Walter brought a chess clock to Sunday lunch because his grandson Oliver had complained that their games took forever.
The clock had two buttons. When one player finished a move, he pressed his button and the other player’s time began.
Walter explained this at the kitchen table while his daughter Kate was carrying in roast potatoes. Oliver said he understood. Walter explained it again, using the salt and pepper pots as kings.
His wife, June, pressed one of the buttons.
Walter stopped talking.
“What did you do that for?”
“It was your turn for ten minutes,” June said. “I thought we ought to see what happened when it ended.”
After lunch, Walter and Oliver played chess. The clock worked perfectly. Walter thought for a long time before every move, but now the thinking belonged to his own minutes. Oliver had time to finish a glass of lemonade between moves.
Walter lost on time while trying to explain why his position was actually excellent.
Oliver asked for a second game. Walter agreed, then insisted on a longer setting. Kate said the clock had done its job.
The following Sunday, June put it beside the serving dish. Walter asked why the chess pieces weren’t there.
“We’re using it for conversation,” she said.
Kate had been trying to tell them about a new job. Walter had interrupted three times to explain what he knew about her industry. June gave Kate five minutes. Walter watched the clock, then pressed his button when Kate finished.
He had three minutes to offer advice. He used two and a half describing the importance of patience.
Kate thanked him. Oliver asked whether advice counted as a move or a penalty.
Kate also used the clock when Oliver and Walter argued over the television remote. Each got a minute to make a case for a programme. Walter brought three facts about a documentary and used up his time introducing them. Oliver said his film had explosions and pressed the button. The family watched the film.
The clock stayed in the dining room. It settled arguments about which road to take to the garden centre. It prevented Walter from reading an entire newspaper article aloud while the pudding cooled. When June told the story of a neighbour’s new fence, she was surprised to discover she could tell it in under four minutes if she left out the neighbour’s cousin.
Walter became quite good at pressing the button himself. He liked knowing that, after June’s turn, nobody could accuse him of interrupting.
One Sunday he arrived with a written speech about why they should give the clock back to Oliver. A family should be able to talk freely, he said. Time limits made ordinary stories feel like meetings.
June agreed to hear the speech. She set the clock for five minutes.
Walter gave his reasons. He told a funny story about a game he had played at school. He remembered something about the clock’s previous owner. By the time he reached his conclusion, his side had run out.
He looked at June.
“May I finish?”
“Of course,” she said. “It’s my turn now.”
She picked up the clock.
“I’d like to keep it.”
Oliver grinned. “For chess?”
June looked at Walter’s speech.
“The chess set’s optional.”