Tags

, , , , ,

The clock on the wall ticked loudly. It was a steady sound that had weight behind it. With each tick, with every tock, you could hear the hands moving. With every tick, with each tock, you could feel time pass.

The clock had belonged to her mother, and before that to her mother, who had claimed it was an antique, over a hundred years old, when she got it. Gran, however, had always been prone to exaggeration and flights of fancy, and it was just as likely that she had bought it brand new. Her mother had refused to take it along when the Antiques Roadshow was in town. If Gran said it was an antique, that was all that mattered, she’d said.

What mattered was that it was now a family thing. An heirloom. This clock had been on her mother’s wall, and before that it had been on her grandmother’s wall, and now it was on her wall. This clock would mark out the seconds of her days, months and years, as it had done for two generations before her. That heavy, steady tick-tock would mark out her adult life as it had counted out her childhood.

She sat down on the floor and smiled. Most of her belongings were still in boxes, and the sofa wouldn’t be delivered for another two days, but with this clock on the wall, it was already home.