by Katey Lovell
‘It is fun,’ she insisted, her eyes remaining fixed on the road, even though she wanted to see his reaction to the gifts. ‘Anyway, you’re making as much of an effort as I am.’
‘It’s my pleasure. I’m enjoying our time together.’
She could see his fingers pulling open the paper bag out of the corner of her eye.
‘It’s not much,’ she said quickly.
‘It’s fantastic,’ he replied.
Clara glanced over as she paused at the T-junction, pleased to see Joe examining the craftsmanship of the wooden nativity scene as closely as he could in the dimly lit car.
‘I saw you admiring it at the markets,’ she admitted.
‘You noticed.’ He smiled as he ran his hand over the wood.
‘I notice lots of things.’ Clara pushed firmly forward on the gearstick as she pulled out onto the main road. ‘Eagle-eyed Clara, that’s me.’
‘I love it,’ he said, carefully returning it to the bag and folding a purposeful crease in the top. ‘I’ll put it out every Christmas and think of you and that night at the market.’
‘And nutjob Miranda,’ Clara chuckled.
‘I’d tried to forget her,’ he said, joining her in the laughter.
‘The other present’s more generic,’ she apologised, ‘and impossible to disguise so I didn’t bother wrapping it.’
Joe held up the red-and-white-striped candy cane, an emerald-green ribbon tied beneath its hook.
‘And it’s edible,’ he said, immediately peeling back the plastic shrink-wrap that covered it. ‘Which is perfect because I’m starving.’
The pepperminty scent filled the car, fresh and invigorating and totally encompassing Christmas.
‘Phew. I was worried you’d think that was a cop-out.’ As Clara rounded the corner and saw Joe’s little red Ka parked, wheels mounting the kerb, she felt a pang of sadness that he was going. He was so easy to be around. ‘Here we are,’ she said as she pulled in.
‘Here we are,’ he echoed. He opened the door and a blast of freezing-cold air filled the car, diluting the essence of mint. ‘Cheers for the lift, and for the presents.’
He held up his bag and what was left of the candy cane. The hook was already gone and it now resembled a skinny sick of rock.
‘You’re welcome.’
The door slammed shut and Clara inhaled sharply as Joe turned to wave.
The car suddenly felt hollow, empty. She felt hollow and empty. And as she flicked on her indicator and pulled out onto the street, she was already wondering where the Christmas Countdown would take her and Joe next. She could hardly wait. She missed him already.
Joe
Wednesday, December 13th 2017
It was a nippy night, and after standing in the cold for fifteen minutes waiting for Clara to arrive, Joe was beginning to have doubts about everything. His coat, which was way too thin for the current temperature. The pasta he’d eaten before he came out, because the sauce had been garlic-heavy and he didn’t want his breath to smell. The pasta was weighing on his stomach too, which was churning with nerves.
Most of all he was wondering whether bringing Clara here was a bad idea. He’d not been to this theatre in years, the last time being when he and Michelle had watched a pantomime. Was it disloyal to her memory to bring another girl here? Joe wasn’t sure, but he felt guilty even so.
Oxford Street was bustling, as usual, and as he stood outside The Palace Theatre Joe was very aware of looking like a man who’d been stood up. He couldn’t help glancing at his watch for the umpteenth time. They’d arranged to meet at seven, but it was already gone ten-past, and although the performance wasn’t due to start for another twenty minutes, Joe had expected Clara to have arrived. People were streaming in through the ordinary brown doors, dull in both colour and style, which disguised the opulent plush red velvet seats and ornately gilded décor of the theatre within.
Joe loved watching the people arriving – the suited men and smartly dressed women, and the little girls in their frilly princess dresses. A night at the theatre encouraged people to make an effort with their appearance, and Joe had tried to scrub up too. He’d pulled out a slate-grey woollen blazer that he’d bought on a whim the previous winter and teamed it with stiff black trousers and a powder-blue shirt. He’d toyed with the idea of a tie, before deciding that was too formal, instead unbuttoning his top button in a semi-casual style. Joe hoped he looked smart and that Clara would appreciate seeing him in something other than his usual sportswear or polo shirt and jeans combo, but with every second that passed he was convincing himself Clara wasn’t going to turn up at all.
He sighed as he looked at his watch again, then out to the passersby. Students mainly, what with the campuses for both Manchester University and Manchester Metropolitan being in such close proximity. Then there were the commuters hurrying towards nearby Oxford Road station to get their trains back to Warrington or Widnes or Stockport, or one of the other outlying towns that people travelled into the city from. But although there were plenty of people, weaving in and out of each other in a dance all of their own, there was no Clara.
A stocky gentleman wielding a briefcase shoulder-barged past him. Rain was falling – he could see it in the beams of the streetlights and as the passing cars sprayed puddles over unsuspecting bystanders – but even the miserable weather wasn’t as gloomy as the thought of Clara standing him up was making him.
He stared out blankly into the December rain, trying to decide what to do. Would it look desperate and needy to phone her? She wasn’t all that late, not really, but it was so cold and damp that his feet felt like ice blocks.
He was reluctant for his hands to leave the warm confines of his pockets, but was ready to pull out his phone to see if she’d sent a message, when he felt the tap on his shoulder. Joe was relieved to find himself greeted by a somewhat bedraggled Clara. Her hair was sticking out at jaunty angles under the navy beanie hat she was wearing, beads of sweat building on her exposed forehead.
‘I’m sorry,’ she panted. ‘The bloody bus didn’t turn up and so I had to walk from the club, and it’s further than you think and it’s raining again …’ She paused for a moment to catch her breath. ‘I’m so annoyed with myself because I’m never late, but I was trying to finish off this application form at the club and when I looked at the clock it was already almost six and I thought I’d have to get the bus. Then when it didn’t come…’
‘Ssshhh. It’s fine. You’re here now and it’s still early. Come on, let’s get inside and dry off.’
He held the door open and Clara stepped into the foyer, still chattering on about how bad she felt for keeping him waiting.
‘Clara, don’t beat yourself up about it. We’re here and we’ve still got time to buy an overpriced bag of jelly babies, so there’s nothing to apologise for.’
‘And a programme,’ Clara added, pulling off her hat and shaking out her hair. The way it stood on end made it look as though she’d just rolled out of bed, and that thought made Joe’s stomach muscles clench. ‘I don’t know anything about The Nutcracker except what you told me, so I’ll need all the help I can get to follow the story.’
‘You won’t, I promise. Even if you don’t know the story you can enjoy it as a real spectacle. I guarantee you’ll know more of the music than you think, too. But if you want a programme, I’ll buy you one.’
Clara shook her head vehemently. ‘I’ll buy one myself. I wasn’t expecting you to get me one.’
‘I know you weren’t,’ Joe replied, ‘but I want to. It’ll give you a chance to find out more about your namesake. That was another reason I wanted to bring you here, because the girl in The Nutcracker is called Clara too.’
‘I’m so underdressed,’ Clara moaned, pulling at the hem of her burgundy jumper dress as she cast her eyes over the well-dressed theatre-goers. ‘Everyone else looks like they’re going to a wedding.’
‘You look great,’ Joe assured her, thinking that she really, really
did. Whilst other women were wearing strings of pearls or had their hair coiffeured into well-sprayed up-do’s, Clara’s look was understated and effortlessly cool. Her ruffled hair (the result of the weather and the hat) along with her heavily lined eyes gave her a rock-chick edge, but she carried herself with class. Other people – lesser people – might not be able to pull it off without looking scruffy, but Clara fitted in, despite her outfit being more casual than those being worn by the rest of the crowd.
‘I planned to go home and get changed before I set off, but with the paperwork and waiting for Lynsey to arrive … time slid away from me.’
‘More bids for funding?’
‘Yeah, I’m feeling quietly hopeful about this one. It’s specifically for youth groups in the North West, so we’ve got a decent chance. The form went on forever, though.’
They shuffled forwards in the queue for the confectionery kiosk, and Joe was glad they’d not decided to join the clamouring crowds waiting at the bar. There was a lone harried-looking lad serving, slick, long hair the colour of spun gold tucked behind his pixie ears as he desperately tried to meet the needs of the punters impatient for their large red wines and gin and tonics. Poor guy. Joe would have put money on him counting down the minutes until the bell rang and everyone filed into the theatre, leaving him in peace until the fifteen-minute interval, which was probably even more hectic for him.
The young girl in the kiosk had it easy, in comparison, and the smile she gave Joe as he placed his order suggested she was happy in her work. She handed over a sunshine-yellow bag filled with gelatinous coloured men, and Joe and Clara made their way up the staircase to the circle. The doors were open, closely guarded by ushers wearing starched white shirts and carrying armfuls of programmes. Joe took one from the ruddy-faced lady, who ripped their tickets.
‘For you,’ he said, trying to hand the programme to Clara as they entered the theatre, but she wasn’t listening. She was too busy taking in the beauty surrounding them, the swirling carving that edged the boxes and the proscenium arch frame, the shimmering gold against the deep red of the seats and the bunched curtains at the edge of the stage.
Joe smiled at her reaction. He’d felt the same way himself the first time he’d first come here. It was a magical place – a beautiful place – and Joe found it charming that Clara too was falling under its spell.
‘It’s quite something, isn’t it?’
‘It’s … wow. I must have walked past this building hundreds of times, but I never knew it was decked out like this inside.’ She looked up to the ceiling, taking in every detail of the intricately patterned coving. ‘Thank you, Joe. Thank you for bringing me here and showing me a part of my own city that I never knew existed.’
Her reaction was enough to assure Joe that bringing Clara here was the right thing to do. A warm rush pulsed through him, and although he knew he was probably being ridiculous, he took it as a sign from Michelle. It was as though she was giving her approval, letting him know it was fine.
‘You’re welcome,’ he said, tentatively placing his hand on the small of her back to encourage her to move along. There was a backlog of people trying to enter the auditorium now, with showtime nudging ever closer. ‘We’d better move. People are wanting to sit down.’
‘Yes. Right. Of course.’
She moved, somewhat reluctantly, Joe thought, along the row to their seats, which were positioned slap bang in the centre of the circle. When they’d removed their coats and settled in the flip seats, he was finally able to hand over the programme he’d bought her.
‘You won’t really need it to follow the story, but it can be a souvenir. A way to remember the night.’
Clara reached out to squeeze his hand as the lights dimmed.
‘How could I ever forget this?’
Joe couldn’t explain away the sadness he felt when she retracted her hand from his, so instead, as the opening bars of Tchaikovsky’s famous score played, he pulled open the bag of jelly babies, selected one and promptly bit its head off.
***
Joe was distracted. Although he was enjoying the ballet, every so often he’d steal a glance at Clara, trying to gauge her reaction to what was playing out before her. Although there had been one moment where she’d full-on beamed, it was hard to decipher her thoughts through the semi-darkness. It had been a relief when the houselights had come up for the interval and Clara full-on enthused about the costumes, the staging and the rather prominent bulge in the dancer who was playing Cavalier’s tights.
‘This is supposed to be a night of culture,’ he said with mock horror. ‘I didn’t pay good money for tickets for you to eye up some well-hung dancer.’
An elderly lady with a felt hat propped on top of her tightly permed steel-grey hair turned and glared and the pair of them giggled at her obvious disapproval.
‘Stop making out I’m a pervert,’ Clara said with a laugh, playfully swatting his arm. ‘Even you noticed. Anyone would have, it was just … there.’
‘I was admiring the beautiful port de bras, actually.’
‘Bra?’ Clara looked puzzled.
‘The positions of the arms,’ Joe explained, showing a perfectly rounded third position. ‘It’s French.’
‘Oh.’ She laughed again, and it sounded like a song. ‘So nothing to do with underwear.’
‘Not all of us have a mind as mucky as yours,’ he answered.
‘It’s brilliant. I wasn’t sure I was going to like ballet, but this is amazing. And it’s so Christmassy!’
‘I hoped you’d like it. Simone’s a big fan of The Nutcracker, and she was gutted when I told her we were coming tonight.’
‘You should have brought her along. I wouldn’t have minded, she’s a great kid.’
‘She’s involved with a concert at school. Mum and Dad have gone to watch.’
Clara’s face fell. ‘Are you supposed to be there too?’
‘She didn’t ask me until this morning, so I’d already bought the tickets for this. She was fine about it, though. She’s part of the choir, so it isn’t like she has a solo this time.’
‘But she’d still have wanted you there,’ Clara replied. She suddenly looked very sombre and serious. ‘I know how close you two are.’
‘Simone’s old enough to know that I don’t have to be physically with her to be rooting for her. And I’m sure she’ll tell me about it tomorrow, or maybe even tonight. She’s obsessed with WhatsApp. And I’ll tell her all the details about this.’
A mischievous glint appeared in Clara’s eyes. ‘Even about the well-hung dancer?’
Joe rolled his eyes. ‘No,’ he replied drolly. ‘He’s all yours.’
‘Good,’ Clara smiled, wrapping her arms tightly around her chest. ‘Because I do like a man who knows how to move.’
Joe thought of his shoulder, still bruised from his recent foray back into the world of breakdancing. He knew how to move, sort of. It was just his body was out of practice.
‘Fancy an ice cream?’ he asked, nodding towards the lady selling tubs from a tray around her neck. It looked uncomfortable, he thought, weighing her down, and he wondered what the person who came up with the idea of wearing a food stall had been thinking. It looked borderline torturous.
She nodded. ‘Do you think they’ll have strawberry?’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
He sheepishly stood up, hyper-aware of the annoyance of the row who were having to stand up to make way for him to squeeze past, and smiled at how glad he was to be here with Clara.
As he paid for two tubs of ice cream, he signalled a thumbs-up in her direction to show her that her luck was in – he’d managed to bag the last pot of Strawberry Delight ice cream – and felt a familiar yet long-forgotten flip in his stomach as she smiled back a lop-sided gratitude.
Oh dear, he thought. This has the potential to become messy. Awkward and messy.
***
By the time they were gathering up their belongings, the auditorium was h
alf empty. People were keen to get away, either to carry on their night with a late dinner or a nightcap, or to get home to the comfort of their beds.
‘I’m fascinated by how quickly everyone leaves,’ Joe observed. ‘Five minutes ago there wasn’t an empty seat, and now look. There’s only us.’
‘It’s a bit creepy,’ Clara added. ‘All this space … It’s so beautiful, but I wouldn’t want to be here at night. It’d be even scarier than being in the club.’
‘Then we’d better get moving. They’ll be locking up soon.’
The staff were cleaning around them, obviously wanting everyone out as quickly as possible, but that didn’t stop Clara whipping out her phone and taking a selfie of her and Joe with the empty stage as a backdrop. Joe saw his smile on the screen, too wide and too toothy, but he couldn’t rein it in as Clara pressed on the screen to snap the photo. He’d had a fantastic night.
‘That’s a keeper,’ she said. ‘I’ll send it you later.’
‘Thanks.’
The prospect of having a photo of the two of them together on his phone sent a ripple of delight through him, which in turn set off a flicker of panic about what the recent stirrings in him meant. Could he really be falling for Clara? And did she see him as anything more than a friend in need?
He didn’t know. But as they descended the stairwell back towards the street, the echoes of their footsteps satisfyingly hollow, what he did know was that something had changed in him tonight. Something inexplicable and exciting and super-charged, and that frightened him in the best possible way.
Clara
Thursday, December 14th 2017
Clara had been humming ‘The Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy’ all day long. Talk about an earworm. It had kept her company on the bus, on the walk to the club, when she’d been to the bakery to buy a vanilla slice…
Clara stopped short as she entered the office. It looked different.
‘Deirdre? Have you been tidying my desk again?’
