Handed down from her own mother, Conor’s grandma had threatened for years to take it on Antiques Roadshow to get it valued.
It had a proper pendulum swinging underneath it, and it chimed, too, every fifteen minutes,
loud enough to make you jump if you weren’t expecting it. The whole room was like a museum of how people lived in olden times.
There wasn’t even a television. That was in the kitchen and almost never switched on.
He read. What else was there to do? He had hoped to talk to his father before he flew out,
but what with the hospital visits and the time difference and the new wife’s convenient migraines,
he was just going to have to see him when he showed up. Whenever that would be.
Conor looked at the pendulum clock. Twelve forty-two, it said. It would chime in three minutes.
Three empty, quiet minutes. He realized he was actually nervous.
It had been a long time since he’d seen his father in person and not just on Skype.
Would he look different? Would Conor look different? And then there were the other questions.
Why was he coming now? His mum didn’t look great, looked even worse after five days in hospital,
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