by Katey Lovell
‘No!’ Joe replied, a fraction too quickly. He forced himself to swallow down his embarrassment. ‘I don’t really do dates. I meant as friends. If we’re going to be working together, we might as well get to know each other.’
‘I can’t decide whether that’s really gentlemanly or if I’m a bit insulted.’
‘Well, I was trying to be gentlemanly …’
‘In that case, I’ll go out with you,’ she said, glancing up through her long, dark lashes. ‘On one condition.’
‘Go on …’
‘I can tell you’re not a fan of Christmas from the way you’ve acted tonight.’ Joe went to talk, but Clara raised mitten-clad hands to stop him. ‘You joined in, but the joy wasn’t shining out of you. Christmas is the most magical time of the year to me. So, I’m going to make a suggestion. You can take me out and show me that not all men are grade-A losers, if you’ll let me share exactly why I love the festive season so much with you.’
Joe sighed. Clara had piqued his curiosity. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘We’ll be seeing a lot of each other anyway, what with you helping out at the youth club every other night, so, as a thank you for volunteering I’d like to give you some festive gifts.’
‘Presents? I don’t think anyone in their right mind would argue with presents.’
‘On the nights you’re at the club I’ll bring you something to remind you why Christmas is so amazing. And on the nights you’re not volunteering, you can pick me up and take me out.’
Joe raised an eyebrow. ‘That escalated quickly. So we’ve gone from one date to multiple dates?’ He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he was aware of his heart beating faster than normal, and the sensation wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
Clara waggled what Joe thought was probably a finger, although it was hard to tell through the silhouette of her pink and blue striped mittens. ‘Not dates, remember? But a chance for you to prove there are still some chivalrous men out there that aren’t either married or gay.’
‘Challenge accepted.’
‘But there’s one more condition.’
‘Name it.’
‘Wherever you take me on these non-dates has to be Christmassy. I don’t care where, but it’s December. I want to feel festive.’
Joe wasn’t sure he was ready to embrace eggnog and carol singing and all the memories that were tangled up with the run-up to Christmas. The tree-decorating and lantern parade had been more than enough festivity for him. But because he already liked Clara he found himself saying, ‘Okay. You’ve got a deal.’
‘Fantastic,’ Clara replied. ‘I’ve got high expectations.’ She smiled before adding, ‘I’ll have your first gift ready for you tomorrow, if one night with the kids hasn’t put you off helping out.’
‘Not at all. I’ll be there with bells on.’
‘See, you’re already getting into the festive mood,’ she laughed as she started walking away. ‘Until tomorrow,’ she called.
‘Until tomorrow,’ Joe echoed, pulling down his beanie to cover the chilly tips of his ears.
As he headed back towards the now-glitzy lights twinkling above the square, Joe was pleasantly surprised there was a new-found spring in his step.
Clara
Saturday, December 2nd 2017
Clara couldn’t wait for Joe to arrive at The Club on the Corner that day so she could give him the first of his gifts. She’d been slogging away all afternoon, sorting out the seemingly endless amount of paperwork that was required to keep a youth club up and running in the twenty-first century, and was ready for some festive frivolity. Admittedly, she’d already managed to distract herself by attaching two new strands of thick golden tinsel to the edge of her desk. She’d seen them in the market that morning and hadn’t been able to resist. It was Christmas, after all.
‘Afternoon,’ Deirdre called cheerily, as she popped her head around the office door. ‘How are the accounts going, busy bee?’
‘Ah, you know. Not the most positive reading.’ Clara pulled a face. No matter how hard she looked at the numbers on the spreadsheets, there was no way she could make them add up. ‘Then again, it’s no worse than normal. We’ll keep ticking over. We always do.’
‘That we will.’ There was a pause, and Clara had a suspicion she knew where Deirdre’s conversation was about to head. She had that look in her eye that suggested she was ready to start digging. ‘So,’ she began, ‘what’s going on with you and Joe?’
‘Nothing,’ Clara replied. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
It was a half-truth, but Clara pushed away the guilt rising in her chest by assuring herself that Deirdre was only concerned with romance, and there was none of that between her and Joe. A hint of harmless flirting and a countdown to Christmas, but no full-blown love affair like her boss was craving.
Deirdre peered over the upper rim of her glasses like a TV detective scrutinising the evidence.
‘Nothing?’ she frowned. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Because the way he came charging after you at the lantern parade … well, it didn’t seem like nothing to me. In fact, I’d go as far as to say it looked like the act of someone trying to get into your good books,’ she pressed, with a suggestive jiggle of her eyebrows. The implied meaning was clear. Deirdre’s voice might be saying ‘good books’, but her eyebrows were saying ‘bed’.
‘You said it yourself, Joe’s a nice guy. He could tell I was shaken after seeing Dean and wanted to make sure I was okay. That’s all there is to it.’
The mention of Dean was all it took to set Deirdre off. Dean-bashing had become one of her favourite hobbies over the past few months.
‘Didn’t he look ridiculous in that massive coat?’ Deirdre said. ‘And what the hell was that dancing all about? What a cock.’
‘Deirdre!’ Clara exclaimed. ‘That’s harsh.’
‘Not harsh enough. I speak as I find.’
Deirdre gingerly lowered herself onto the sofa that backed against the far wall of the office. Her face strained with the effort.
‘Oooof, that’s better,’ she said, sticking her right leg straight out in front of her. ‘My knee’s been giving me gip all day.’
‘You’re doing too much,’ Clara chided. ‘The aches and pains are your body telling you to take things more easily.’
‘Stop giving me orders. You’re not a nurse.’
‘No, I’m not,’ Clara replied, biting her tongue, ‘but I’ve been working with you long enough to know when you’re overdoing it.’
Deirdre’s face softened as she spied the tin of chocolates on Clara’s desk. ‘I’d feel better if I could have one of those orange creams …’
Clara froze rigid. The chocolates were her first festive gift for Joe, but she knew that if she tried to explain the countdown to Deirdre she’d only end up reading more into it than there was. It was easier to say nothing.
Reluctantly, she handed the chocolates over. ‘Knock yourself out,’ she said with a smile she hoped didn’t look forced.
Deirdre was practically salivating as she clamoured to pull back the seal. ‘A brand-new tin, what a treat. Means nobody’s hogged the best ones already.’
‘Like I said, knock yourself out.’
As Deirdre rummaged noisily through the confectionery, seeking the distinctive amber wrapper of her most coveted chocolate, Clara hoped there’d be more than a tin of empty foils to give Joe when he arrived for his shift at six o’clock. Although, she reasoned, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if that was all that remained. Not much says Christmas quite as well as a half-eaten tin of Quality Street.
***
By the time they were shutting the heavy doors after the last group of kids had left for the night, Joe looked beat. He leant against the door and let out a long, slow sigh.
‘I don’t know how you do this and look so young. I’m convinced I’ve aged twenty years in one night,’ he said, rubbing his fingertips against his cheeks.
‘Lightweight. One night and you’re ready to throw in the towel?’ Clara clucked her tongue sarcastically. ‘I expected you to have more staying power.’
‘I didn’t say anything about giving up,’ he clarified. ‘Just that I feel like I’ve been mauled by a pack of wolves, and my shoulder’s killing me.’
He massaged the joint, before rolling his shoulder in a circular motion.
‘You should never have told them you could breakdance. You should have known they weren’t going to stop badgering until you demonstrated your windmill,’ Clara teased.
The group of awestruck pre-teens had watched on in amazement as Joe showed off his flips and tricks with apparent ease, and Clara herself had been impressed. These were the kind of moves Diversity would be proud of and, she’d realised, Joe had a look of Ashley Banjo about him. Part of it was the height and rich skin, although Joe’s was darker than the breakdance king’s, but it was more the open face and wide, friendly smile. Clara had to admit, Joe was handsome, and, from what she knew, kind and unassuming too. The total opposite of blonde, show-off Dean in every possible way.
It had been Clara leading the applause when Joe had stood, arms folded across his chest and an unbelievable mean look on his face as he finished his routine, but she wasn’t his only fan. She’d noticed a group of girls whispering, and recognised their giggling ways as a sure-fire sign of a crush on someone older and unobtainable. She’d had a similar infatuation herself when she was twelve, with her maths teacher Mr Miles. He’d been the one thing that had held her interest in trigonometry and quadratic equations.
‘I’ve learned my lesson,’ he said. ‘I’m sure it’s swelling up.’
‘Come on,’ Clara said, nodding to the stairwell. ‘There’s all sorts of stuff in the first-aid cupboard in the office. I’m sure we can find something to make it more bearable.’
She started up the stairs, her fingers tickling the strands of tinsel that were wrapped around the banister.
‘Ouch,’ Joe said, as he slowly followed in Clara’s footsteps. ‘I think I’ve strained a muscle in my thigh too. I’ve not pulled off those moves for the best part of ten years.’
‘Well, you’ve still got it.’ Clara was glad Joe couldn’t see her face, which was half smug grin and half flushed cheeks. ‘Right,’ she said, pulling open a tall cupboard and whipping out a green bag marked with a white cross, ‘let’s see what’s in here.’
She unloaded bandages and plasters (always near the top, as they were the most frequently used) until she found a tube of Deep Heat. She tossed it to Joe, who caught it with one hand and a wince, before checking the use-by date.
‘These aren’t standard first-aid kit supplies,’ Joe noted.
‘This is the staff first-aid kit.’ Clara held up some of the other contents, which included a box of Alka Seltzer and a family-sized box of Rennies. ‘The Deep Heat is Deirdre’s, for when her leg’s playing up. She says the warmth helps her bones.’
Joe smiled. ‘And the Alka Seltzer?’
‘Mine,’ Clara admitted, shamefaced. ‘I had a couple of big nights out when I split up with Dean. I never came to work drunk,’ she added hastily, ‘but there were a couple of occasions where I was a bit … let’s say “worse for wear”.’
‘Ah,’ Joe said, raising a knowing eyebrow. ‘They work wonders, don’t they?’
He squirted a generous dollop of the smelly cream onto the palm of his hand before rubbing it into his shoulder, and Clara watched as he closed his eyes with blessed relief and exhaled.
‘That’s taken the edge off,’ he said finally.
‘I’ve got something else that might cheer you up.’ Clara walked to the desk and picked up the now half-empty tub. ‘This was supposed to be your first gift.’
His eyes lit up at the sight of the trademark purple packaging. ‘Chocolate. That’s exactly what I need right now.’
‘Don’t get too excited. Deirdre got to them before I had chance to hide them away.’
His lips curled up into a knowing smile. ‘So my first gift is a half-eaten tin of chocolates?’
‘Yep,’ Clara replied with a chuckle, relieved Joe could see the funny side of the situation. ‘I’m a chocoholic, but Deirdre is something else. As soon as she saw them she pounced. I’ll have to up my game next time I bring anything sweet for you.’
She handed him the tin and he prised off the lid. It popped as it loosened. ‘At least all the good ones are left,’ he said, taking in the golden wrappers of the toffees.
‘That’s because Deirdre can only have the soft centres. The chewy ones play havoc with her false teeth.’
Joe pulled at either end of the wrapper of a slender toffee finger, the sweet twisting as he unravelled it from its shimmering casing. He moaned as he popped it into his mouth.
‘So my first gift was a good choice, then?’
‘Mmm,’ Joe replied with a nod, still chewing on his toffee. ‘The Deep Heat works, but this is the best medicine.’
He swallowed it down, then offered the tin to Clara, who shook her head.
‘I’ll admit it, I had a few earlier too. What’s left are all yours.’
‘I admire your honesty.’
‘So food works as a gift for you?’
‘Food’s always a good choice,’ he said, selecting a second chocolate.
‘That’s useful to know.’
‘And what about you? I’m supposed to be taking you out on a non-date tomorrow,’ he reminded her. ‘And the place I was thinking of probably involves half your daily calorie intake. You’re not one of these women who doesn’t eat, are you?’
Clara swallowed down the laugh that was rising in her throat, thinking of how much she loved her food. If it wasn’t for her constant nervous energy about the future of The Club on the Corner she’d probably be a good few dress sizes larger than she was.
‘It’s safe to say food’s always good with me, too,’ she confirmed. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’
And she realised with a jolt that she was. She really, really was.
Joe
Sunday, December 3rd 2017
Clara tilted her head back as she inhaled the super-sweet aroma that lingered in the air. Sugared almonds and cinnamon. Whiskey and mulled wine. Balsam and fir trees.
‘This place smells amazing.’
Joe grinned. ‘I know, right? The food here is incredible too. We’ll have to make sure we sample as much as we can.’
The Christmas market was thronging with people, all wrapped up against the elements with their thick coats, bobble-topped hats and woolly scarves. Wind-chapped cheeks and noses bright enough to rival Rudolph himself were all that was on show other than their eyes, sparkling with festive joy as they took in the array of wooden cabins selling everything from tree decorations to squidgy pastel cubes of fresh Turkish delight.
For tonight Manchester’s Albert Square was the heart of the city, alive with cheer. It was full of life and energy and the overwhelming sense of togetherness that the city had become known for after the horrific terrorist attack earlier in the year. Manchester was resilient, and Joe felt he had a lot he could learn from his home city.
‘Look at that!’ Clara squealed, pointing to a wooden hut selling squishy ring doughnuts by the dozen. They were piled high, dusted in a fine layer of speckled sugar that looked like morning frost. ‘Oh, I bet they taste amazing. And the stall next to it is selling Gluhwein. I could do with something spicy and alcoholic after the day I’ve had.’
‘We’ll drink later,’ Joe promised, ‘but let’s get something to eat first.’
‘Doughnuts?’ Clara sounded hopeful.
‘I was thinking something a bit more substantial,’ Joe laughed. He’d purposely not eaten all day, saving himself for the delicious fare on offer.
Clara pouted. ‘Spoilsport.’
‘You’ll enjoy your doughnut even more after a hot dog, I promise. Especially from the stand over there.’
He waved his hand in the directio
n of the town hall, where an enormous orange-faced Santa proudly watched over proceedings from his lofty vantage point high up above the entrance of the neo-gothic building. Joe couldn’t tell if it was meant to resemble Zippy from Rainbow or not, but it did. He found the Santa bizarre, and slightly sinister, so rather than dwell on it he grabbed Clara’s hand and began to weave his way through the crowds.
It was busier than he’d anticipated. He’d thought people might be having a quiet night in front of the telly before all the Christmas madness and mayhem really kicked off in the next week or so, but no … it seemed everyone in Manchester had decided tonight was the night to head to the town centre and splash the cash on gourmet food and overpriced Christmas ‘necessities’.
He’d been to one of the big European markets on Billy’s stag do. They’d wanted to go to Oktoberfest, but Billy’s brother hadn’t been able to get holiday from work at the start of the academic year. He was a chemistry lecturer, based at Manchester Met, and September and October were no-no’s for time off, unless he wanted to make enemies with the course leaders before he’d really started; so everyone else had fitted in around his plans instead. It wasn’t like he was the groom, nor even the best man (that honour had gone to Joe, and he’d been exceptionally proud of being picked for the job), but Billy had compromised on the stag do in a magnanimous act of brotherly love.
The group of ten had booked a dirt-cheap flight that set off from Manchester Airport at an ungodly hour and a ‘bargain’ hotel that had turned out to be a filthy hovel well out of Munich city centre. They’d had to get an underground train to access anything more than a corner shop or the ladies of the night that had lurked opposite the hotel’s main entrance, and Joe had accessed neither, nor had he wanted to. Some of the other lads had, though, which had repulsed Joe. He’d never had so much as a one-night stand and prostitutes were way beyond his moral compass.
On the last night, when he was steaming drunk after too many tankards of beer to count, he’d given a handful of euros to one of the girls. She couldn’t have been much older than Simone was now, her thick red lipstick clown-like and gaudy, her black dress short, tight and low- cut. There had been a sadness to her face, and her eyes darted around the shadows of the surrounding alleyways as she took the money. At the time Joe had thought she was afraid he was going to attack her, but with hindsight he thought the girl was scared in case her pimp saw her taking money from a potential client without earning it. He’d wished he could speak German, but as it was he could only say ‘Danke’ as he gave her the money, which he later realised meant ‘thank you’ rather than ‘please’. It weighed heavy on his mind and heart that he’d never know her fate.
