. But great job on the article, really. See you at Charlie's party!"

She hangs up and I stare at my phone in disbelief. Sure, Jacob and Nessie are madly in love, but really. They're not exactly in the honeymoon phase anymore, and hanging up on your best friend to have sex? That's just cold.

Luckily I'll always have Angela, my oldest friend. A text comes through from her:

Cool article B. But you need 2 stop flirting with your reporters!

I grin as I tap out a reply.

Couldn't help it. She was too cute. Do you think she'd agree to a date?

When are you going 2 have time for that?

She has a point. I'm in the process of releasing my newest album and making promos for it, and as I look down at the mess of lyrics I've been scrawling on an old notebook I realise I'm already eager to get back in the studio for my next song. My publicist is pushing for me to attend some premieres in London and I've got meetings scheduled next week for my first foray into acting. But the most important date in my diary – circled and underlined and with a note saying DO NOT LET JESS TALK YOU OUT OF THIS – is my dad's birthday. He's about to turn fifty, and for the past three years I've had to miss the actual day thanks to work commitments. But this year, I've had the day free for months, and I'm determined to be there when he blows the candles out.

I text Angela back:

I guess never. Made time to see you if you're free tho – you'll be Charlie's party right? X

Of course :) Can't wait 2 see you! Bring a signed copy of your CD for my niece? xxx

Best friends. They always want something.

"I know y'all love your family and I do too, but do we really have time for this visit? We've gotta be in New York for that interview in three days and we have to fit in a meeting with Lauren and Deckers about your potential acting career." Jessica is saying as we're in the car to the airport.

"Jess, the tickets are booked, we're already on our way and its Charlie's birthday. We can't miss it."

Jess frowns at me. She's a southern belle, blue-eyed and tiny with brown skin and a cloud of curly hair. She's perfectly-polished to balance out my scatter-brained, scruffy personality and while I'm infinitely grateful to her, her tendency to put work before family really sets my teeth on edge.

"C'mon Jess, you need a holiday. Just three measly little days..."

"If Papa Swan lived in Arizona, sure." She grumbles. "But Forks is the cloudiest place on the face of the fuckin' planet."

I fix her with my stoniest stare, which works on assistants and overly-familiar fans, but fails to faze Jess.

"Well," Jess slumps back in her seat, pulling out her phone. "At least I can get to see Jake and his friends. The only good thing about Forks is its proximity to La Push."

Here I have to agree. When my mom died, Forks became, to me, symbolic of everything I missed about her, even though she had hated the place. Coming back to live there had been difficult, and I spent a lot of ditching school, roaming the woods and the empty, misty roads until one day I got the bus to La Push. It was purely chance that I stumbled upon both Jacob and the beach in the same day, but they quickly became two of my most favourite things.

"I'll tell Jake to bring some friends to Charlie's party, then."

Jess nods eagerly.

Jake - bring your pack to Charlie's. Haven't seen them in ages.

don't try to trick me i know jess wants eye candy

I smile at Jake's reply; Jess is never subtle when she finds a guy attractive, and she's had her eye on numerous members the Quileute tribe for years, ever since she first visited Forks with me.

She does, but also I do miss them x

we all miss you too bella ❤️

"Bells!" Charlie is on the pavement outside his house when we pull up. "You're early!"

He pulls me into a bear-hug while our driver unloads our bags.

"Don't mind me, I'll carry this." Jess mutters, dragging her case slowly — as if it weighs a ton rather than a few kilos — up the path to the house. Immediately, Charlie relieves her of her burden and she smiles up at him, all bright teeth and dimples.

"I wanted to help you set up. And I need to make your cake." I explain, following them with my own bag.

"Aw, you don't need to do that. I know you're probably busy with that album."

"I'm never too busy to make you a cake." I say firmly. "And the album is done. I brought you a copy, actually."

He takes the CD, frowning at the rather risqué picture of me on the front and then turning it over in his hands to read the track-listing.

"You don't have to listen to it," I add.

"Don't be silly, Bells. Of course I'm gonna listen to it. In fact, I'm going to play it this evening."

I bite my lip, wondering how Mike Newton will feel about Lacklustre, a song inspired by our brief relationship when I was 16. He works with Charlie at the police station these days, so he will be at the party. I'm guessing he won't be pleased; it is not a particularly complimentary song.

I take my bag upstairs to the room that used to be mine, and is now a guest bedroom. Some things are still the same, though: the achingly ancient computer at the desk and the stack of CDs — favourites of my teen years — and, of course, the bookcase housing all my books too tattered to survive travel.

I pull out a book from the top shelf: Wuthering Heights. I've had at least ten copies of this book over the years, ranging from an almost priceless first edition to a cheap copy I picked up while touring in Australia, but this copy is my favourite. It's the first I ever owned, given to me by my mom when I was 12. It had sat in my room, unopened, for almost three years until one day I decided to give mom's favourite romance a try. Now, it is a delicate thing, half-destroyed by my love for the story: the pages are torn from my violent underlinings of favourite passages; some parts are almost unreadable under the annotations I've added. The back cover is missing and half the spine, too.

The book falls open to one of my favourite quotes:

Be with me always — take any form — drive me mad! Only do not leave me in the abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!

How many times have I shared this quote with a boyfriend or girlfriend? Too many times to count. But I feel that I've never felt just how Heathcliff and Cathy must have felt for one another. My love can fill a song — can fill five albums of songs — but none have been novel-worthy.

"Bella!" Jess sings from downstairs. "Are you gonna make this cake, or what?"

"What do you care?" I call back. "You hate cooking."

"I hate doing the cooking." She corrects as I patter down the stairs. "I love eating your cooking."

"I see how it is," I sniff.

She follows me to the kitchen, tapping busily on her phone as I pull ingredients out. But I've barely begun sifting flour when there's a soft tap on the back door. Suddenly Charlie's kitchen is filled with Quileute tribe members and the people foolish enough to date them.

I used to hate Sam Uley for stealing Jake away from me, but it didn't take me long to realise what a good influence he was on my best friend. There are a lot of teenagers with nothing to do in La Push, and, not wanting them to turn to petty law-breaking (and later serious law-breaking), Sam and his girlfriend Emily set up a youth group for them to attend. When we were sixteen, Jacob spent hours moaning about how boring Sam and his "pack of boy scouts" were until one day he hung out with them. The next day he was raving about how cool Sam was; how Paul was effortlessly funny and Jared knew trivia about every film ever made; how Emily made the best bread rolls in the world (a fact that seriously offended me).

It took me a while to warm up to them, but as soon as my dad discovered the good work Emily and Sam were doing to keep the local kids on the right side of the law, they became a fixture in our lives. And it is really, really hard not to love Sam and his boys.

I hug them all as they enter, taking the new additions in my stride: Brady and Collin who hover shyly in the corner until Charlie ruffles both of their hair and offers them a can of Coke; Seth's new boyfriend Wil; a girl named Leila who is only in Washington for a few days and has, by her own admission, hooked up with Paul for the duration — "When I heard he knew the Isabella Swan I had to see for myself. Who knew Forks would be the highlight of my road trip?" — and, of course, perhaps the most important addition: newborn Julia Leah Uley-Young.

"I mean, it's only natural she would be named after me. I'm the best relative she's got." Leah is saying as I patiently mix the cake batter. She breaks off to glare critically at the packet of raisins on the side. "Tell me you're not putting raisins into this chocolate creation of goodness,"

"There has to be something healthy at this party!" I put my hands on my hips.

"No way." Leah snatches up the packet and tosses them to Jake.

"Nice! I love raisins!" He tears open the packet and I sigh, knowing they'll be gone in seconds.

"Look, if you're going to be here hours before the party starts, you can at least be helpful." I say to the room at large. "Quil and Embry, please go to the store and pick up, oh, at least six packs of burgers. Oh, and cheese, condiments, and some appetisers would be good, too, if you know what those are." I toss them some bills from my purse and they shove each other out of the room, laughing.

"Jake. Nessie." I fix them with a stern stare which they return meekly. "Go set up the barbecue in the garden and find the utensils. And I need at least ten fewer people in this kitchen than there currently are. Go watch sports with Charlie. Emily," I add as she begins to follow her husband out of the room, "Thank you for bringing your rolls and that apple pie. You're an angel."

She smiles sweetly and allows me to brush a flour-covered hand over Julia's dusky forehead.

"What about me, oh Domestic Dictator?" Jess blinks at me, the picture of innocence, as if she hadn't just been scouring my friends for a likely-looking Forks fling.

"Like you aren't dying to get at the fairy lights and liquor." I say drily.

"You know me too well. Trust me, Bella, this party is going to look fantastic by the time I'm done. And if it doesn't? That's what the booze is for."