but I'm exhausted. You're fifteen years younger. You could do me a favour."
"Don't crawl, Mike. I can't do it alone. We've both got to go back."
"Remember that girl, the blonde that pronounced her vowels bad?"
"I think so," Steve said with a faint glint in his eyes. "Are you trying to work me up? What's she got to do with all of this?"
"They almost caught you on top of her at work," Mike reminded him. "I saved your arse, covered for you and it almost cost me a month's salary."
"Good try. I can see you're trying to score points to get out of this. Very well, you asked for it. What happened that time you arrived completely drunk to work after that clown's stag night? You know the friend who's always asking you for money? I was the one who did all the maintenance work that day so that no one would catch on."
"You see," Mike exclaimed, triumphantly. "That shows that you're perfectly capable of taking care of this alone. I've always said that you were the better of the two of us."
"I'm immune to false praise," Steve said, walking up to Mike and putting his arms on his shoulders. "Mike, friend… partner. You're a great bloke, of that there's no doubt. I appreciate you, but not that much to leave you here. There's no doubt you can do it to free yourself. I don't like it any more than you do. But this is the way to go. Pluck up some courage and let's get back up there."
He'd fired his last bullet and it had missed its mark. Mike accepted that he couldn't avoid responsibility on this occasion and gave out a great sigh of defeat. He got up from the ground slowly and under Steve's look of bitter victory, he walked towards the stairs, to get the inevitable over and done with. At least that's what he thought as he arrived at the first step.
"A watchmaker shouldn't have to go through this," Mike lamented, raising his head.
"I swear if it starts to malfunction again I'll give up. I'm not an architect and I've never had to worry about this before. But I tell you I'll put a curse on whoever designed this bastard of a tower. Its fame doesn't mean anything to me. Why isn't there a fuckin' lift?"
The prospect of going back up the three hundred steps of Big Ben was sucking what little energy they had left out of them. They'd only just come down. It couldn't have been more than two minutes before. They'd just repaired the world-famous clock on top of the tower when that weird thing had started to happen again.
It couldn't have been more inopportune. Big Ben's out-of-tune chiming started again. For a moment, Mike seriously considered the possibility that it was a practical joke. At any second, a comedy show host would appear along with a cameraman diligently filming the anger on the faces of the two workers. There'd be laughter all round and Steve and Mike would be excused from any more participation in the mad joke. They'd be free to leave and would never have to climb the stairs again.
For a long moment neither of them moved and to Mike's dismay no cameraman appeared. When they looked at each other again, they could see the same thought in each other's eyes: burn the damn neo-gothic tower, along with the clock.
The worst thing of all was that they didn't know what was wrong with Big Ben. The clock was a masterpiece of precision but lately it had been out of time and tuning for no apparent reason. Another unknown factor was how to fix it. They'd checked the mechanism over and over again but couldn't find anything to explain what was going on. The only thing that seemed to work was rewinding it.
Forcing themselves with great difficulty to control their frustration, they began slowly to go back up the three hundred steps that they'd learnt to hate.
"This is unbearable," Mike said, leaning against the wall. "I've had it. And it's all for nothing. It's going to break down again."
"What gets me most," Steve said, sitting down at his side, "is that it's getting more frequent. This time we've just come down and the problem's started
"Don't crawl, Mike. I can't do it alone. We've both got to go back."
"Remember that girl, the blonde that pronounced her vowels bad?"
"I think so," Steve said with a faint glint in his eyes. "Are you trying to work me up? What's she got to do with all of this?"
"They almost caught you on top of her at work," Mike reminded him. "I saved your arse, covered for you and it almost cost me a month's salary."
"Good try. I can see you're trying to score points to get out of this. Very well, you asked for it. What happened that time you arrived completely drunk to work after that clown's stag night? You know the friend who's always asking you for money? I was the one who did all the maintenance work that day so that no one would catch on."
"You see," Mike exclaimed, triumphantly. "That shows that you're perfectly capable of taking care of this alone. I've always said that you were the better of the two of us."
"I'm immune to false praise," Steve said, walking up to Mike and putting his arms on his shoulders. "Mike, friend… partner. You're a great bloke, of that there's no doubt. I appreciate you, but not that much to leave you here. There's no doubt you can do it to free yourself. I don't like it any more than you do. But this is the way to go. Pluck up some courage and let's get back up there."
He'd fired his last bullet and it had missed its mark. Mike accepted that he couldn't avoid responsibility on this occasion and gave out a great sigh of defeat. He got up from the ground slowly and under Steve's look of bitter victory, he walked towards the stairs, to get the inevitable over and done with. At least that's what he thought as he arrived at the first step.
"A watchmaker shouldn't have to go through this," Mike lamented, raising his head.
"I swear if it starts to malfunction again I'll give up. I'm not an architect and I've never had to worry about this before. But I tell you I'll put a curse on whoever designed this bastard of a tower. Its fame doesn't mean anything to me. Why isn't there a fuckin' lift?"
The prospect of going back up the three hundred steps of Big Ben was sucking what little energy they had left out of them. They'd only just come down. It couldn't have been more than two minutes before. They'd just repaired the world-famous clock on top of the tower when that weird thing had started to happen again.
It couldn't have been more inopportune. Big Ben's out-of-tune chiming started again. For a moment, Mike seriously considered the possibility that it was a practical joke. At any second, a comedy show host would appear along with a cameraman diligently filming the anger on the faces of the two workers. There'd be laughter all round and Steve and Mike would be excused from any more participation in the mad joke. They'd be free to leave and would never have to climb the stairs again.
For a long moment neither of them moved and to Mike's dismay no cameraman appeared. When they looked at each other again, they could see the same thought in each other's eyes: burn the damn neo-gothic tower, along with the clock.
The worst thing of all was that they didn't know what was wrong with Big Ben. The clock was a masterpiece of precision but lately it had been out of time and tuning for no apparent reason. Another unknown factor was how to fix it. They'd checked the mechanism over and over again but couldn't find anything to explain what was going on. The only thing that seemed to work was rewinding it.
Forcing themselves with great difficulty to control their frustration, they began slowly to go back up the three hundred steps that they'd learnt to hate.
"This is unbearable," Mike said, leaning against the wall. "I've had it. And it's all for nothing. It's going to break down again."
"What gets me most," Steve said, sitting down at his side, "is that it's getting more frequent. This time we've just come down and the problem's started
Similar Books
