The Bone Clocks

Whack!Smack over the left side of my face.

We look at each other: me trembling with shock and Mam angrier than I’ve ever seen her, and—I reckon—knowing she’s just broken something that’ll never be mended. I leave the room without a word, as if I’ve just won an argument.

I ONLY CRY a bit, and it’s shocked crying, not boo-hoo crying, and when I’m done I go to the mirror. My eyes’re a bit puffy, but a bit of eyeliner soon sorts that out … Dab of lippy, bit of blusher … Sorted. The girl in the mirror’s a woman, with her cropped black hair, her QuadropheniaT-shirt, her black jeans. “I’ve got news for you,” she says. “You’re moving in with Vi

I dare. Pack, then. Pack what? Whatever’ll fit into my big duffel bag. Underwear, bras, T-shirts, my bomber jacket; makeup case and the Oxo tin with my bracelets and necklaces in. Toothbrush and a handful of tampons—my period’s a bit late so it should start, like, any hour now. Money. I count up Ј13.85 saved in notes and coins. I’ve Ј80 more in my TSB bankbook. It’s not like Vi

I tell him, “Mister, you just gave me a heart attack.”

“You’re going.” Jacko’s got this not-quite-here voice.

“Just between us, yes, I am. But not far, don’t worry.”

“I’ve made you a souvenir, to remember me by.” Jacko hands me a circle of cardboard—a flattened Dairylea cheese box with a maze drawn on. He’s mad about mazes, is Jacko; it’s all these Dungeons & Dragonsy books him and Sharon read. The one Jacko’s drawn’s actually dead simple by his standards, made of eight or nine circles inside each other. “Take it,” he tells me. “It’s diabolical.”

“It doesn’t look all that bad to me.”

“ ‘Diabolical’ means ‘satanic,’ sis.”

“Why’s your maze so satanic, then?”

“The Dusk follows you as you go through it. If it touches you, you cease to exist, so one wrong turn down a dead end, that’s the end of you. That’s why you have to learn the labyrinth by heart.”

Christ, I don’t half have a freaky little brother. “Right. Well, thanks, Jacko. Look, I’ve got a few things to—”

Jacko holds my wrist. “Learn this labyrinth, Holly. Indulge your freaky little brother. Please.”

That jolts me a bit. “Mister, you’re acting all weird.”

“Promise me you’ll memorize the path through it, so if you ever needed to, you could navigate it in the darkness. Please.”

My friends’ little brothers are all into Scalextric or BMX or Top Trumps—why do I get one who does this and says words like “navigate” and “diabolical”? Christ only knows how he’ll survive in Gravesend if he’s gay. I muss his hair. “Okay, I promise to learn your maze off by heart.” Then Jacko hugs me, which is weird ’cause Jacko’s not a huggy kid. “Hey, I’m not going far … You’ll understand when you’re older, and—”

“You’re moving in with your boyfriend.”

By now I shouldn’t be surprised. “Yeah.”

“Take care of yourself, Holly.”

“Vi

But Jacko just puts the cardboard lid with his maze on deep into my duffel bag, gives me one last look, and disappears.

·   ·   ·

MAM APPEARS WITH a basket of bar rugs on the first-floor landing, as if she wasn’t lying in wait. “I’m not bluffing. You’re grounded. Back upstairs. You’ve got exams next week. Time you knuckled down and got some proper revision done.”

I grip the banister. “ ‘Our roof, our rules,’ you said. Fine. I don’t want your rules, oryour roof, oryou hitting me whenever you lose your rag. You’d not put up with that. Would you?”

Mam’s face sort of twitches, and if she says the right thing now, we’ll negotiate. But no, she just takes in my duffel bag and sneers like she can’t believe how stupid I am. “You had a brain, once.”

So I carry on down the stairs to the ground floor.

Above me, her voice tightens. “What about school?”

“ Yougo, then, if school’s so important!”

“ Inever had the bloody chance, Holly! I’ve always had the pub to run, and you and Brendan and Sharon and Jacko to feed, clothe, and send to school so youwon’t have to spend yourlife mopping out toilets and emptying ashtrays and knackering your back and never having an early night.”

Water off a duck’s back. I carry on downstairs.

“But go on, then. Go. Learn the hard way. I’ll give you three days before Romeo turfs you out. It’s not a girl’s glittering personality that men’re interested in, Holly. It never bloody is.”

I ignore her. From the hallway I see Sharon behind the bar by the fruit juice shelves. She’s helping Dad do the restocking, but I can see she heard. I give her a little wave and she gives me one back, nervous. Echoing up from the cellar trapdoor is Dad’s voice, crooning “Ferry ’Cross the Mersey.” Better leave him out of it. In front of Mam, he’ll side with her. In front of the regulars, it’ll be “It takes a bigger idiot than me to step between the pecking hens” and they’ll all nod and mumble, “Right enough there, Dave.” Plus I’d rather not be in the room when he finds out ’bout Vi

WEST STREET’S TOO bright and too dark, like a TV with the contrast on the blink, so I put on my sunglasses and they turn the world all dreamish and vivider and more real. My throat aches and I’m shaking a bit. Nobody’s ru

Lots of little darting birds’re twirly-whirlying like the tin-whistlers on strings kids get at birthdays, or used to, and a gang of boys’re playing Kick the Can in the park round the church at Crooked Lane. Get him! Behind the tree! Setme free!Kids. Stella says older men make better lovers; with boys our age, she says, the ice cream melts once the cone’s in your hand. Only Stella knows ’bout Vi

Crooked Lane veers up from the river, and from there I turn up Queen Street, where I’m nearly mown down by Julie Walcott pushing her pram. Her baby’s bawling its head off and she looks knackered. She left school when she got pregnant. Me and Vi