David Mitchell - The Bone Clocks: A Novel

The Bone Clocks is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2014 by David Mitchell
Illustrations copyright 2014 by Neal Murren

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Random House, an imprint and division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

R ANDOM H OUSE and the H OUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Random House LLC.

Published in the United Kingdom by Sceptre, an imprint of Hodder & Stoughton, London.

Grateful acknowledgment is made for permission to reprint an excerpt from Journey of the Magi from Collected Poems 19091962 by T. S. Eliot, copyright 1936 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, copyright renewed 1964 by Thomas Stearns Eliot. Rights outside the United States are administered by Faber and Faber Limited, London, from The Complete Poems and Plays of T. S. Eliot, copyright the Estate of T. S. Eliot. All rights reserved. Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, and Faber and Faber Limited.

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Mitchell, David
The bone clocks : a novel / David Mitchell.
pages cm
ISBN 978-1-4000-6567-7
eBook ISBN 978-0-8129-9473-5
1. Imaginary wars and battlesFiction. I. Title.
PR 6063.1785 B 66 2014
823.914dc23 2014008517

www.atrandom.com

Jacket design: Peter Mendelsund and Oliver Munday
Author photograph: Paul Stuart

v3.1_r1

I FLING OPEN MY BEDROOM CURTAINS , and theres the thirsty sky and the wide river full of ships and boats and stuff, but Im already thinking of Vinnys chocolaty eyes, shampoo down Vinnys back, beads of sweat on Vinnys shoulders, and Vinnys sly laugh, and by now my hearts going mental and, God, I wish I was waking up at Vinnys place in Peacock Street and not in my own stupid bedroom. Last night, the words just said themselves, Christ, I really love you, Vin, and Vinny puffed out a cloud of smoke and did this Prince Charles voice, One must say, ones frightfully partial to spending time with you too, Holly Sykes, and I nearly weed myself laughing, though I was a bit narked he didnt say I love you too back. If Im honest. Still, boyfriends act goofy to hide stuff, any magazinell tell you. Wish I could phone him right now. Wish theyd invent phones you can speak to anyone anywhere anytime on. Hell be riding his Norton to work in Rochester right now, in his leather jacket with LED ZEP spelled out in silver studs. Come September, when I turn sixteen, hell take me out on his Norton.

Someone slams a cupboard door, below.

Mam. No one elsed dare slam a door like that.

Suppose shes found out? says a twisted voice.

No. Weve been too careful, me and Vinny.

Shes menopausal, is Mam. Thatll be it.

T ALKING H EADS Fear of Music is on my record player, so I lower the stylus. Vinny bought me this LP, the second Saturday we met at Magic Bus Records. Its an amazing record. I like Heaven and Memories Cant Wait but theres not a weak track on it. Vinnys been to New York and actually saw Talking Heads, live. His mate Dan was on security and got Vinny backstage after the gig, and he hung out with David Byrne and the band. If he goes back next year, hes taking me. I get dressed, finding each love bite and wishing I could go to Vinnys tonight, but hes meeting a bunch of mates in Dover. Men hate it when women act jealous, so I pretend not to be. My best friend Stellas gone to London to hunt for secondhand clothes at Camden Market. Mam says Im still too young to go to London without an adult so Stella took Ali Jessop instead. My biggest thrill todayll be hoovering the bar to earn my three pounds pocket money. Whoopy-doo. Then Ive got next weeks exams to revise for. But for two pins Id hand in blank papers and tell school where to shove Pythagoras triangles and Lord of the Flies and their life cycles of worms. I might, too.

Yeah. I might just do that.

D OWN IN THE kitchen, the atmospheres like Antarctica. Morning, I say, but only Jacko looks up from the window-seat where hes drawing. Sharons through in the lounge part, watching a cartoon. Dads downstairs in the hallway, talking with the delivery guythe truck from the brewerys grumbling away in front of the pub. Mams chopping cooking apples into cubes, giving me the silent treatment. Im supposed to say, Whats wrong, Mam, what have I done? but sod that for a game of soldiers. Obviously she noticed I was back late last night, but Ill let her raise the topic. I pour some milk over my Weetabix and take it to the table. Mam clangs the lid onto the pan and comes over. Right. What have you got to say for yourself?

Good morning to you too, Mam. Another hot day.

What have you got to say for yourself, young lady?

If in doubt, act innocent. Bout what exactly?

Her eyes go all snaky. What time did you get home?

Okay, okay, so I was a bit late, sorry.

Two hours isnt a bit late. Where were you?

I munch my Weetabix. Stellas. Lost track of time.

Well, thats peculiar, now, it really is. At ten oclock I phoned Stellas mam to find out where the hell you were, and guess what? Youd left before eight. So whos the liar here, Holly? You or her?

Shit. After leaving Stellas, I went for a walk.

And where did your walk take you to?

I sharpen each word. Along the river, all right?

Upstream or downstream, was it, this little walk?

I let a silence go by. What diffrence does it make?

Therere some cartoon explosions on the telly. Mam tells my sister, Turn that thing off and shut the door behind you, Sharon.

Thats not fair! Hollys the one getting told off.

Now, Sharon. And you too, Jacko, I want But Jackos already vanished. When Sharons left, Mam takes up the attack again: All alone, were you, on your walk?

Why this nasty feeling shes setting me up? Yeah.

How far dyou get on your walk, then, all alone?

Whatyou want miles or kilometers?

Well, perhaps your little walk took you up Peacock Street, to a certain someone called Vincent Costello? The kitchen sort of swirls, and through the window, on the Essex shore of the river, a tiny stick-mans lifting his bike off the ferry. Lost for words all of a sudden? Let me jog your memory: ten oclock last night, closing the blinds, front window, wearing a T-shirt and not a lot else.

Yes, I did go downstairs to get Vinny a lager. Yes, I did lower the blind in the front room. Yes, someone did walk by. Relax, Id told myself. Whats the chances of one stranger recognizing me? Mams expecting me to crumple, but I dont. Youre wasted as a barmaid, Mam. You ought to be handling supergrasses for MI5.

Mam gives me the Kath Sykes Filthy Glare. How old is he?

Now I fold my arms. None of your business.

Mams eyes go slitty. Twenty-four, apparently.

If you already know, whyre you asking?

Because a twenty-four-year-old man interfering with a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl is illegal. He could go to prison.

Ill be sixteen in September, and I reckon the Kent police have bigger fish to fry. Im old enough to make up my own mind about my relationships.

Mam lights one of her Marlboro Reds. Id kill for one. When I tell your father, hell flay this Costello fella alive.