Watercolour-style tattoo on the upper arm and shoulder showing a grey outlined Tardis among blue and purple washes, with a line drawing of circular symbols above.

Tardis and circle motif on upper arm

Shoulder · Colour · Photo

The tattoo shows a Tardis drawn in grey shading with a dark outline, set against loose blue, purple and pink watercolour washes. Above it, a fine black line drawing of interlocking circles and small rings sits within the wash. It covers the shoulder and upper arm of a person wearing a grey top and black vest, photographed in an indoor studio.

Shoulder Upper arm Tardis Circle Watercolour splash Sky Cloud

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The fog came in off the estuary on a Tuesday, and with it a blue box wedged between the net store and the slipway, as if the tide had carried it up the shingle and then thought better of the idea. Nobody in Saltcombe had seen anything like it. Mrs Pargeter from the chandlery pressed her nose to the glass and called it a telephone kiosk gone wrong. Her husband said it was a pantry for the lifeboat crew. Young Ellis said nothing, only walked round it three times with his hands in his pockets.

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Tamsin noticed the rings first. They were cut into the wood of the door in small clusters, circles nested inside circles, with tiny marks hanging off them like barnacles on a hull. Her grandfather had marked his fishing floats that way, in a script he swore was older than the harbour wall. She laid two fingers on the largest circle and it answered with a low note, like a bell struck underwater.

Inside, the room was far bigger than the outside had any right to be. A ring of brass hummed in the middle of the floor, and beyond the single round window the sky had turned to watercolour: violet bleeding into teal, cloud shapes running into one another like wet paint. Tamsin had lost her grandfather to the sea the winter she was nine. She had never once been allowed past the breakwater.

The console tapped out the circle-words he used for come home. She pressed the brass ring, and the window shifted to show the harbour as it had been fifty years before: her grandfather on the slipway, brush in hand, painting the same small circles onto a float while a girl on the wall waved and laughed. Tamsin took the brush from the console shelf, dipped it in the ink still wet on the rim, and drew one more ring on the lid so the box would know exactly where to come back for her.