Black and grey realistic tattoo of a clock face with Roman numerals and hands, framed by acanthus scrollwork, on an upper arm.

Realistic clock with scrollwork on an upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and grey tattoo shows a clock face with Roman numerals, a pair of hands and an ornate central mechanism. Soft shading and fine detail give the clock a lifelike, three-dimensional look. Carved-looking acanthus scrollwork wraps around the dial and fills the lower and right sides of the composition.

Realism Upper arm Clock Roman numeral Clock hand Scrollwork Acanthus Gear

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The brass hands have stuck at ten past four again, and Mr Harrow wants them off the bench before the funeral car comes up Mill Lane. You lift the dial from its case with both thumbs, the way he taught you, and the Roman numerals stare up at you through a film of old oil. Somebody has carved acanthus leaves around the cabinet, curling and heavy, the sort of ornament a Victorian sexton would pay extra for.

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Harrow sits on his stool by the window and says nothing for a long time. Outside, the Co-op van rattles past and the bell over the shop door gives its tinny ring. "Clocks forgive the wrong hand more readily than the right one," he says, which means nothing, and then he taps the central boss where the gears sit like a cluster of knuckles. "Stop trying to make it keep time. Make it hold still."

You work until the light goes grey, cleaning the pinion with a feather and a dab of watchmaker's oil, teasing the minute hand back onto its arbour. When you finally seat the glass and wind the key, the second hand begins its small, stubborn march, and the leaves on the cabinet seem to lift in the lamplight, as if the whole thing had been waiting to breathe.

Harrow pays you a shilling more than agreed and says the shop is yours on Saturdays now. On the walk home you pass the church, where the sexton is raking leaves from the stone acanthus over the porch. You check your own watch against the chimes. They agree, for once, and you decide that is enough to be going on with.