Joe and Clara's Christmas Countdown

by Katey Lovell

  Clara tutted and her cheeks flushed pink. It made her appear vulnerable.

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ she replied modestly, before visibly perking up. Her shoulders sprang back, her eyes brightened. ‘But … it’s December the first today, and you know what that means.’

  Deirdre rolled her eyes theatrically, while Joe watched on with interest.

  ‘Hand over the keys to the store cupboard. It’s time to unleash the decorations.’ Clara waggled her eyebrows excitedly before doing a dance of delight on the spot. ‘You can’t put it off any longer, it’s well and truly time to count down to Christmas.’ She grinned enthusiastically in Joe’s direction and Joe forced an uncomfortable smile. So Clara was a Christmas junkie. ‘Don’t you just love Christmas!’ she enthused, clapping her hands together.

  Joe didn’t have the guts to tell the truth – that one of the reasons he’d volunteered at the youth club in the first place was to avoid all the preparations. He’d hoped to lose himself in endless games of table tennis and conversations about which teams had a chance in the FA Cup this season. Anything, so long as it didn’t involve Christmas. Since Michelle’s death, the festive season had never been the same.

  ‘Here you go,’ said Deirdre, handing Clara a long silver key attached to a small red key fob. ‘But don’t go overboard,’ she warned. ‘Leave Santa’s grotto to the Trafford Centre.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Deirdre. You can rely on me.’

  ‘When it comes to Christmas, she doesn’t know when to stop,’ she said with a laugh. ‘You’re not an elf in disguise, are you Joe?’

  ‘Far from it.’ He was aware his voice was short – clipped – so in a vain attempt to lighten the mood he added, ‘Green’s never been my colour.’

  Clara laughed. ‘I’ll get you in the Christmas spirit soon enough. Come on, let’s get that box down. If we work fast we’ll have the whole place dressed before the kids arrive.’

  She turned on her heels, beckoning for Joe to follow on.

  Deirdre gave a little wave before saying, ‘You’d better get a move on. Christmas is a serious business to Clara. Oh, and good luck!’

  Joe smiled weakly as he followed Clara, who was enthusiastically humming ‘Jingle Bells’, all the while silently thinking he might need all the luck he could get.

  ***

  By the time the majority of the main hall had been decorated, plastic pine needles from the artificial tree that stood proudly on the stage were coating the well-trodden parquet flooring and Joe had clumps of silver glitter clinging to the tips of his fingers. Long metallic decorations were strung from the beams overhead, reminding him of the ones his parents had had in his childhood, and thick swaths of scarlet tinsel curled around the creamy-white pillars, so they resembled barber’s poles.

  ‘Just the lights to test now,’ Clara said, crossing her fingers in front of her. ‘They should be fine, they were new last year.’ Then she frowned and added, ‘But have you got a torch feature on your phone?’

  Joe nodded. ‘Yeah, I think so.’

  ‘Good. Get it out and set up ready, just in case.’

  ‘In case what?’

  ‘In case the lights trip the electrics. That’s what happened last year. The whole place went black and I could hear Deirdre shouting but couldn’t see where she was. It was like something from a film.’

  ‘And Deirdre doesn’t like to relinquish control of anything,’ Joe smiled.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ Clara replied, unravelling the tangled wires. ‘She’s not always the easiest person to be around.’

  ‘But you like working here? I mean, I suppose you must or you’d have got a different job.’

  ‘I love it,’ she said, her eyes bright. ‘It’s the kids that make it special, but the whole place has a positive vibe that makes it so much easier to come to work. I joke about Deirdre, but she’s a friend as well as a boss. I never understand when people complain about their job, because I’ve always loved coming here. I guess I’m lucky.’

  ‘Sounds better than my job.’ Joe thought of how he’d spent the morning stock-taking. He’d had one customer, a pensioner looking for polyfilla. That had been the extent of his social contact – one customer in a four-hour shift. And although he’d like to think he’d made a difference, Joe couldn’t, hand on heart, say he had.

  ‘What’s it you do?’

  ‘I work at a hardware shop at the far end of the Northern Quarter. It’s pretty dull, most of the time.’ He shrugged his diffidence. ‘I’m only there part time these days, though. Hard to believe I used to do forty hours a week. Most of the time I was twiddling my thumbs.’

  ‘Fancied a change of scene?’ she smiled, and Joe’s stomach twisted. It was an innocent enough question, but he didn’t want to talk about the reasons behind the changes in his lifestyle.

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Well, there’s not much time for thumb-twiddling here,’ she warned, plugging in the lights. ‘We’ll be glad of the extra body. In the past we’ve tried to get people to help out but no one’s volunteered.’

  ‘I know what a difference this place makes to the kids,’ Joe said, ‘and I’ve got the time to give, so it makes sense to help out.’

  ‘Well, we really appreciate it. Now … the moment of truth.’

  Clara flicked the switch and the lights pinged on, the multi-coloured bulbs twinkling perfectly against the hardwood flooring.

  ‘At least they didn’t trip this year,’ Joe said.

  ‘It’s a relief,’ Clara agreed. ‘Now we need to get them around the tree before we open the door. In five minutes’ time it’ll be bedlam in here.’

  Joe pushed himself up off the floor, scooping up the string of lights. ‘Let’s get cracking, then.’

  ‘Thank you so much for helping.’ An enormous beam of gratitude took over Clara’s face. ‘Don’t you just love Christmas?’

  ‘I used to,’ he muttered under his breath.

  Clara didn’t reply and Joe was unsure whether she’d heard him or not. He suspected he’d been drowned out by strains of Wham’s ‘Last Christmas’, which was playing over the sound system.

  And although he wouldn’t admit it out loud, Clara’s enthusiasm was infectious. Joe was beginning to feel just a little bit of the festive spirit.

  ***

  ‘Calm down,’ Deirdre warned, holding out her crutch to funnel the rush of kids spilling out of the building onto the street. ‘There’s no need to run.’

  ‘Oh, I think you’ll find there is,’ Clara replied. ‘Don’t you know that Christmas is coming?’

  ‘In three and a half weeks!’ Deirdre said in an exasperated tone.

  ‘Ah, come on. It’s the night of the lantern parade and light switch-on, they’re bound to be excited.’ Clara grinned. ‘I’m pretty excited myself.’

  ‘Really?’ Joe said. ‘I’d never have guessed you liked Christmas …’

  ‘Everyone likes Christmas, though, don’t they? Except for Mrs Scrooge over there,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘There are so many happy memories tied up with the season. It’s not only the lights and the presents and overdosing on rich foods; it reminds me of happy times with my mum and grandparents. We lived with them for a while, and they always made a big deal out of Christmas. All the rules would go out of the window for December, and no one minded. I’d laze around in new pyjamas watching films with my gran, then we’d settle down together around the open fire and play board games way past my bedtime. Happy times.’

  Joe braved a smile, despite Christmas bringing very different memories to his mind than it brought to Clara’s. There had been happy times, and lots of them, but they were now tainted by the special person he’d shared them with being so cruelly snatched away.

  ‘Do you still do that?’

  ‘Spend the day in my pyjamas?’ Clara laughed. ‘Mostly, if I can get away with it.’

  ‘I meant, do you still spend Christmas with your grandparents?’

  Her face hardened. ‘Not a
ny more.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said awkwardly, feeling terrible. He, of all people, knew that losing someone cut deep. He should never have pried, it wasn’t his place. ‘I’m sorry. I’m really lucky to still have all four of my grandparents …’

  ‘They haven’t died!’ Deirdre replied, guffawing, as though the suggestion was absurd.

  ‘They sold up when they retired,’ Clara explained, throwing a withering look in Deirdre’s direction. The older lady’s shoulders were still shaking through laughing so violently. ‘They wanted to have more adventures while they’re still fit enough, so they put everything in storage and have been travelling ever since. They’re in South America at the moment. They climbed Machu Picchu last month.’

  ‘Wow.’ Joe was seriously impressed. ‘Whereas my Grandma Smith thinks her summer coach trip to Chester is a big adventure.’

  Clara shrugged. ‘Anything can be an adventure, depending on how you look at it.’

  Joe mulled the words of wisdom over as everyone ground to a halt outside the church hall, where a makeshift stage bedecked with fairy lights and something Joe assumed was an approximation of Santa’s sleigh was lit up by a spotlight. In reality it was little more than a mess of scarlet crêpe paper and cotton-wool rolls, and Joe dreaded to think what’d happen if it rained. It’d be a disaster. Crêpe paper and cotton-wool carnage.

  The effect of so many lanterns en masse was nothing short of spectacular, the flickering flames (or in the cases of the youth-club kids battery-operated tea lights – Deirdre had made it clear she and Clara were taking no chances when it came to naked flames) giving the evening sky a warm amber glow. There was a nip in the air, which was to be expected now they were in December, and Joe was glad of his warm scarf and beanie hat. The hat in particular – a shaved head might suit the shape of his angular face, but it wasn’t doing any favours now the temperature was dipping to arctic levels.

  There was a moment of hush as the local MP stood to address the crowd. She was a small lady, her petite frame drowning underneath a long, beige raincoat, which couldn’t have been doing much to conserve her body heat, but her voice was loud. She completely bypassed the waiting microphone, instead opting to increase her natural volume.

  ‘Good evening everyone, and welcome to our annual lantern parade and Christmas light switch-on. It’s fantastic that so many of you have braved the cold to come and support us in what has become a bit of a tradition in these parts.’ She rubbed her hands together. Joe couldn’t tell if it was with excitement or for warmth. ‘I’m delighted to have a very special guest turn on the lights for us this year, and what’s more, the council have invested in some new decorations to complement those from previous displays.’

  ‘Maybe more than half of them will actually work,’ Deirdre said, in a voice probably meant to be conspiratorial but which earned her a few glares from loyal locals. ‘What?’ she fired back. ‘It’s the truth. Last year they were a mess.’

  ‘I’m more interested in the special guest,’ Joe said, keen to change the subject.

  ‘Oh, it’ll be Santa flicking the switch,’ Clara replied. Her cheeks were rosy, a combination of the biting cold and the flattering half-light. ‘He does it every year.’

  Joe couldn’t hide his disappointment. ‘That’s a let-down. I was expecting Hollywood royalty the way she was going on.’

  ‘It’s hardly the Blackpool Illuminations. No big-name celebrity would turn up here and do it for nothing. The only media coverage they’d get would be via the free paper.’

  As though on cue, an eager photographer pointed a lens in Clara’s direction.

  ‘And you,’ he said, physically pushing Joe closer to Clara in a bid to fit them both in the frame. ‘That’s a good one,’ he said dully as he took the photograph. ‘Look out for it on Thursday when the new edition comes out.’

  ‘We will,’ Joe said politely, as Clara rose onto her tiptoes to try and get a better view of the stage.

  The politician was building up to a climax now as she encouraged everyone to join in with a rendition of Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’. Her cringey dancing involved stepping from side to side like a particularly uncoordinated uncle at a wedding, and she didn’t seem to realise that people were laughing at her on-stage antics rather than singing along to the tinny backing track.

  As the music came to a close everyone cheered (and jeered) as she motioned for quiet. ‘And now, without further ado, it’s time to welcome our special guest. Here he is …’

  ‘It’s “Santa”,’ Clara whispered, making air quotes with her fingers. ‘I’ll put money on it.’

  ‘… Rovers star striker, Dean Harford!’

  Dean strolled onto the stage with a swagger – well, as much swagger as anyone could manage wearing an enormous puffa jacket. He pumped his hands over his head in a ‘raise the roof’ motion and the predominantly teenage crowd whooped their approval.

  Joe lifted his hands above his head and joined in with the clapping, swept away on the wave of excitement. Dean might not be a major star, but on the local circuit this was quite the coup.

  It was only as he saw Deirdre frantically shaking her head that he slowed, noticing Clara had lowered her lantern to the floor and turned her back on the stage.

  ‘What?’ he asked, puzzled. ‘What’s up?

  ‘I’m going to shoot off,’ Clara replied. Her voice cracked as she spoke. ‘The kids are getting picked up from here anyway and it’s nearly over. I’ll see you tomorrow, right?’

  Deirdre sympathetically rubbed Clara’s shoulder. ‘Fine by me, love. I’ll see you tomorrow at the club.’

  ‘That was a bit sudden,’ he said, as he watched Clara disappear into the crowds.

  Deirdre leaned in. ‘It’s Dean,’ she explained, spitting his name like an insult. ‘He’s the ex-fiancé. She’s avoided him so far, so I think him being here was too much for her to take.’

  ‘And everyone acting like he’s some sort of hero. No wonder she wanted to get away.’

  His eyes followed Clara, who was slinking away down a gennel. Joe couldn’t repress the urge to go with her. More than anything, he wanted to let her know he understood how it felt to be sad, afraid and alone. His experience was different, but the resulting emotion was much the same.

  ‘Am I alright to go now, too?’

  His eyes flickered back towards Clara and he caught a final glimpse of the tail of her coat as she turned a corner.

  ‘Go,’ Deirdre replied with a knowing smile. ‘I can finish off here.’

  ‘See you tomorrow,’ Joe called, already breaking into a jog as he made his way towards the gennel.

  He’d definitely lost fitness. By the time Clara was back in view he was panting.

  ‘Clara!’ he called breathlessly.

  She turned quickly, a look of startled surprise on her face.

  ‘Joe.’

  Now he was closer he could see she’d been crying. Even in the semi-darkness her eyes looked red and small.

  She laughed. ‘You must think I’m stupid, letting myself get in such a state over him.’ She dragged her hand under her nose and sniffed. It was noisy and ungainly. ‘We were together a long time and even though I know he’s a bastard, I can’t forget the past. We did have some good times along the way.’

  ‘I take it you didn’t know he was doing the light switch-on?’

  She shook her head, the pompom on her bobble hat bobbing like a rabbit’s tail. ‘Not a clue. It’s always Santa, every year. They probably thought Dean was an upgrade.’ She laughed again. ‘I can just imagine how he revelled in being asked. He always liked to think he was some big-wig celeb. In his mind he was the next David Beckham.’

  ‘He’s well known around here. Especially since the cup run last year.’

  The look Clara gave was scathing.

  ‘Whatever you do, don’t mention the cup run. It was all he ever spoke about.’ She tutted. ‘I went to that game, you know. Third round, versus Rochdale. Me and all the oth
er “wags”. It was bloody freezing. It snowed all second half.’

  ‘I remember. I went to that match. A year ago this weekend.’

  ‘Really?’ She looked interested. ‘I’ve not been to a match since we split up. That’s one thing I don’t miss, standing out on the touchline come rain or shine.’

  ‘I’ll bet.’ He smiled softly. ‘Are you sure you’re alright? It must have shaken you up, seeing him unexpectedly like that.’

  ‘It’s made me realise what a lucky escape I had,’ she replied, although Joe could tell from the tremor in her voice she was masking her hurt. ‘Did you see him in that ridiculous puffa jacket? He looked like the flaming Michelin man.’

  ‘He did, too,’ Joe said with a laugh. ‘I bet if he’d fallen over he’d have never been able to get back up again. That coat could double up as one of those sumo-suits they have for corporate away-day bonding sessions.’

  ‘I wish he had fallen over, and that the photographer had captured it for good measure. And that it had made the front page of the paper. Am I a bad person for saying that?’

  ‘Nah. Anyone would think the same, given the circumstances.’

  ‘It’s not even about Dean, really,’ she admitted. ‘The whole situation made me doubt my judgement. I thought I knew him inside and out, but it turned out I never really knew him at all. That’s one hell of an eye-opener.’

  ‘Not all men are like him.’

  ‘That’s what Deirdre says, but with his actions, and what happened with my dad …’ Her voice trailed off. ‘I’ve been asked out a few times since me and Dean split up, but I’m not ready to put my heart on the line again.’

  ‘Not all men are like him,’ Joe repeated. ‘And if you let me take you out somewhere, I’ll prove it.’

  He could have sworn her eyes brightened, but when she spoke there was a hesitance in her voice. ‘Are you asking me on a date?’