by Katey Lovell
‘I’ll tackle that patch Deirdre was on about. She’ll go bananas if there’s even a hint of stickiness on that floor when she comes in tomorrow.’
‘Sticky patches. The bane of lives the world over,’ Joe said with a cheeky laugh.
‘Joe Smith!’ Clara retorted, eyes wide and mouth open as she pretended to be flabbergasted, although the more time they spent together, the more she appreciated he had a wicked sense of humour. ‘You dirty bugger!’
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ he replied, although the naughtiness was evident in his eyes. He might be the son of a vicar, but he still had plenty of innuendo in his locker.
‘Liar. You definitely did.’
‘Okay,’ he admitted. ‘I did. I wanted to see if you’d be shocked.’
‘I’m not shocked. More surprised.’
She reached for the slate-grey mop and the matching bucket filled with diluted bleach, squeezing the excess fluid from the twisted fronds of the mop-head before thoroughly scrubbing the floor. Deirdre had been right – Ted hadn’t done the best job of cleaning. The resistance of the mop against the tackiness of the liquid-cum-solid residue of the sugary substance gave Clara added purpose, and a sense of satisfaction as the mop moved more smoothly over the floor. When she was happy the job was complete she carried the bucket to the toilets, emptying the dirty solution down the sink before flushing it through with tap water.
Joe had folded the tables away by the time she re-entered the hall. As usual the space looked much bigger now it was clear. The Christmas tree still looked as beautiful, though, standing splendid and majestic, as though it were watching over proceedings.
‘Just the tree lights to switch off and then we can make a start on that work for the presentation, if you’re sure you don’t mind helping?’
‘No problem at all. I did promise.’
‘If you switch the lights off, I’ll lock the cupboards,’ Clara said, reaching for her belt loop to retrieve her keys. The only thing she could feel was the rough denim of her jeans, so she patted again but still met the same result. When she looked down she discovered what she already feared. The keys weren’t there. ‘Shit.’
Joe looked up. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I can’t find my keys. Did you notice them when you were cleaning the kitchen?’ Her aversion to washing mugs meant she’d allocated that job to Joe. ‘I might have taken them off when I unlocked the cleaning cupboard.’ It was a long shot, but a possibility. Clara was always extra careful to ensure she’d locked the chemicals away.
‘Nope. The sides were clear and the cupboards locked.’
Clara’s eyes scanned the room. The keys weren’t on any of the window ledges, or on the stage.
‘I don’t know where else they’d be,’ she said, a bubble of panic starting to swell in her chest. ‘Deirdre’s gonna go ballistic if I’ve lost them.’
‘They can’t be far away,’ Joe answered calmly. ‘Retrace your steps. Where did you have them last?’
Clara thought about it. It must have been in the kitchen, when she was mixing up the bleach. She could clearly recall that she’d filled the mop bucket, put the bottle of bleach back in the cupboard and locked it straight away. Then she remembered being called into the hallway by Simone and Cally, the last two kids to leave that night, as they were getting a lift. She’d put the keys on the work surface near the microwave as she’d said goodbye to the girls. Then she’d come back into the hall and swept up, before going back into the kitchen for the mop, dustpan and brush. The keys had definitely been on the side then, immediately before Deirdre had left. Maybe they’d fallen on the floor.
‘They were in the kitchen, I’m certain. Near the microwave.’
The pair made their way to the kitchen, switching the light back on. No keys on the work surface. No keys on the floor. Clara even checked in the sink, just in case, but no. They weren’t there either.
‘They’re not here.’ Joe’s comment was so unhelpful, so blatantly obvious, that Clara snapped.
‘No shit, Sherlock! I can see they’re not here! But this is where I left them, so where the hell have they gone?’
Joe shrugged, timid and mouse-like.
‘I’m going to have to phone Deirdre and ask her to come back. She shouldn’t be far away, and if she lets me borrow her keys we’ll still be able to get the presentation done,’ Clara said. She reached into her handbag for her mobile, scrolling through her contact list for the number. When she found the entry she was looking for, she pressed the ‘call’ button and put the phone to her ear. She held her breath as she waited for her boss to answer, and when the phone clicked she started speaking at pace, before realising it wasn’t Deirdre at all.
‘It’s gone to answer phone,’ she told him dejectedly.
‘If worst comes to the worst, we could always set the alarm and drop the Yale lock?’ Joe suggested.
Clara shook her head. ‘No way. Deirdre would flip if she turned up in the morning and I hadn’t double-locked the door. In her eyes, that’s a sackable offence.’
She dialled Deirdre’s number again, punching the ‘end call’ button in annoyance when it once more went through to the machine.
‘Why don’t we get cracking with that presentation? We can keep trying to get hold of Deirdre as we work.’
Clara sighed. ‘Okay. I’ve saved what I’ve been working on to the laptop. Why don’t we go up to the office and see what’s left to do?’
An hour later, when the final slide of the presentation was complete, they still hadn’t been able to get hold of Deirdre and Clara was insistent that she couldn’t leave the premises without double-locking the door.
‘Look, you should go,’ Clara said. ‘You’ve been here long enough as it is.’
‘You’ve been here longer,’ Joe rightly pointed out.
‘Still, I get paid for being here. You’re here out of the goodness of your heart. You don’t have to stay any longer than you need to.’
‘I’m not leaving you here alone,’ he said. ‘Give it another five minutes. She’s probably on the phone.’
‘Who to?’ Clara asked. ‘It’s only me she ever phones, other than her sister. But she wouldn’t be ringing her at this time of night.’
‘Maybe her battery’s dead, then.’
Clara frowned. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’
‘We could go and wait out the front? It can’t be any colder out there than is it in here,’ he suggested.
Joe rubbed his hands together, blowing on them. Now Clara thought about it, her own digits were feeling the nip. That was the trouble with the club, as soon as the heating clicked off. It was as though it had never been on in the first place.
‘We could get some chocolate from the newsagents while we waited,’ Clara thought out loud. ‘So long as one of us is on the steps waiting for Deirdre.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
Joe made his way down the stairs and into the hall, lifting his coat from the hook before wriggling into it. Then he handed Clara her jacket, which was tiny in comparison.
‘Cheers,’ Clara replied, grabbing her stuff. As well as her handbag, there was a plastic bag containing Joe’s countdown gift. She was particularly happy with this one, even though it was a bit of a cheat as she didn’t want him to open it until Christmas Eve. She’d spent her morning searching the high street shops for a comedy onesie (she’d opted for one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles – maybe Donatello? Was he the purple one?), because no matter how little money they’d had, Clara’s mum had always made sure she had new pyjamas on Christmas Eve. It had added to the magic. She could recall the soft flannel against her skin as her mum tucked her up, warning her to fall straight to sleep or Santa might not come, and the anticipation as she closed her eyes whilst her mum read her The Night Before Christmas. Clara had bought a copy of the Clement Clarke Moore book to go with the onesie, and she’d written a note explaining the significance of the gift on a card she’d thought Joe would like.
>
Joe reached for the handle, cocking his wrist ninety degrees as he attempted to open the door. It didn’t budge.
‘You’ve not taken the latch off.’ Clara shook her head in despair.
‘I have.’
Joe pointed to the rugby-ball-shaped brass knob on the Yale lock. He was right. It was definitely not dropped.
‘Then, why’s it not opening?’
Joe examined the thin crack between the doorframe and the door. ‘It’s been locked using the key, so that Yale lock won’t make any difference. Until we get hold of Deirdre, we’re going nowhere.’
Clara groaned. Since she’d got the idea of chocolate in her head she’d almost been able to taste it.
‘I’ll try ringing again.’ Joe pulled his phone from his pocket and made the call.
Clara watched on hopefully, but could feel the sag in her shoulders as Joe shook his head.
‘Nope. Still going through to answerphone,’ he said.
‘Try her home number?’ Clara suggested.
Joe did, but it rang out. Either Deirdre wasn’t home yet or she was already upstairs, with no intent of answering her landline.
‘It’s no use standing around. We could be here a while.’
‘We could be here all night,’ Clara pointed out. ‘Let’s go back upstairs. It’s not as draughty up there.’
The pair made their way to the office, their footsteps reverberating around the otherwise-empty building. It made Clara shudder, the echo creeping her out.
‘We’ll be alright up here,’ Joe said cheerily, his eyes resting on a box of Ferrero Rocher on the bookcase. ‘Look, there’s even chocolate. We didn’t need the newsagents after all. Isn’t there a blow-heater too? We can plug that in.’
‘If we’re here all night I’m putting the heating on. I’ll pay the bill out of my own pocket,’ she shivered. ‘I don’t understand what happened to my keys, though. I could have sworn they were in the kitchen. Now it looks like we’re here for the long haul.’
‘You make it sound like it’s a fate worse than death, being here with me,’ Joe joked, sinking into the hard-backed desk chair.
‘Oh, stop fishing for compliments.’
‘I wasn’t! But with all your grumbling you’re doing a great job of giving me an inferiority complex.’
‘My fiancé cheated on me. I think I’m entitled to a bit of a wallow once in a while.’
‘You can’t have the monopoly on misery. Morrissey claimed it already.’
Clara smiled the most fake smile she could muster, and Joe laughed.
‘Heaven knows I’m miserable now,’ she deadpanned.
‘Well, let’s see if I can cheer you up,’ he said, turning on the small portable radio perched on the windowsill. The melancholy melody of the theme tune from The Snowman was playing, and Joe joined in, swaying from side to side, eyes closed as he over-enunciated the words like a young Aled Jones.
‘Are you part of the choir at church?’ Clara enquired.
‘No.’
‘Good job,’ she said cheekily. ‘You’re flat.’
Joe leant over and swatted her arm and Clara pretended to be put out, although the banter was exactly what she needed. That and some additional warmth. She turned the switch on the blow heater, the fan inside whirring to life as the heat blew out into the room (along with an unpleasant smell not dissimilar to singed hair).
‘At least it made you crack a smile.’
‘Surprised it didn’t crack the windows too.’
‘You’re vicious.’ Joe clutched his hand over his heart. ‘I’m hurt.’
‘Diddums,’ Clara laughed, pressing the redial button on her iPhone.
‘I should probably be grateful you’re not keying my car,’ Joe muttered, the flicker of a smile creeping at the corner of his lips.
If it had been anyone else, Clara would have given them the middle finger, but it was Joe – sweet, sweet Joe – so instead she poked her tongue out.
The automated voice started talking immediately, and Clara hung up. No point listening to that when she wasn’t going to leave a message. Deirdre had obviously turned her phone off for the night.
‘Still nothing,’ she said. ‘I’ll give the landline one more try.’
When that too turned out to be futile, they admitted defeat.
‘We could ask someone else to go round to hers to collect the keys?’ Joe suggested.
‘At ten at night?’
‘Hmm, yeah. I forgot it was that late.’
‘Deirdre sleeps like a log anyway. Once she’s asleep there’s no waking her. We went on a residential with the kids a few years back and I had to share a room with her. I’ve never heard anyone snore so loud in all my life. I swear a pneumatic drill would have been quieter.’
‘The only other option is to set up camp for the night,’ Joe shrugged. ‘Not sure it’ll be very comfortable, though.’
‘I fell asleep in my friend’s front garden once.’
‘Camping?’
Clara shook her head. ‘Nah. After a particularly heavy night out I decided I couldn’t manage the last ten steps to make it into her house, so laid down on the lawn. Next thing I knew I was dreaming that I was swimming in the ship canal.’ She grinned. ‘I was using a giant doughnut as a rubber ring. That was a great dream.’
‘You must have been hammered.’
‘Totally blotto. That was the wake-up call. Not knowing where I was or how I got there made me realise how fucked up I was. Work all day, drink all night and repeat it all again the next day, it wasn’t sustainable, any of it. I was out of control.’ She remembered that feeling, of everything spiralling until she couldn’t focus; not only because of the drink, but because of the hurt and the heartache. ‘Things had to change. I made a decision that morning, lying on the dew-covered grass. I wasn’t going to let Dean and his cheating ruin my life. I picked myself up, brushed myself down and moved on. Literally.’
‘I know I’ve said it before, but he didn’t deserve you.’
Clara felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and she hoped they hadn’t gone scarlet with embarrassment. She didn’t take compliments well, and Joe was generous with words of kindness. If he picked up on it, she’d have to say it was her body reacting to the change in temperature. The blow heater was doing a good job, even if it was stinking the place out.
‘Thanks.’
‘Are there any blankets?’
Clara thought for a minute before remembering a stash of fleecy blankets that they’d used as rugs at the family picnic back in the summer. They’d been shoved in a cupboard since July, so Clara expected them to smell musty, but when she retrieved them they were in a plastic container, lid clamped shut. Although not line-fresh, they didn’t smell bad.
‘We’ll probably need a couple of these each to stay snug,’ she said, throwing Joe two. ‘Although this reminds me – I’ve got today’s present for you too. I was going to tell you to keep it under the tree until Christmas Eve, but these are extenuating circumstances, and it might make tonight more comfortable for you.’
She took the sizeable package out of the bag, dumping it unceremoniously on Joe’s lap.
‘That’s a big one.’
‘Back on the innuendo again, are we?’
Joe snorted. ‘I meant the present. It’s only you and your filthy mind hearing anything other than that.’
He peeled carefully at the end of the Sellotape, as though trying to save the paper. Clara’s mum used to do that so she could reuse it another time; when money was tight savings had to be made where they could. It seemed to take an age for Joe to reveal the fleecy green onesie, and as he unfurled the material he burst out laughing.
‘This is incredible,’ he said, looking genuinely thrilled. ‘Where on earth did you find an adult-sized turtle onesie?’
Clara tapped the side of her nose. ‘Not telling. But I hope it’ll fit you. It might be adult sized, but you’re taller than average.’
‘Turn around,’ he instructed, in
a voice that was as bossy as Joe ever got. ‘I’ll try it on.’
He was already out of his coat and halfway through peeling his jumper over his head, giving Clara another flash of that mysterious stomach scar, but when his fingers reached for the buckle of his belt, she spun quickly to face the wall.
Clara could hear the clunk of the metal and the heaviness of his jeans dropping to the floor, and she gulped. It had been a while since she’d been in such close proximity to an almost- naked man. A handsome almost-naked man too, even if it was just Joe.
Clara shifted her weight between her feet.
‘You can look now,’ Joe said, after what seemed like an age.
Clara turned around and burst out laughing at the image before her. To give him his dues, Joe hadn’t done this by halves, his face shrouded by the oversized hood, its purple mask covering his eyes. The onesie fitted him in the body – probably because he was slender – but both the sleeves and legs were half-mast on his gangly limbs.
‘It’s not that funny!’
‘It is,’ Clara said, clutching her side. There was the first biting niggle of a stitch coming, a result of laughing so much, and it was funny to think that just moments before she’d been feeling something akin to attraction. Joe looked hilarious. ‘Sometimes I forget what a giant you are.’
‘I’m not a giant, you’re just tiny.’
‘I’m short, but you’re still giant.’
‘Mutant. Like the turtles.’
‘Did you see the book?’ Clara asked, noticing the hardback had slipped down the side of the chair.
Joe twisted to follow Clara’s gaze.
He picked up the book, running his hand against the smooth dust jacket.
‘I love this,’ he said eventually. ‘My mum would always read it to me on Christmas Eve, even though I’d be half asleep by the time we got back from midnight mass. I think they took me along in the hope it’d give them longer in bed on Christmas morning.’
