I led Rose downstairs to the cellar.
“It's a bit of a mess, I'm afraid” I said, moving boxes of kid's toys and redundant kitchen gadgets. “I keep meaning to have a clear out, but you know how it is.”
“Not really, no” she replied, totally disinterested. “But don't worry about me.”
So I stood by, useless, while she huffed and tutted her way round the boxes and old furniture, tapping the clock from time to time.
“How does the watch help?” I asked.
“It's not a clock, it's a compass of the unreal.”
