by Katey Lovell
Clara wasn’t sure why she was even bothering to ask. It was obvious her boss had been on one of her tidying sprees. They were few and far between, but once Deirdre got a bee in her bonnet, she’d not stop until she’d blitzed the club from top to bottom.
This was one of those days. The usual piles of paper were missing, for one thing, the empty mugs waiting to be washed no longer sat on the windowsill for another. But most importantly, Clara noticed the stack of envelopes was no longer piled up ready to be taken to the post box at the end of the road. Her heart sank.
‘I couldn’t stand the sight of that paperwork building up for a minute longer,’ Deirdre called from the storeroom across the landing. ‘I moved it into your drawer.’
Clara released a sigh of relief as she reached for the small brass handle and pulled open the drawer, immediately spying a stack of half-finished forms for additional funding and a leaflet advertising training courses that sounded useful but were way outside the non-existent training budget the club currently had. She pulled the wedge of paper out, placing it in the centre of her desk, knowing that if it stayed hidden she’d keep procrastinating. That wasn’t an option. The club needed money, and it needed money fast.
‘I took those letters down to the post box on my break too,’ Deirdre said proudly, brandishing a fluorescent-pink feather duster like a weapon as she entered the room.
Clara took a deep breath in at the comment. ‘Which letters?’
‘The ones that have been sat on your desk for ages! You do realise it’s Christmas? If you don’t get these things posted they’ll never arrive on time.’
‘All of them?’
Clara’s mouth felt dry. She tried to recall what time the postie collected from the vibrant red box down the road. Was it four o’clock? Or five? Clara wasn’t sure, but it didn’t really matter – the clock on the wall was already showing twenty to six.
‘Thought it’d save you a job.’ Deirdre spun her duster like a magic wand, a fine layer of dust particles filling the air and causing Clara to splutter. ‘Plus I’m trying to be more active. The doctor says if I don’t keep moving with my knee I’m going to be referred for physio. The last thing I want is Bella or one of her sort fiddling about with my joints.’
‘Can we not talk about her?’ The thought of the letter winging its way across Manchester at this very moment was already making Clara feel nauseous. Add Bella to the mix and she might vomit for real. ‘And I don’t want to talk about Dean either.’
She couldn’t begin to predict how he’d react when the letter arrived, whether it’d even reach him. She’d deliberately addressed it to the football club rather than to his home, even though she could have easily sent it to him there. After all, she knew the address off by heart. She’d lived there herself for the best part of two years. The city-centre apartment had been a far cry from what she’d been used to, shiny and new and immaculately presented. She’d loved living in the heart of Manchester with the pulse of people around her, vibrant and vital. But she’d still missed the familiarity of her own home, her own community. There wasn’t that sense of looking out for each other – she hadn’t even known the names of her neighbours until one day when she’d taken a parcel in for them.
‘I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to stir up bad memories.’
‘You didn’t.’ Clara’s voice was clipped and she knew it.
‘I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. He’s scum, and you’ll find someone worthy of your love one of these days. There must be plenty of men out there looking for someone like you.’
‘Someone like me?’ Clara laughed at the absurdity. She was barely staying afloat. The club, her personal life, not to mention the current political climate, which was enough to make anyone feel bereft. If it wasn’t for the escapism of Joe and the countdown, she’d probably have resorted to alcohol again to numb the pain.
‘Don’t do yourself down, Clara. You’re ballsy. Any man worth his salt will find that sexy as hell, and those who don’t aren’t worth your time. You’re full of Northern grit, but not hard-nosed. That’s important too. Strong women are punchy without being bitchy.’
‘That’s something I learned from you. And from Mum. Everything the pair of you do you do with love, but you won’t stand for being played for a fool either. Nothing ever scares you. You’re good role models to have.’
Clara blinked away the tears that were prickling at her eyes, making a conscious effort to take on some of the bravery of the women who inspired her.
‘We all have fears, Clara. Sometimes the best thing to do is face them head-on.’
Clara digested Deirdre’s words.
So what if Dean did get the letter? Nothing that terrible would happen. At best he’d respond positively, and at worst he’d ignore it. Unless he thought the whole thing was laughable and turned up on her doorstep to rip it up in front of her very eyes…
But she couldn’t worry about what might be. There was no point. Anyway, history didn’t repeat itself that often, did it?
***
‘What do you think of my lashes, Joe? Nice, huh?’
False eyelashes were the latest fad with the girls at the club, the thicker and longer the better, in their eyes (or at least, around their eyes), and Tiffany fluttered hers purposefully in Joe’s direction.
‘Erm … yeah. Great.’
Tiffany beamed in delight at the half-hearted vote of confidence, before returning to her girl gang, singing the praises of the lip gloss she’d found at the market for a fraction of the price it was on the high street.
Joe mouthed ‘help me’ in Clara’s direction as soon as the girl’s back was turned.
Clara could hear the group talking in hushed tones, punctuated by coy giggles and sideways glances in Joe’s direction. Aha, she thought. Tiffany’s got a crush.
‘She terrifies me.’ Joe said.
‘Oh, I love Tiff. She’s a real character.’
Clara looked over at the girls, who were now pouting wildly. She supposed they were trying to look sexy, aiming to perfect their duckfaces for the numerous selfies they’d undoubtedly be uploading to Instagram later that night.
‘She’s certainly that.’
‘She reminds me a lot of myself at her age. I thought I was the bee’s bloody knees back then.’ Clara shook her head at the memory, and at how far off the mark she’d been. What she’d give to have even a fraction of the confidence she’d had back then, now. ‘And I loved my make-up, and was just like her, always seeking out the best bargains because we didn’t have money to fritter away on anything that wasn’t essential.’
‘You found a way to get what you wanted, though,’ Joe said knowingly.
Clara’s face formed a puzzled frown.
‘Taking the lipstick from the magazine cover?’ Joe reminded her.
‘Sssh! Don’t go mentioning that! Anyone could hear.’
She looked over her shoulder cautiously.
‘No one’s listening,’ Joe confirmed. ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’
‘Can you keep another secret?’
Clara locked eyes with Joe, hoping she could trust him not to laugh or judge. She needed to talk to someone about the letter. Deirdre couldn’t have noticed it amongst the stack of Christmas cards and applications for funding, because if she had Clara wouldn’t have heard the last of it. Deirdre would have wanted every detail about what the letter contained.
Joe lowered himself so he was sat on the edge of the stage, his long legs dangling down. Clara mimicked his movements, although her legs were far farther from reaching the floor of the hall.
‘Tell me anything. I promise it’ll go no further. I’m all ears.’
Clara giggled, although she couldn’t explain why she found it so funny. Maybe because, if she was being really harsh, Joe’s ears were on the large side. Not quite on a par with Gary Lineker, but they were noticeable. Sticky-outy, but not in a bad way. In fact, they were kind of cute.
‘What?’ He frowned.<
br />
‘Nothing,’ Clara said firmly, trying to calm herself from the inside.
‘What’s this secret you’ve got to share, then? More acts of crime? Should I get Greater Manchester Police on speed dial?’
Clara swatted him as he grinned at his own joke.
‘No. I’m worried I’ve made a fool of myself, though.’ Her heart was racing. ‘I hadn’t even decided if I was going to send the letter in the first place, but now it’s out there and all I can do is wait and see what happens.’
‘You’ve lost me. Start at the beginning.’
Clara wove her hands together, tapping her fingertips against the knuckles of the opposite hand.
‘I’d been filling in all those forms about funding. There were so many of them asking the same questions and wanting to know the club’s incomings and outgoings, how many kids we get on an average night, boring stuff that they use to make a decision, when the truth of the matter is they don’t have a clue about how we work and what everyone here needs. It just seemed so pointless.’ She remembered how defeated she’d felt as she fought against the endless reams of paper. ‘I thought about what would make a difference to these kids, what we could do if we had more money. Most of the kids here won’t get a Christmas like the ones they show on the telly. They won’t be having turkey with all the trimmings, presents piled high under a tree that skims the ceiling in their living room. You know yourself, most of the families don’t have surplus money to throw around. And I was thinking about Jordan, whose Christmas Day will be the same as any other, caring for his mum. He’s fourteen! He shouldn’t have that responsibility.’
She paused, and Joe waited patiently for her to continue. Clara was thankful that he wasn’t putting pressure on her to talk.
‘So I thought about what would make his Christmas memorable, something that he’d really love. If anyone deserves a treat, it’s him.’
‘Tickets to a United match, surely. Football’s his passion.’
‘Exactly.’ Clara flinched, embarrassed. ‘And I thought of a way we might be able to make it happen, not just for Jordan, but for the rest of the kids too. I’m such a fool.’
‘Some of those funding places let you spend the money on anything so long as you can prove it’s beneficial. You can make an argument that these children would learn from the experience of going to a match. I don’t think anyone would think that was foolish.’
‘You don’t understand.’ She examined her fingernails, bitten down way too low. It was a bad habit, but one she couldn’t stop. ‘I wrote to Dean. I thought he might be able to use his connections to pull some strings. He was in the youth team at Man U for a while,’ she explained. ‘He’s still in touch with some people that work there.’
‘So that’s what you’re worrying about.’ Joe bit down on his lip. ‘I can see why, but I don’t think you need to. He might be an idiot for playing around when he had you, but there must have been something good about him. You wouldn’t have been with him in the first place if he was a completely callous human being.’
‘What if he knows it was me who scratched his car? It’s beyond cheeky to ask for anything from him when I’ve behaved like I have.’
‘He behaved far worse,’ Joe reminded her. ‘Far worse. Maybe he’ll surprise you.’
‘I hadn’t even decided if I was going to post it. I’d left it on my desk to mull it over, but Deirdre had one of her cleaning frenzies and thought she was doing me a favour by posting it.’
‘That desk was getting out of control –’ Joe began.
‘It’s organised chaos,’ Clara interrupted. It might not look like much of a system to anyone else, but it worked for her. ‘I can put my hands on anything you ask me to in seconds.’
‘Whatever you say. I believe you.’
‘It’s true.’
‘It’s a disaster area. But you keep on fooling yourself,’ Joe said, but not unkindly. ‘Anyway, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you need to get het up about it. And if he comes up with the goods it’ll be well worth it. Jordan would be over the moon.’
‘Can you imagine?’ Clara replied, smiling at the thought. ‘He’d be so impressed.’
‘Fingers crossed.’ Joe held out his crossed digits in front of him.
‘Fingers crossed,’ Clara repeated emphatically, surprised by how much better she felt for offloading. Joe was a good listener – there was no judgement with him, just kind words and a reassuring smile. Most importantly, she trusted that her secret would go no further.
‘We’d better get back to work.’ Joe slid from where he’d been perched on the edge of the stage. ‘And I’m looking forward to seeing what treat you have in store for me tonight too.’
Clara brought her hands to her mouth in horror. With everything else that had been happening, she’d forgotten her plans to head to the supermarket to get Joe a present.
‘I’m so sorry. What with all the paperwork and how busy I’ve been, I totally forgot.’
‘Oh.’ Joe smiled, but Clara wasn’t sure it reached his eyes. What was that look? Disappointment? ‘Don’t worry about it. You’re still free tomorrow night, though? Meet me in town after work? I’ll message you with the details in the morning.’
‘Sure,’ Clara replied, still annoyed at herself for breaking her part of the Christmas Countdown deal, especially after such a fabulous evening at the theatre the night before. She’d been looking at the photo of the two of them together, their faces luminous and radiant, and it made her chest hurt. They were so different in many ways, but she was beginning to realise they were very alike in all the ones that mattered. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’
But she wasn’t sure if he heard her, because he was already heading towards Jordan and Tariq, who were glued to their phones at the far corner of the hall, and she feared her words had been swallowed up, drowned out by the noise.
Joe
Friday, December 15th 2017
‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt as cultured in my life as I have this past week,’ Clara laughed as they headed towards the imposing cathedral. It was another landmark Manchester building she’d told Joe she’d not set foot inside before. ‘First the theatre, now this.’
‘Don’t say I never take you anywhere.’
‘You take me everywhere! I don’t think I’d leave the house except to go to the club without you to encourage me.’
‘Pppfff. You would,’ Joe assured her, ‘and probably somewhere more raucous than Handel’s Messiah.’
‘I’m looking forward to it, actually. I’ve never been to anything like this before.’
‘It’s something new for me, too.’
Clara looked surprised. ‘Really? I thought you’d have seen it every year, what with your dad being a vicar and all.’
Joe shook his head. ‘This is my first time. Dad recommended it, but it’s a busy time of year for him. He likes to really focus on outreach work during Advent, so he never gets the chance. I think he was a bit envious of us for coming. He took Mum to see Messiah on their first date, thirty-two years ago.’
‘Thirty-two years and they’re still going strong.’
‘I know. It’s quite something. They’ve taught me what a marriage should be. And it all started with a night out like any other. Dad jokingly said it’s the perfect way to woo a girl.’
He inwardly cringed at his words. It sounded like a cheesy chat-up line.
‘You’ve been telling quite a few people about where we’ve been going, having you?’ Clara said, eyes narrowing. ‘First Simone with The Nutcracker, and now your Dad about this.’
‘They don’t know about the Christmas countdown, just that we’re spending time together.’
He swallowed nervously. Was she ashamed to be seen with him? Is that why she seemed so reluctant to tell anyone about the countdown?
‘It’s fine,’ she assured him, nuzzling her nose down into the folds of her scarf. ‘But you know what they’re like. It’s the whole When Harry Met Sally thing, where no one
believes men and women can be friends. Deirdre’s already got plans to marry us off.’
She rolled her eyes, as though it was the most ludicrous thought ever, and the crushing sensation of rejection contracted in Joe’s chest.
He let out an uneasy laugh, relieved when someone he vaguely knew interrupted to say hello. By the time they’d found a space on a pew near the back, Clara was talking about the kids at the club, which Joe found a much more comfortable topic of conversation.
‘And then he asked me if I’d seen Take That first time around! Do I really look old enough for that? I know I’ve got a few wrinkles around my eyes, but I didn’t think I looked that ancient.’
‘I can’t believe you’ve been to see Take That at all,’ he joked, shaking his head. ‘That’s not something to be proud of.’
‘Until you see them live you can’t judge,’ Clara insisted. ‘They’re Manchester’s finest. Next tour you can come along with me, as long as you’re prepared to queue to get near the front. Thatters are hardcore. If you want the best spot you have to put the hours in.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought you’d be into Gary Barlow. I thought you had better taste.’
‘I’m a Howard girl,’ Clara confessed with a wink. ‘It’s that thing about being attracted to good dancers again. Plus his abs are a work of art.’
‘He must be old enough to be your dad!’
‘Age ain’t nothing but a number, Joe,’ she said seriously. ‘And if you come with me to a show next time you’ll end up harbouring a man crush on at least one of them. Probably all of them, actually.’
‘Hmmm,’ he replied noncommittally. ‘Perhaps.’
He preferred his music louder – still favouring Foo Fighters and Blink 182 – and Billy would never let it rest if he found out he was going to a Take That concert. Although if he mentioned he was doing it for Clara he was sure his friend would forgive him. Billy was keen for Joe to join the ‘settled down and shacked up’ club as quickly as possible. His interest came from a good place, Joe knew, but Billy’s perfect little family was a reminder of what he was missing out on.
