The Boy with the Cuckoo-Clock Heart

‘Hold on, I’m going to find something for you.’

I can’t relax. My gears are making atrocious grating noises.

‘I must have a few spare parts somewhere . . .’ he adds.

‘I’m fed up with being mended. I want something strong enough to withstand powerful emotions, like everybody else. Haven’t you got a spare clock?’

‘That won’t solve anything. We need to mend your flesh-and-blood heart. And you don’t need a doctor or a clockmaker for that. You just need love, or time – but lots of time.’

‘I don’t want to wait! I don’t have any love left, so please, just change this clock for me.’

Melies heads into town to find me a new heart.

‘Try to rest up until I’m back. And no silly business.’

I decide to wind up my old heart one last time. My head is spinning. A guilty thought flies away to Madeleine, who made so many sacrifices for me to be able to stand on my own two feet and keep going forward without snapping. I feel thoroughly ashamed.

I thrust the key into my lock and a sharp pain rises up beneath my lungs. Drops of blood form at the intersection of my clock hands. I try to pull out the key, but it sticks in the lock. Then I try un-jamming it with my broken clock hands. I force it, but my strength is fading fast. By the time I’ve finally succeeded, blood is pouring out of the lock. Curtain.

Melies is back. I can only see a blurred moustache, you’d think my eyes had been replaced by Miss Acacia’s.

‘I found you a new heart – with no cuckoo and a much quieter tick-tock.’

‘Thank you . . .’

‘Do you like it?’

‘Yes, thank you . . .’

‘You’re quite sure you don’t want the heart Madeleine saved your life with?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘You’ll never be the same again, you do understand?’

‘That’s exactly what I want.’

I don’t remember anything after that, except for a hazy dream, followed by a gigantic hangover.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

In which much is revealed, but not necessarily resolved, concerning ‘The Man Who Was No Hoax’

When I finally open my eyes, I can see my old clock lying on the bedside table. It’s odd being able to pick up your own heart. The cuckoo doesn’t work any more. And there’s dust on it. I feel like a ghost leaning against a gravestone and calmly smoking a cigarette, except for the fact that I’m alive. I’m wearing a strange pair of pyjamas and two tubes have been fitted into my veins – something else to drag around with me.

I inspect my new heart without clock hands. It doesn’t make any noise. How long have I been asleep? Getting up is hard. My bones ache. Melies is nowhere to be found. But there’s a woman dressed in white sitting at his desk. His new belle, I guess. I wave at her. She looks startled, as if she’s just seen an apparition. Her hands tremble. I think I might have frightened somebody at last.

‘You’ve no idea how happy I am to see you back on your feet . . .’

‘Me too. Where’s Melies?’

‘Sit down, I need to explain a few things.’

‘I feel like I’ve been lying down for a hundred and fifty years, so standing up for five minutes isn’t going to hurt me.’

‘Honestly, it’s better if you sit down . . . I’ve got something important to tell you. Something nobody ever wanted to explain before.’

‘Where’s Melies?’

‘He went back to Paris a few months ago. You’ve been asleep for a long time. He asked me to look after you. He loved you very much, you know. He was fascinated by the effect your clock had on your imagination. When you had your accident, he blamed himself terribly for not telling you about your true nature, even if he couldn’t be certain whether doing so would have changed the course of events. But you need to know the truth, now.’

‘What accident?’

‘Don’t you remember?’ she says sadly. ‘In Marbella, you tried to wrench out the clock that was stitched on to your heart.’

‘Oh yes . . .’