Colour portrait tattoo of a woman with long hair on an upper arm, with black ink splatter and a Roman numeral clock face below her.

Colourful woman portrait and clock on upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A woman with long hair and bold lipstick is shown in a painterly portrait, with pink, blue and green washes across her face and hair. Below her, a black outlined pocket clock with Roman numerals sits against loose black ink splatter, which fades into the skin at the edges. Soft shading and vivid colour blending dominate the composition, which is framed by the upper arm and shoulder of a person in a grey top.

Realism Upper arm Woman Portrait Clock Roman numeral Ink splatter Long hair

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit closer, the lot of you, for the clock at Harrowgate Junction has never told the honest time, and I'll not have you missing the part where it goes wrong. Old Mr Pardoe kept the lamps in those days, and he swore the minute hand crept backwards on wet nights. Nobody believed him until the night the Lowmoor express pulled in twenty minutes early, and a woman stepped down from the third carriage with a pocket watch dangling from her fingers.

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Her name, the porters said, was Vivienne Ashe, though she gave it only once. Her hair was the colour of rain on slate, shot through with green and rose, as if she had walked out of a painter's rinse water and forgotten to dry off. Each time she swung that watch on its chain, the great clock above the platform gave a little jolt and lost a minute, and the stationmaster, Tom Greaves, began to feel the weight of every one of them in his knees.

She asked him for a ticket to the last stop on the line, the one painted out on the old boards. He told her there was no such stop. She laughed and said that was exactly why she needed one. He sold it to her anyway, because the ink on her cheeks was running and it seemed unkind to refuse. She folded the ticket into the watch case, stepped onto the empty platform as the lamps guttered, and was gone before the whistle blew.

Tom never did sleep easy after that. The clock at Harrowgate still keeps a strange hour, and if you stand beneath it on a wet night you'll see the minute hand stuck at a quarter past nine, as if someone is still waiting for a train. Mind you don't check your own watch while you're standing there. The old porters swear it will tell you the time she left.