by Katey Lovell
‘For heaven’s sake, let Clara put the donations down first. She’s only small. She’ll have arms like Mr Tickle if she carries that lot for much longer,’ Deirdre replied bluntly.
‘Here, let me.’ Joe stepped forward to take the box from Clara. His arms ran parallel to hers as they cradled the corrugated cardboard, and the hairs on his arms prickled to attention as their eyes connected.
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘It’s more big than it is heavy. I’d have managed.’
‘I know you would.’ His eyes sparked. ‘But this way you get more time to talk to our old friend Miranda.’
The profanity Clara muttered made Joe chuckle. ‘What’s she doing here?’
‘She’s one of the coordinators of the food bank, apparently, so perhaps we shouldn’t be too hard on her. She’s obviously a good person to freely give her support.’
‘As long as she doesn’t mention my aptitude for aromas,’ Clara replied drolly. ‘I don’t think I can handle being made out to be the next Jo Malone.’
‘Sssh, she’ll hear.’
‘Good! Maybe then she’ll keep a wide berth.’
‘Not much chance of that,’ Joe said, spying Miranda working her way towards them. ‘She’s coming over.’
Clara was still groaning as Miranda wrapped her in an embrace, a knockout waft of patchouli accompanying the flamboyant flinging of the arms.
‘Sorry to separate you two lovebirds,’ Miranda cooed as she finally disentangled herself from an unimpressed Clara. ‘The bond between you two is electric. I could feel the charge from across the room. It was the same at the Christmas market, that’s why I remembered you,’ she said, placing a hand on Joe’s arm. He pulled back as abruptly as he could without appearing rude.
‘Sorry, but there’s no electric bond here. Friends and colleagues,’ Clara replied.
The denial stung Joe’s soul. He liked Clara a lot, and if it wasn’t for the burden of guilt he was carrying, he may even have made an attempt to tell her just how much she meant to him.
‘You can’t fight what’s written in the stars,’ Miranda said, with a mystical swish of her hand.
‘I don’t believe in the stars.’ Clara smiled a blank smile, which Joe could tell threw Miranda off her stride, even if only momentarily.
‘Oh, but they believe in you, Clara. They believe in you. You’ll see.’
And with that, Miranda turned on her rubber soles and was lost, disappearing amongst the teenagers stockpiling tins for the people of Manchester who needed a helping hand this Christmas.
***
‘Attention, everyone,’ Deirdre called, her hand cupped into a fleshy megaphone her already amplified voice didn’t need. ‘It’s almost nine, so I’m afraid it’s time to call it a night. If you’re midway through preparing a food parcel, finish it off, but otherwise it’s time to down tools.’
The youngsters’ enthusiasm hadn’t waned as the evening had progressed, but their energy levels had, and Joe suspected they’d secretly be glad to get home. His own limbs were aching, the bending and stretching, lifting and carrying taking its toll.
‘Are you as exhausted as me?’ Clara asked, blinking. ‘I can barely keep my eyes open.’
‘Pretty shattered,’ Joe admitted. ‘If Miranda could see me now all my aura would be telling her is that I’m ready for bed. I seriously underestimated how physically demanding this was going to be.’
‘Muscles I didn’t even know I had are screaming at me.’
‘Same. I’ve not been sleeping well lately.’
‘Something bothering you?’
This was his chance. But he was too exhausted to even know where to begin, so instead he shook his head.
‘We’ve made a dent sorting through the donations,’ Clara observed, taking in the bags and boxes that had been made up. ‘I wish I could be here to see them being collected.’
Joe noticed a flicker of sadness in the twitch of her smile. He put it down to exhaustion, until she said, in barely more than a whisper, ‘We relied on food banks for a while.’
‘Lots of people do,’ Joe replied, trying not to pry, even though he desperately wanted to know the circumstances. This was unchartered territory, part of Clara’s life he didn’t know about.
‘My mum wanted to move out of my grandparents’ as quickly as she could. She’s a proud, independent woman. But when we got rehoused it turned out the money she made cleaning didn’t stretch very far.’ She shrugged. ‘She’s stubborn and refused to tell my gran and grandpa how tight things were. Donations like these stopped us going hungry. I’ll forever be grateful to the people who helped us.’
‘I never realised.’
‘I never told you. I’m not ashamed. There was never reason to say before.’
Joe was filled with a warmth that Clara had felt able to open up to him. Normally she was a powerhouse – a small but fierce dynamo – but right then she looked breakable, and Joe wanted to wrap her up in a protective hug, to be her bubble wrap. If it hadn’t been for all the people around them, he might have, too.
‘I’m glad you felt able to tell me. It means a lot.’
‘You’re really easy to talk to, you know that?’
‘Thanks. You’re easy to talk to, too.’
He swallowed down the lump in his throat, ignoring the voice telling him to share his own secrets.
‘That must be the bond between us that cuckoo Miranda was insistent about,’ she grinned. ‘Although I do sometimes wonder what I did without you.’
Joe wondered what he’d done before he knew Clara too. His life was different now.
He felt different too, he realised.
Happy, that’s how he felt. He felt happy.
Clara
Monday, December 18th 2017
As she dodged her way through the relentless Manchester rain, the plastic bag containing her latest gift for Joe swung gleefully at Clara’s side. She smiled, pleased that this gift was not only full-on festive but also entirely practical.
She’d visibly reeled when Joe had mentioned what he was planning on wearing to the disco. Admittedly, there wasn’t as much emphasis on what the staff wore as there was on the kids. Phoebe and Tiff would make sure they were dressed head to toe in the most desirable garments, and there’d be a fair few ‘designer’ outfits that had fallen off the back of a lorry.
Clara skipped through the door, dripping onto the tiled hallway floor. Relieved to be in the dry, she pulled back her hood and unzipped her coat, giggling at the Christmas jumper beneath. That was exactly why she’d chosen it. It was her new favourite. Others might have cheeky slogans or over-the-top designs, but this was outstanding. She’d even relegated her classy Scandinavian design for this newest recruit to her festive knitwear collection. Gaudy red, the same colour as traditional phone booths and letterboxes nationwide, with a large, spiky splash of emerald green slap bang in the centre. There was a shiny gold star atop the knitted tree, which gleamed as it caught the light. But the best bit, the piece de resistance, were the flashing fairy lights. This jumper perfectly embodied all the tacky joys of Christmas.
‘Look at you!’ Deirdre shook her head. ‘You’re like the Blackpool Illuminations.’
‘That’s me,’ Clara grinned, twirling to show off her latest purchase. ‘Bold and brassy.’
‘Whereas I’m beginning to feel that what Blackpool and I have in common is that we’re tired and dated,’ Deirdre sighed. ‘I’ve been feeling my age these past few weeks.’
‘It’s the stress of worrying about this place.’
‘True. It’s non-stop at the moment. But mustn’t grumble, tonight’s party night and we need to get the place fit for a disco. I want tonight to go off with a bang.’ The smile faded from her face. ‘I have a feeling this might be the last Christmas disco The Club on the Corner plays host to.’
Clara patted her boss’s arm, hoping to offer comfort. ‘Don’t say that. The church committee are making a decision this week. Maybe we’ll be lucky. And if not, we’l
l find a way to keep this place going, we always do.’
Clara’s eyes fixed on a large cardboard box in the corner. ‘What’s that over there?’
‘Just a few bits and pieces,’ Deirdre mumbled defensively. ‘To make it a bit more exciting for the kids.’
Clara pulled back the flaps of the lid, taking in a mish-mash of accessories, predominantly from the decade taste forgot. There were day-glo headbands, Fame-inspired legwarmers, enormous tortoiseshell glasses that the NHS would have struggled to give away if it wasn’t for Morrissey making them fashionable in a geek-chic kind of way …
‘What is this stuff?’ Clara asked, recoiling as her fingers met with the coarse curls of a cheap-looking blonde wig.
‘I thought we could make one of those photo booths with the props. This stuff’s been stored in my garage, but with one of us armed with a camera we could get some shots of the kids laughing at my former fashion disasters.’
Clara picked up a black-and-white-striped fur hat and balanced it on top of her head, ignoring the fine layer of dust that floated in front of her eye line. ‘Look at this! It’s hideous!’
‘Oi,’ Deirdre replied, retrieving it from Clara’s head and pulling it protectively close to her bosom. ‘I’ll have you know, that was a favourite of mine. I wore it to a Duran Duran gig in the eighties, and I’m convinced Simon le Bon was eyeing me up.’
Clara swallowed down a laugh. Deirdre was the polar opposite of the singer’s model wife Yasmin. If Simon had been looking at her, it was probably because he was wondering why one of his fans had a raccoon on her head.
‘Well, it’s certainly eye-catching.’
Deirdre lovingly placed the hat on top of the jumble of eighties paraphernalia.
‘We could set it up on the stage if we pull back the curtain. It would work as a booth and the backdrop would look professional.’
Clara scooped up the box, the raccoon hat tickling against her nose until she feared she might sneeze.
‘Leave it to me,’ she said. ‘You just make sure the tuck shop is set up. You know how they love those sweets.’
As Deirdre unlocked the store cupboard, which held the sweets and crisps, Clara set up the makeshift photo booth. Deirdre was right, the lustrous velvet curtain would be a perfect background; and if she repositioned the tree, she could block off the corner so the posers could vogue to their hearts’ content without being watched. Clara sorted the accessories into the buckets usually used to store footballs and tennis balls. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe the hats and props would stay as organised, but at least this way she’d know she’d tried.
‘Hello? Anyone around?’
She scrambled to her feet at the sound of Joe’s voice.
‘Over here,’ she called, peeking out from behind the curtain. ‘Deirdre had an idea about setting up a photo booth, so I’m trying to get it ready.’
‘Oh, I love those,’ Joe replied, bounding over like an enthusiastic Labrador. ‘They had one at Billy and Emma’s wedding and the photos were hilarious. It’s fair to say I didn’t really pull off the blue wig. And it itched like mad.’ He scratched his head.
Clara laughed. It was hard enough to imagine Joe with hair, let alone blue hair. ‘Now that I’d have liked to see.’
‘I’ll bring in the photos some time,’ he smiled. ‘I was quite conservative with my choices compared to some, though. Billy put on everything he could get his hands on, all at once. He looked like Elton John in his Rocketman phase.’
‘He’s been your best friend for a long time, hasn’t he?’
‘Elton? Nah, I don’t know the guy,’ Joe joked, before adding, ‘Yeah. From the first time we met, we just clicked. He bought the last packet of Beef Monster Munch from the tuck shop and we almost came to blows, because no one wants to be stuck with the pickled onion ones. They burn your mouth. Anyway, he offered to swap them for Hula Hoops. We ended up sharing, and that was that. We’ve been best friends ever since. He’s more like family, really.’
‘That’s lovely.’
Clara had always felt on the periphery, never having one best friend. She got on with most people, except those who couldn’t handle her sometimes cutting remarks, but there had never been one particular friend who she could turn to in a crisis. Although, when she thought about it, recently she’d been opening up to Joe more than she’d opened up to anyone before, even her mum or Deirdre.
‘I’m lucky to have him. He’s seen me at my worst and always been there to pick me up.’
‘Do you get on with his wife? No jealousy that she swooped in and took your best friend away from you?’
‘Emma’s cool. She’s not the kind of woman to take any nonsense, and that’s exactly what Billy needed. Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile, but she made it clear from the off that she wouldn’t stand for any nonsense.’
‘Oh?’
‘He went through a wild stage,’ Joe explained. ‘When I was away at uni he got involved with a gang. They could tell Billy was daft. He’s the kind of person who’ll do anything for a laugh. They thought they could get him to take the wrap for all the chaos they were causing.’
‘What kind of chaos? Graffiti? Stealing hubcaps?’
‘It started off with small stuff, but that was basically an initiation to see if Billy was up to the task.’ He sighed, dejection oozing out of him. ‘They all carried blades. In the end Billy did too.’
Clara’s eyes widened. ‘Knife crime? Shit.’
‘It wasn’t for long, thankfully. The police started patrolling the neighbourhood when reports of muggings and threatening behaviour went up, and when the ringleader got arrested the whole thing fizzled out. But it felt like I’d lost him for a while; it was like going through a break-up. I’d think of something I’d want to tell him and then suddenly remember that he wouldn’t be interested, because the only thing he cared about was pleasing the gang.’
‘That sounds awful,’ Clara replied, with a sympathetic smile.
‘It was, but as soon as he met Emma he settled down. He’s four years older, but even as a sixteen-year-old she was ballsy as anything. She told him in no uncertain terms that if he wanted to be with her, he had to give up that life. He was so smitten he turned his back on it all. Thankfully the scrote that got him into it went to prison, which made it easier. When I came back after Michelle died he was so loved up, really soppy. He’d changed for the better.’
‘It’s frightening how people can get swept up so easily by gangs. That’s why I fear for some of these kids.’
‘That’s why places like this are so important. Helps give them focus, encourages them to take ownership of the community. That can make all the difference.’
‘I hope you’re right. And I hope we can find a way to open our doors to more of the young people who need us. There was another “sorry, but we can’t offer assistance on this occasion” letter arrive today,’ Clara replied.
‘I’m sure things will get easier soon,’ Joe said optimistically. ‘I’ve got a good feeling about it.’
Clara hoped Joe was right. She couldn’t bear it if this was the last Christmas disco The Club on the Corner would ever hold. Somehow, anyhow, she had to make sure this place kept going.
***
The kids thought Deirdre’s accessories were hilarious.
‘Did you actually used to wear this stuff?’ Jordan asked bluntly. ‘Like, seriously? Not for fancy dress?’
Deirdre looked most put out and Clara had to wrestle back her laughter.
‘The flaming cheek! These were the height of fashion,’ Deirdre replied. ‘They weren’t cheap either. I scrimped and saved to get enough money together for that faux-fur coat.’
Shannon was parading around in it as though she were Naomi Campbell. Her lips were jutting out so far that she was little more than a pout on her twig-like legs.
‘I like it. All this vintage stuff is back in fashion. The Northern Quarter’s full of it,’ she said, tossing her hair like a goddess. ‘I reckon I c
an pull it off. I wouldn’t wear real fur, obv, but this is so warm and snuggly.’
‘You look like a polar bear,’ said Cally dismissively, but Clara was sure there was a hint of jealousy buried deep in the comment. Shannon looked good, there was no two ways about it. With her cropped blonde bob and blood-red lips she looked like a young Debbie Harry, and had more style in her manicured little finger than Clara had in her whole body. Not that Clara was bothered, her Christmas jumper was festive and practical, and although she was worried the lights were going to burn out any minute and the jumper’s appeal would diminish as a result, they’d held out so far.
‘I like polar bears,’ Shannon fired back. She had the confidence to carry off her quirky fashionista style, knowing her own taste and trusting in it. Clara’s wardrobe as a teen had been Top Shop and New Look. She’d diversified as she’d grown in both years and confidence, but never to Shannon’s degree.
‘Right, get into position,’ said Clara, holding up the camera. She was aware of a restless queue building behind her. Shannon placed one hand on her cheek and gazed beyond the camera in a totally fey pose, whilst Simone grinned from behind a pair of mirror shades, which she’d inexplicably teamed with an Everton scarf that Clara had no idea how Deirdre was in possession of. ‘Gorgeous,’ she smiled, as she clicked the button and caught the Polaroid that spewed out. ‘Go on then, girls. Have a dance for a bit.’
‘I’m not taking this coat off,’ Shannon said, pulling it tightly around her. ‘Deirdre, can I buy it off you? My parents asked what I wanted for Christmas and I couldn’t think of anything, so they said they’d give me money instead. I’d give you a fair price.’
‘Alright,’ Deirdre said. ‘If it’ll stop you going on at me.’ Deirdre was making out she was hassled but Clara could tell she was secretly chuffed to have found someone who appreciated her past style. ‘But I’ve no idea what a fair price is. It’s been in that box for at least ten years. I’m amazed a family of mice haven’t found it and used it as a nest.’
‘Let me know how much you want,’ Shannon called over her shoulder as she descended the stairs onto the makeshift dance floor, her strut ramped up a notch at the result of bagging her much-coveted item. ‘I’ll bring it tomorrow.’
