by Katey Lovell
‘Thanks, girls,’ Clara called from the kitchen as she grabbed a striped tea towel from the towel rail and started drying the mugs. They hadn’t been rinsed properly – bubbly suds clouding their glossy surfaces – but Clara was so grateful for the help that she didn’t feel she could complain. Simone’s family hadn’t wasted any time. The washing up was all but done.
‘Thanks, everyone,’ Clara said, passing the dried mugs to Simone’s mum to put away in the cupboard. ‘It makes things much easier for me and Deirdre if people lend a hand now and again.’
‘I’ll bet,’ Simone’s dad replied. He was the local vicar and a familiar face in the community. The strip-lighting was reflected off his shaved head as he grinned the same infectious grin as his daughter. ‘Don’t think the hard work you two put into this place goes unnoticed. We’re very grateful for everything you do for these kids.’
‘It’s worth it to see everyone enjoying themselves.’ Clara truly believed that, and loved being able to boost the confidence of the club members. There was a special atmosphere to the old place on showcase night, an almost palpable buzz of joy thronging through the building. ‘Plus, the kids are great, and it’s them we do it for.’
‘When I used to come here there was nowhere else for teenagers to go at this end of town,’ Simone’s brother added. ‘At least now there’s the indoor skate park, and the ice rink’s not bad since it’s been refurbished.’
‘They’re expensive, though,’ Clara pointed out. She’d been shocked at the cost of the tickets on a recent cinema trip with Deirdre, and that was before she’d splashed out on popcorn (sweet, naturally) and a large diet coke. By the time she was done she’d spent almost a day’s wages. ‘Not all the families around here can afford it. At least here they only have to find the money for subs once a term. Plus, some of the kids just want somewhere to hang around away from their parents.’
‘I suppose that’s what I did when I was a member. Me and my mates used to spend all our money in the tuck shop and then talk about music for a few hours in between stuffing our faces with strawberry laces.’
‘Strawberry laces. Good choice.’
‘We’d have competitions to see who could cram the most into their mouths,’ he laughed. ‘I managed forty-eight once.’
‘Wow. You must have a really big mouth.’ Clara clamped her lips together in embarrassment as she realised how insulting that sounded. ‘I didn’t mean any offence …’
‘None taken,’ he said with a shrug as he plunged the last mug into the soapy water and rubbed it with a battered scourer. ‘There,’ he proclaimed, placing the mug on the draining board. Suds slithered down its side. ‘We’re done.’
‘Thank you,’ Clara said genuinely. ‘You’ve been a great help, all of you. I’ll finish off here, though, if you want to get home. It’s getting late.’
The clock read half-past nine. She’d have to get a wiggle on if she was going to make it back home in time for her programme.
‘If you’re sure?’ Simone’s mum replied, reaching for her large straw sunhat. She was well presented, as though dressed for an event. Mind you, she always looked smart. Part of the role of being a vicar’s wife, Clara supposed.
‘Absolutely. There’s not much to do now, you’ve done most of it already. You go,’ she smiled. ‘And thanks again.’
‘It was a brilliant evening,’ the vicar added. ‘A real celebration of everyone’s talents. I’m glad I came.’
‘It was fun,’ Simone’s brother said. ‘I thought the girl who did Riverdance should have won, though. She was amazing.’
‘She was great, wasn’t she? She’s got dreams of dancing on the stage one day. She’ll probably make it too, she’s a hard worker.’
‘You are too, by the look of it,’ he said, sliding into his leather jacket.
‘Well, there’s no point doing anything half-heartedly. My work’s important to me.’
‘It shows. It’s nice to finally meet you, Clara. Simone talks about you all the time at home. And Deirdre too, of course.’
‘Nice to meet you too …’
Clara paused, realising she didn’t know his name.
‘Joe,’ he said, extending his hand to invite a handshake. ‘Joe Smith.’
The Countdown
Clara
Thursday, November 30th 2017
Clara had always loved everything about Christmas, and although Advent hadn’t yet started she was fully prepared for the season. She’d retrieved her collection of knitted Christmas jumpers from the back of her wardrobe (they were now hanging prominently from the picture rail in her bedroom so she could admire them in all their hideously gaudy beauty), and already done the majority of her shopping. Her cards were written and stamped, ready to go into the post box at the end of the road on the first day of December. And now she was trying to persuade Deirdre to let her decorate the youth club with spangly decorations galore.
‘There’s no way you’re putting them up today, Clara. Not a chance. It’s still November!’ Deirdre shook her head with such vigour that her monstrous clip-on earrings threatened to fly off. ‘The ones at home don’t go up until at least the middle of the month. If they were up any earlier I’d get bored. I’m gagging to take them down by Boxing Day as it is.’
‘Spoilsport,’ Clara pouted.
‘You’re not going to change my mind. It’s November. It’s too early.’
Clara sighed, ready to admit defeat. It was the same every year – she’d be itching to get the club covered in tinsel and glitter whilst Deirdre would be putting the Christmas dampeners on.
‘I’ve been patient. The supermarkets have had their decorations up since the day after Hallowe’en.’
‘Bully for the supermarkets!’ Deirdre blustered. ‘Go and work for them if you’re so desperate to have your bloody baubles up!’
Clara laughed. ‘You don’t mean that. We’re struggling enough as it is with the two of us running this place. You’d have no chance if you were doing it single-handedly.’
‘Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,’ Deirdre replied, a cryptic smirk curling at the corners of her lips. ‘I wouldn’t be doing it alone. My new volunteer would be able to help me out.’
Clara’s ears pricked up. ‘New volunteer? You mean someone’s actually been daft enough to sign up to spend their free time in this madhouse?’
‘Yes, and, what’s more, I think he’ll be great with the kids.’
‘He?’
‘Yes, he. He’s young and enthusiastic and it’ll be good for the boys to have a male role model. I know it’s all about equality these days, but I switch off the minute Jordan starts talking about football. What do I know about whether United would be better moving their right back into central defence or whatever it was he was rambling on about last night? This way he can chew someone else’s ear off about it rather than mine. Someone who might be able to make a more incisive comment than ‘Hmm, I don’t know’.’
‘Are you going to tell me who this saviour is or are you going to sit there teasing me all night?’
Deirdre jokingly tapped the side of her nose with her index finger. ‘I could tell you, but it’s far more fun to keep you guessing.’
‘You’re so mean!’ Clara hated being left in the dark over anything, especially when it came to the youth club. Deirdre might be the manager, but Clara had taken on more and more responsibility over the years until they were pretty much equals. Everything was a team effort, from budgeting, to choosing which fundraising events to run and which local groups to work in partnership with. Clara couldn’t remember the last time Deirdre had made a decision without consulting her first. ‘So you’re not even going to give me a clue?’
Deirdre shook her head once more. ‘Nope. This one’s for me to know and you to find out.’
‘Meanie.’
‘You love me really. And you’ll love me even more when you find out who our new volunteer is. I’ve got a good feeling about the two of you.’
Clara’s
face dropped. Deirdre and her meddling.
‘If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. I’m not looking for a man. They’re smelly and lazy and slob about on the settee with their hands shoved down their pants.’ Clara remembered the time she’d called Dean out on that, because she’d been sick of the sight of him with his hands in his trousers. He’d insisted he wasn’t playing with himself but she’d had her doubts. The excuse that his hands were cold didn’t wash with her. Hadn’t he heard of pockets? ‘Not to mention they have a habit of sleeping around.’
Bitterness filled her mouth. She’d got past the sadness of their relationship ending, but she couldn’t get past the anger at being lied to and cheated on. It took a lot for her to trust someone. Watching her mum’s confidence dwindle away to nothing after her dad’s infidelity had been painful. Dean screwing around behind her back had only reaffirmed her distrust.
‘Not all of them, and not this one. This one’s a good one.’
‘I thought Dean was a good one, once upon a time,’ Clara grumbled in retort. ‘If there are good ones out there, why have you never got married, eh? Answer me that.’
‘I’m married to this place, remember. The club, the kids – they’re all the family I need.’
‘Well, maybe that’s enough for me, too,’ she answered defiantly. ‘Maybe I’ll be married to this place.’
Deirdre waggled her finger in front of her face, wearing a stern expression no one in their right mind would argue with. ‘I don’t think so, Clara. I think you need to trust me for once.’
‘I always trust you. Except when it comes to your decisions of when to put the Christmas decorations up, because when it comes to that you’re just downright wrong.’
‘The decorations can go up tomorrow. December the first. Which is still too early, but at least it’ll tie in nicely with the lantern parade. Plus Joe will be around then, so you can do it together.’
‘Joe? Simone’s brother Joe?’
Deirdre smacked the heel of her hand into her forehead. ‘I can’t believe I let that one slip. Me and my big mouth! But yes, he’s our new volunteer. Be nice to him, Clara. I’ve known Joe since he was eleven years old and he had lines shaved into his eyebrows like he was some sort of gangster. He was trying to be tough, but he’s was a softie then and he’s a softie now.’
She looked dreamy, and Clara suspected her boss was imagining Clara in a puffy meringue-like dress and Joe in a jet-black top hat and tails. Typical Deirdre, never one to let reality get in the way of a good story.
‘Don’t go getting any ideas, Deirdre. I barely know the guy.’
‘But you’ll get to know him,’ Deirdre reasoned. ‘Don’t rule anything out yet, that’s all I’m asking.’
Clara didn’t have the energy to argue. In ten minutes’ time they’d be opening the doors and the stream of excitable kids would flood into the hall ready to spend the next two hours wreaking havoc.
‘If I can’t have fairy lights, I’m going to need caffeine,’ she grumbled, heading towards the kitchenette.
‘Clara?’ Deirdre called after her.
‘Yeah?’
‘If you believe in the magic of Christmas, you can surely believe in the magic of love too.’
Clara rolled her eyes. Christmas was one thing. Love was something else altogether.
Joe
Friday, December 1st 2017
Joe’s stomach fizzed as The Club on the Corner came into view. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt this excited.
He’d been at a low ebb for such a long time. Not officially depressed – nothing that a doctor would prescribe medication for – but weighed down by a lethargy that had taken away his usual bounce. ‘It’s a perfectly normal part of the grieving process’ the GP had said when Joe had finally given in to his mum’s desperate pleas to seek help. ‘Survivor guilt.’ It was supposed to be reassuring, but he’d left the surgery more defeated and deflated than ever.
Joe had tried to keep moving forward and not to dwell on events of the past, but sometimes everything was so damn overwhelming. When guilt-induced anxiety had reduced him to tears at work last Christmas as he’d unpacked a delivery of poinsettias, he’d taken it as a sign and halved his hours at the hardware store. When spring brought longer and lighter days he’d felt a little stronger, but by then he’d decided the freedom of part-time hours suited him. He had money saved, and it wasn’t as though he’d been a big spender to start with. He had plenty of clothes. He didn’t smoke and although he enjoyed a beer, he didn’t often drink to excess. Socialising took place mainly at his flat or at the home of his friends, usually Billy and Emma’s, since the arrival of baby Roman earlier in the year. Other than rent, bills and food, Joe didn’t have any regular outgoings, and the only real extravagance – annual trips to Jamaica to see his maternal grandparents – were paid for by his parents. He lived a simple life, and it worked for him.
But after taking a step back for the best part of a year, Joe was excited at the prospect of volunteering. He had a soft spot for The Club on the Corner, where he’d spent so much time during his most formative years.
If those walls could talk they could tell a story or two about Joe Smith. They’d seen his first kiss, a clumsy snog with a petite girl with a penchant for heavy eyeliner. They’d watched on as he’d broken his arm when he was fooling about breakdancing with Billy and a guy called Simon who he hadn’t seen in years. He wondered if the graffiti Billy had dared him to scrawl one reckless Friday night was still on the wall in the games room. He’d been petrified of getting caught, because no one wanted to get on the wrong side of Deirdre; so although he’d accepted the challenge he’d written his name in the tiniest writing he could, discreetly hidden in a gap between a plug socket and a skirting board. That room had also been where he’d first met Michelle, her skills at eight-ball pool enough to make every boy in the place fall for her. When she’d chosen Joe from the many admirers he’d been unable to believe his luck. The Club on the Corner … it had actually changed his life.
From the outside the building looked much the same as ever. Two big wooden doors painted in a vile pea-green shade detracted from the grandeur of the Victorian architecture. The paint was tired and peeling away near the hinges, and Joe vowed to make time to give it a sanding down and a fresh coat if Deirdre would allow him. It wouldn’t take much to tart it up and make it look more inviting.
The lead window panes were beautiful, very much of the era, and the arch above the doorway stated ‘Vestry Hall’, a nod to the building’s original use as a more general meeting place. The green-and-cream sign advertising the youth club was attached to the terracotta brickwork, along with a handwritten laminated notice stating ‘Waiting List Now in Operation’. Joe hoped his volunteering would give a few more kids the opportunity to join up.
The smell in the large entrance hallway transported him back in time. It was dusty, like an antiques showroom. Although Deirdre had always kept the place spick and span, the air was heavy with history and secrets.
‘Joe!’ Deirdre exclaimed, wrapping her arms so tightly around him that he caught his breath. ‘It’s good to see you.’ Her eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d turn up. Thought you might have chickened out.’
‘Ah, it can’t be that bad. I know what it’s like, remember? I spent many a happy night here.’
Deirdre shook her head. ‘It’s all different these days, Joe. The kids grow up so fast. And the technology they’ve got! It was bad enough when you and Billy got that camera phone, remember? You were taking pictures of everyone and everything, but the photos were all grainy. Now they film each other and put it online for the world to see. They’ve got the Internet at their fingertips. It’s all gone too far, if you ask me.’
‘It’s a different age,’ Joe agreed. ‘The iPhone Simone’s got is better than mine. But all her friends have got them. They don’t know any different.’
‘We had none of this new-fangled stuff back in m
y day,’ Deirdre poo-pooed. ‘And we all turned out alright.’
A glint appeared in Joe’s eyes as he took the bait. ‘That’s debatable.’
‘You cheeky so-and-so! It’s a good job I like you. I wouldn’t let any Tom, Dick or Harry get away with that.’
Clara appeared from the kitchen, carrying a mug in each hand.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’d have made you a drink if I’d known you were here. I didn’t hear the door go. I can always brew up if you want one, there’s water in the kettle still, freshly boiled.’
‘Clara.’ Deirdre gave a stern look over the top of her steel-rimmed glasses. ‘You’ve met Joe before, haven’t you? Simone’s brother. He used to be a member here so I know him well. He’s a good lad, but you’ll have to keep your eye on him. He used to be one for the ladies when he was a teenager.’
Joe held his hands up in defence. ‘I could have you for slander, Deirdre Whitehall. I only had two girlfriends in the whole seven years I was a member at The Club on the Corner.’
‘You must have got serious young,’ Clara interjected. ‘I’ve only had one relationship I’d class as serious.’
‘And the less said about that the better,’ Deirdre added pointedly, before turning to Joe with a grimace. ‘Stupid bugger was sleeping with his masseuse, can you believe?’
‘He must have been an idiot,’ Joe replied, rubbing the heel of his hand against the chocolate- brown skin of his forehead. He could feel the start of a stress headache coming on. Probably from nerves. He really hoped it wouldn’t develop into a full-blown migraine.
‘He was,’ Clara replied shortly. ‘Didn’t realise it at the time, though, obviously.’
‘You had a lucky escape,’ Deirdre said. ‘Imagine if you’d married him!’
Clara shuddered, then pulled her thick black woollen cardigan more tightly across her chest. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘They were engaged, you know,’ Deirdre continued, wrinkling her nose in obvious distaste. ‘But I always had a bad feeling about him. He thought he was better than Clara, because he was a local star. I told him on more than one occasion that Clara’s the star around here. I must have had an angel watching over me the day she came for her interview.’
