Interpreting Time
Stonehenge - a ritual site and also a prehistoric way of marking time.
About a year ago, I saw an advertisement in a local magazine for Angmering Writers’ club. It meets once a month, on a Wednesday evening, in Angmering Library and is run very enthusiastically by Susan Francis. I asked my friend and fellow writer, Veronica Fahy, if she fancied going to their meeting with me and she said yes. Since then we have been able to attend most of their meetings and have enjoyed the opportunity of meeting other writers. As part of the club, Susan organises talks by local authors, journalists and even one of the policemen who helps Peter James with the technical aspects of his books.
Towards the end of last year, Susan announced a short story completion. The theme was “Time” and the competition was open to residents of Angmering and the immediately surrounding area. It’s always interesting to see how a theme is interpreted by different writers, as even the simplest suggestion can lead to a myriad of ideas.
The idea of time made me think of all those phrases that we use in English that include the word time, but not just in the strict sense of measuring time. My immediate thought was of a pub calling time at the end of the evening, then of someone serving time in prison. A short story involving time travel was also a possibility, as was the idea of time repeating itself.
The writers’ club held a party at the beginning of this month, when the results of the contest were announced. I am pleased to announce that my friend, Veronica Fahy, won the contest with her story “Killing Time”. She has just been interviewed by Radio Sussex about her interest in writing and the story itself. I hope someone hearing the programme will offer her a publishing contract, as she certainly deserves one!
My own story, “The Clock”, is at the end of this blog. The judges commented –
“Good plot line. Well-written and intriguing story with a fascinating ending.
Original, atmospheric, compelling and quite sinister, a sort of modern fairytale. In a short space of time you have the sense of a benign clock master turning into a menacing presence.”
THE CLOCK
The idea of spending a week doing work experience with a watch and clock repairer would not appeal to many students. It would be too old-fashioned for their liking and unlikely to enhance their street cred. That was exactly how Matt felt, even though his father was an antiques dealer and Matt himself had an engineering bent. On the plus side though, he doubted it would involve much work and even then, it certainly would not be strenuous. Accordingly, when the placement was offered to him, along with three other even less appealing suggestions, he grabbed the opportunity.
The workshop was only a few miles from Matt’s home and close to a bus stop. He left at his usual time on the Monday morning, arriving a few minutes before nine o’clock, so by sheer accident he was there just before opening time. Peering through the window, it was exactly how Matt had imagined it: small, cluttered and definitely old-fashioned. Contrary to what he had expected though, everything was clean and arranged in some kind of order.
As he was carrying out his furtive examination of the establishment, a short, elderly gentleman came to unlock the door and to flip the sign to say the shop was now open for business.
The man smiled at Matt, before introducing himself as Peter Matthews. He gripped Matt’s hand in a surprisingly strong handshake for someone whose work was so delicate and exacting.
“Come in, lad,” he said. “We can have a cup of tea and get to know each other a bit before we start work.”
Matt followed him through the shop to a small kitchenette at the rear, where there was a tiny sink, a cupboard and a kettle standing on a shelf. Peter filled the kettle, took two mugs from the cupboard and added teabags. At the same time, he explained that the workshop had once belonged to his grandfather and had been passed down to him. He bemoaned the fact that he had no son of his own to carry on the tradition and that his daughter had become a cancer nurse.
“All very laudable, I know, but I still wish I could pass everything over to her when it’s my time to retire. It would please her mother so much too!”
Matt nodded and mumbled, “Yea,” or “Right” at what seemed the appropriate points, although in truth he was barely listening. Instead, he was trying to decide where he and his mates could go that evening. None of them had much money, but there must be something they could afford.
He was forced to drag his mind back to the present when Peter asked for the second time what interested him.
“Engineering,” he replied. “I want to try one of those modern apprenticeships, if I can find one.”
Peter beamed in response. “Well, there’s some fantastic quality engineering in here, lad. Come and look at this.”
He led the way back into the workshop, carrying their mugs of tea, which he placed on the counter. He beckoned Matt to join him by a glass cabinet that contained a large mantelpiece clock with an intricately patterned Boulle exterior.
“This is the pride of my collection,” Peter enthused. “It has been passed down the family for generations and it’s never once needed mending. Just the occasional clean and oil. You can’t say that about many clocks of this age. They continually need something doing to keep them running properly.”
He gazed lovingly at the clock, before continuing.
“It was made around 1750 by Pierre Desmoines in Paris. He was one of the best chronologists who have ever lived. He was constantly inventing new techniques and novel designs, many of which have never been bettered. Just look at this!”
As he had been speaking, Peter had opened the front door of the cabinet and turned the clock round. He flicked open the back, to reveal a myriad of interconnected gears and rods, all delicately chased and gleaming, with tiny jewels dotted strategically here and there. A soft “tick, tock” emanated from the mechanics: the beating heart of the clock. Peter’s eyes glistening as they darted around the interior, briefly lingering over each component.
“This was his masterpiece and experts are still not entirely sure how everything works! He never wrote anything down and never took on an apprentice. During his lifetime, some people even claimed he was in league with the devil, because they couldn’t understand his inventions. A couple of his rivals even suggested that he had managed to defeat time itself and had become immortal.”
He paused for a second, as he ran he fingers lovingly over the clock.
“It seems they were proved wrong when a body was found in his workshop one day. No one ever proved what caused the death and Desmoisnes’ secrets seem to have gone to the grave. Occasionally, someone has dismantled one of his masterpieces in an effort to uncover his methods, but they haven’t enjoyed much success.”
Peter smiled strangely.
Matt stood there mute, bemused at how something as simple as a clock could create such enthusiasm. Yes, from an engineering point of view the clock was intriguing, but not that much.
“Very interesting,” he said, when he finally realised he was meant to say something. “Does it keep good time?”
“Excellent! I never have to adjust it, well, only to alter it when the clocks change.”
“So, forward one hour or back one hour.”
“Oh, no!” Peter exclaimed. “Never back. Clocks are never meant to go backwards. You put it either forward one hour or forward eleven hours. Otherwise you might damage the mechanism, especially with something as precious as this.”
Peter caressed the clock with his right hand as he spoke, as if it were a living thing.
“Oh, right,” Matt replied, although he was not convinced.
The conversation was interrupted by the phone ringing. Peter answered it and chatted pleasantly with his caller, whilst Matt wandered round the shop.
During the remainder of the morning, a couple of customers came in. Peter introduced Matt as his “young gentleman on work experience,” which Matt found mildly amusing, as it sounded so dated. When they had the shop to themselves, Peter showed Matt how to change the glass in a wristwatch. At lunchtime, Peter announced he was popping into the baker’s shop next door for some sandwiches and asked Matt if he would like something. He declined as he had called into the local baker’s shop earlier in the morning and bought his lunch there. Left alone for a few minutes, Matt’s attention was drawn back to the Desmoines’ clock.
“I wonder what would happen if someone did turn it back?” he thought, as he opened first the cabinet door and then the glass cover. He placed his finger against the minute hand and tried pushing it anti-clockwise. At first, he felt some resistance, but then it began moving, with a slight grating sound. Matt ensured he changed the time by exactly an hour and then closed the doors again. Unless someone actually checked the time, no one would notice that anything had changed.
For some inexplicable reason he realised he was smiling.
When Peter returned with his lunch, he glanced round the shop, but said nothing.
“I didn’t miss anything, did I?” he asked.
“No. No-one came in and the phone didn’t ring,” Matt replied.
To Matt the afternoon seemed to drag. Peter was explaining how all the individual pieces of the clock interconnected, naming each one as he went. Matt tried to concentrate, but found he was constantly looking at every clock to check the time, only to find that only a few minutes had passed since he last looked. The only thing to console him was that the Desmoines’ clock was still slow by one hour. Exactly one hour. Peter still had not noticed, to Matt’s surprise.
When Peter closed the shop at five o’clock, Matt walked back to the bus stop, only to find that the ten past five bus he had intended to catch had left an hour earlier. He checked the time on his mobile phone and found that it was now 18.08. Previously it had always kept time accurately, so the only explanation he could think of was that somehow, he had knocked the keypad and accidently changed the time.
When he finally arrived home, his mother asked why he was late for his dinner, because she had expected him an hour earlier. Only afterwards did she ask him whether he had enjoyed his day. Matt mumbled an apology and told her his day had been “interesting”, without going into any further detail.
The following morning, when Matt arrived at the shop, all the clocks said exactly the same time, including the Desmoines’. He expected Peter to make a comment, but he simply smiled and wished Matt a good morning, as if nothing had happened.
When lunchtime arrived, Peter went next-door and again Matt felt a sudden compulsion to tamper with the clock. This time, however, as he was turning the minute hand backwards, his sleeve caught on a small lever that he had not noticed before. A soft click was the only warning that he had touched it. He quickly replaced it in what he believed to be the correct position and then closed the cabinet again.
When Peter returned, he knew that something had altered, but it took a few seconds for him to sense what was wrong. He glanced casually at the Desmoines’ clock and noticed that the hands now said eleven o’clock and not one.
“OK. If you want to play silly devils, then so be it. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he thought to himself.
He waited until Matt went to the toilet during the afternoon and opened the glass cabinet himself. “At least I know what this button does,” he thought, as he pressed a small gold knob at the back of the mechanism. “Matt,” he said, as he noiselessly closed the cabinet door.
Two hours later, Matt staggered out of the toilet, looking extremely pale and sweating profusely.
“Are you alright, lad?” Peter asked, trying his best to sound concerned. “You look a bit peaky!”
“I only went in there for a quick pee and then I had the runs and then I was sick and then both. It feels like I’ve been in there for hours.”
Peter looked at the clock. “I’ve been busy, so I wasn’t aware how long you were gone, but looking at the clock, you’ve been away quite a while. Two hours to be precise. If I’d realised it earlier, I would have come to make sure you were alright.”
Matt looked round the workshop, checking the time on all the clocks. Every one said 4.45, except the Desmoines’, which chose that moment to chime that it was 2.45.
“It’s laughing at me,” he thought, before quickly adding, “don’t be stupid. Clocks can’t laugh.”
“If you don’t feel well and want to go home early, that’s fine with me,” Peter said, before adding, “May be it was that prawn sandwich you bought in the supermarket. You never know if they’ve been stored properly between being produced and being sold. Don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of time tomorrow and there’s so much more for you to learn!”
Matt noticed the stress that Peter had placed on the word time and the smirk on his face.
“Thank you. I think I will,” he replied, as he grabbed his bag and slouched to the bus stop.
He declined his dinner that evening, as the mere thought of food made him nauseous. He lay in bed wondering whether the sandwich really had been the cause of his sickness and diarrhoea or whether it had been something else.
When he finally fell asleep he began dreaming about the workshop, or at least he thought it was a dream. He clearly saw Peter pressing a knob on the Desmoines’ clock and saying the name “Matt” aloud. The time on the clock face was 12.45. As Matt looked round the workshop, he noticed that all the others said 2.45: the time when he had gone to the toilet. Was it merely a coincidence or was there something very strange about that clock? Was there something strange about Peter too?
In the cold, dim morning light, Matt decided not to take any more risks. When breakfast time arrived, he told his mother he still felt ill and asked her to telephone Peter to tell him he had caught a stomach bug and doubted if he would be back.
“Don’t be daft. Take a couple more of those tablets from the bathroom and keep the rest of the packet with you today. They’ll settle your stomach. Have a mint tea as well.”
She placed a mug of steaming tisane in front of Matt as he sat at the kitchen table. He wrinkled his nose, as the smell of peppermint reached his nostrils. It wasn’t his drink of choice, but there was no point arguing with his mother, so he sipped it slowly.
“Do you feel any better now?” his mother asked, ten minutes later.
“Not really. I’d rather stay at home today.”
“You sound just like you did when you were at primary school. You’ll only be at that shop for the rest of the week, so just go!”
Matt went, but only because of an ulterior motive. He had been nagging his mother for the previous three months to buy him a new computer. He said it would help with his schoolwork, but in reality, he intended to use it more for playing games and keeping in touch with his friends. She had finally agreed, provided he helped with the housework. As a result, Matt knew that if he failed to complete the work experience, his mother would refuse to help.
When Matt arrived at the shop, Peter was already there. The sign on the door had been flipped over to read “Open” and the kettle was on the point of boiling.
“Morning, lad. How do you feel today?” he asked, as Matt walked through the doorway.
“A bit better, but still not right.”
“Once we get down to work, I’m sure you’ll forget all about it. Prawn sandwiches always are a bit dodgy, especially when you don’t make them yourself. Here’s your tea.”
He passed the mug to Matt and then added milk to his own drink.
“I’ll show you a basic clean today,” he said, leading the way back into the shop and heading towards his workbench.
“If we do it here, we’ll be available if anyone comes in. Apart from that, customers like watching me working.”
Peter collected a mantel-clock from the shelf where he stored the clocks that were awaiting repair and deftly began dismantling it. As he did so, he laid each piece carefully on the bench, making sure they are in the correct order to re-assemble them once the cleaning was complete.
Matt watched half-heartedly, wondering how long the process would take. It was eventually finished by lunchtime, as Peter had explained each step of the job in detail, thereby taking much longer than usual.
“Lunch-time,” he announced, as he closed the rear door of the clock. “I’m just nipping next door. I suppose you’ve brought yours with you.”
Matt nodded and went to fetch the salad his mother had made for him whilst he was eating his breakfast. All morning he had avoided looking at the Desmoines’ clock, despite having the strange feeling that somehow it was challenging him to do so. He couldn’t explain why, but the face seemed to be grinning at him malevolently. Now the impulse to approach the clock became irresistible and he sauntered towards it.
The hands had returned to their correct position and once again told the correct time. He opened the glass cabinet and peered at the mechanism. The button he had seen in his dream was there, exactly where he expected it to be. He concentrated and tried to remember exactly what Peter had told him about the clock and which parts he had shown him. He couldn’t recall that particular button, but then again, he hadn’t really been paying attention.
There was only one way he could be certain whether the clock had somehow been responsible for his illness and may be even for him missing the bus on the first day of his work experience and that was to tamper with it again. However, what could he do this time? Whatever it was, he needed to do it quickly, because Peter would return soon.
There was a small lever on the dial that moved between two points marked respectively “chime” and “silent”. If he moved it now, Peter would certainly notice during the afternoon, because it wouldn’t strike the quarter, half and full hours as usual. He considering tampering with it at the end of the day, if he had the opportunity, but thinking it through, he realised there was no point doing that, as he wouldn’t witness any effect it had. For the moment, he simply slid the lever from one side to the other a couple of times, just to judge how easily it moved.
Peter came back a second or two after Matt had closed the cabinet door.
“Lovely workmanship, isn’t it?” Peter commented.
“Yes,” Matt grudgingly admitted. “I wonder how long it took to make.”
“Probably hundreds of hours and lots of love too. You need to have a very close connection with your job to produce something that fine.” Peter paused for a second, as if he were searching for the right words to explain his thoughts. “May be “calling” would be a better word. Yes, “calling”, not “job.””
He stared at the clock for a few seconds.
“Time’s a strange thing, lad. It can play tricks with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you ever noticed that sometimes it drags and at other times it just rushes past?”
“Yes. It drags when you’re doing something you don’t enjoy and rushes when you enjoy what you’re doing,” Matt replied.
“That’s why I love clocks that chime. That sound reminds people of passing time. It’s something regular that you can hold on to, even if anything else in your life has gone haywire.”
For a second Matt thought that Peter had seen him touching the clock and he was relieved when Peter changed the subject and began explaining the differences between, grandfather and grandmother clocks.
The afternoon passed slowly, with Matt noticing each time each clock chimed.
“I’d go mad if I had to listen to this for the rest of my life,” he thought.
As closing time approached, Matt waited for the opportunity to do something else to the Desmoisnes’ clock, no matter how trifling. He was unlucky, however, as Peter suggested they close early. It was raining outside and there was no passing trade.
Matt pulled his jacket round his body and stepped out onto the pavement. Even though it was pouring, he couldn’t actually hear the raindrops as they splattered on his bare head, he just felt them trickling down his neck. Then he noticed that he could not hear his own footsteps on the pavement as he walked to the bus stop. Or the traffic, as it rushed past him on the main road. He was startled when his mobile phone began vibrating, without playing the usual inane tune he had chosen as his ring-tone.
Matt began panicking as he suddenly realised everything around him was silent. The only thing he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears, as his heart began racing. What on earth had happened to him and what could he do to return things to normal? Assuming of course, that was possible.
As soon as he arrived home, he dashed to his room, shouting out to his mother as he passed her that he had promised to meet a friend and would eat out. She simply shrugged. Matt changed his clothes and then left the house, carrying his laptop with him. He hurried to a nearby internet café and spent the evening researching sudden hearing loss. None of the possible causes he discovered matched what had happened to him and he began to wonder if there was a medical cause.
As he walked home, he mulled over the events of the past few days and the only unusual ones related to the shop and the Desmoines’ clock. Firstly, there was the strange difference in time when he left the shop after his first day of work experience, on the second day there was his unexplained illness and now he had suddenly lost his sense of hearing. Weirdly, each thing had happened after he had touched the clock.
He wondered if he should explain everything to Peter the following day, but did not know how that would help.
Matt spent a restless night, tossing and turning and dreaming of clocks and demonic clock repairers. When morning arrived, he felt exhausted and had to force himself to get out of bed. He skipped breakfast and headed to the shop as early as he could. When he arrived, Peter was already at his workbench, cleaning a carriage clock.
“You look like you had a bad night. Is there something on your conscience?” he asked, when he noticed Matt’s ashen face.
There was no response.
Peter stood facing Matt before he spoke again.
“Of course, I’d forgotten, you can’t hear me today, can you?”
Matt was stunned. He had managed to lip-read what Peter had said, but how could he know what had happened?
Peter laughed.
“Oh, I know what you did to the clock. There’s a very close relationship between us – the clock, and me I mean. I’ve been tending to it for so long that it almost speaks to me. Or maybe it’s something telepathic. I’m not sure which. Anyway, I know you tampered with the clock each day and it’s had its revenge.”
He spoke slowly and very deliberately, so that Matt could follow every word as it passed his lips. Each one chilled him a little more, as did the unnatural gleam in Peter’s eyes.
“I didn’t mean any harm,” Matt finally stammered. “It was only meant as a prank.”
“There’s a time and a place for jokes and messing around with a masterpiece like that clock doesn’t count as one of them! You don’t know what you could have done.”
“Is there anything I can do now to make it right?” Matt asked, blushing.
“If you truly regret what you’ve done, then everything should right itself in time. But I’m making no promises.”
“How do you know so much about that clock?” Matt finally asked. “You told me that Desmoines kept his knowledge to himself and his body was found in his workshop.”
“I said a body was found. I also told you there were people who believed Desmoines had mastered time and didn’t really die.”
Matt shuddered.
“But that’s not possible, is it?”
“They were right,” Peter replied. He waited until his words had sunk in. “How old do you think I am?”
“Late 60s or may be early 70s,” Matt replied.
Peter laughed and shook his head.
“Add on a couple of centuries. That’s my clock because I am Desmoines and I created it. I changed my name, but I’m still the same person. I made the mistake of messing with time when I made it and now we’re bound together for eternity, whether I like it or not!”
