Back view of a woman in black lace underwear showing a black and grey realism sleeve on her arm, an om lotus and script tattoo on her thigh, and a clock design on the back of her hand.

Black and grey sleeve, thigh and hand tattoos

Realism · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph shows a woman seen from behind in black lace underwear, with tattoos on her arm, thigh and hands. A large sleeve of shaded black and grey work covers the arm, and an om symbol set within a lotus mandala and the script words Amor Fati sit on the thigh. A clock-face design covers the back of one hand, and small lettering is tattooed across the knuckles of the other hand.

Realism Lettering Upper arm Thigh Hand Sleeve Lotus Om symbol Script Clock Mandala

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The Ashby clock came into the shop on a Tuesday, wrapped in a bath towel and smelling of pipe smoke. Mrs Ferrier set it on my bench as if it might bite, then asked me to make it tell the right time again. I said the mainspring was tired, which was true, and that someone had bent the pendulum to make it hurry, which was also true.

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I opened the case back under the lamp. Somebody had scratched a lotus pond into the brass, eight petals opening around a small curled symbol, and beneath it, in tiny copperplate, the words Amor Fati. My mother had a Latin phrase for every cracked teapot, and I did not know this one, so I asked. Mrs Ferrier laughed for the first time since she had walked in. Walter had looked it up in a library book the winter they married, she said. Love your fate. He had told her it was the only sensible thing a Yorkshireman could believe, and then he had spent thirty years on the allotment growing nothing but marrows.

She wanted the hands stopped at twenty to four, the minute the ambulance came up Cross Street. I told her a stopped clock is only a clock that has given up, and that Walter had never given up on anything except the lawn. She didn't speak for a while. Then she said, make it run, and paid me in coins from a biscuit tin.

I cleaned the movement over eleven evenings, oiled each pivot, and wound it with a key that fitted like a handshake. On the last night I drew the lotus on the back of the receipt in biro, petal by petal, and posted it through her door with the clock ticking inside the box.