Luke’s plastic face

Roger emailed six months ago to explain that the clock tower was being converted into a holiday let. He had become more interested in financial matters over the last few years, often emailing Hill links to Forbes.com articles and detailing the performance of his small portfolio of shares. He had suggested that Hill should think about a postgraduate business qualification, that Hill needed to monetise, that Money Is The Freedom That Powers Us Forwards™. Hill hadn’t responded to the clock tower email and refused to discuss it when he spoke to Roger on the phone. Roger had explained that it would make them a lot of money, money that Hill could use if he wanted.

Shut up, Roger, Hill thinks.

So quiet here, Hill thinks.

Hill steps off the driveway and walks into the woodland. He thinks about his mother and how she used to watch him climb trees and play with his Star Wars figures.

Don’t be afraid, Hill, higher—

She encouraged him to plot out original stories rather than imitate the films; Darth Vader setting up a treetop cafe with Chewbacca, Luke spending his life alone, living in a rose bush that overlooked the entire universe. To signify the passing of time, Hill drew a moustache on Luke’s plastic face that developed into a goatee that developed into a full Russian beard.

You’re so thoughtful, you get that from me—

She used the clock tower to store her old clothes, fancy dress costumes, all her school teaching resources. She spent time in there sorting through things with Hill, telling him stories about her father’s life as an opera singer, their life in the house, the clock tower, the family holidays they went on. Until her late teens, Hill’s mother was the only person in her school to have flown in an aeroplane.

For us, it was just normality—

Roger was afraid of flying, and every summer Hill and his mother travelled abroad for three or four weeks without him. Sometimes during the winter they would sit together in the clock tower and look through Polaroids of their holidays:

A woman and a boy drinking red wine, a woman and a boy feeding stray cats, a woman and a boy playing Snap. A woman and a man eating Greek salad, a woman and a boy eating Greek salad, a woman and a man drinking red wine, a woman and a boy drinking red wine. A woman and a boy laughing, a woman and a boy sitting quietly, reading. A woman, a man, and a boy standing next to a fishing boat, a woman, a man, and a boy eating baklava in a restaurant. A woman and a boy wearing matching striped T-shirts, a woman and a boy staring directly into camera, their tongues sticking out, a woman and a boy staring directly into camera, expressionless and calm.

So gorgeous, Hill, in these moments—

Hill felt it was important to see the clock tower first, feel emotional, and then react calmly when Roger would later insist on him going to inspect the revamped building.

‘Elegant bi-fold solutions for that classic contemporary finish’, Hill thinks.

Bi-fold doors in every single room, in every single wall, Hill thinks.

Bi-fold Sarah Beeny, bi-fold Kirstie Allsopp, Hill thinks.

Hill looks back towards the driveway momentarily, but turns and keeps walking deeper into the woodland until he joins a long unmaintained path that leads to the clock tower.

***

Hill opens the moss-covered gate and stands in front of the clock tower. It is exactly as he remembered it, the stone walls green and damp in patches around the door and the ground floor windows, the clock dial frozen and rusted. He puts the pet carrier down, walks up to the building and runs his hands over the rotting wooden window frames.

Feels okay, Hill thinks.

Feel okay, Hill thinks.