The time between doing it once and doing it again was suddenly mapped onto a clockface, with hands that ticked the seconds away. I watched it tick, heard it tick, felt it tick. The clock was a special secret just for me. People would sit next to me in the classroom and walk past me in the street and play with me in the playground and they wouldn’t know who I really was, but I would, because I would have my ticking to remind me. And when the clock had ticked all the way round, so the hands were twinned at twelve, it would happen. I would do it again.
