LOVE ME, love me not

Was Robert really ready to move on from his past relationship? She had her doubts

- Bailey Morgan

Waiting for Robert Nelson, I check my watch. He’s grey-haired, has a stiff-upper-lip and is at least 25 years my senior. He came to his first consultation with me straight from work a few days ago, wearing a grey, pinstriped suit, white shirt and blue tie. I see all sorts, so I don’t judge. Only, as the consultation wore on, I swear I started wearing a wig and carrying a gavel.

He stood looking at the walls festooned with pictures. I often photograph my work, so there was Jamella with her thorn-and-rose sleeve that one day she planned to get extended all down her back; there was ‘Roach’ (his nickname) with the angel I’d inked across his chest, her wings just kissing his collarbones; there was Jackson with two huge motorbikes zooming across each bicep.

‘My name’s Jazz,’ I told Robert. ‘My parents didn’t christen me that – they called me Rachel – but I prefer Jazz these days.’

That declaration’s always my ice-breaker.

He tried to examine me from head to foot without making it obvious. My inkings, nose-rings and the seven piercings in my ears tend to disguise my university education and my art degree.

‘I’ve only ever been in a tattoo parlour once before,’ he said. ‘That’s sort of why I’m here, you see. My first time was in Brighton when I was 25. It was my first holiday with my future wife. I think we were tipsy most of the time.’

I’d heard many of a tale of tipsy inkings.