by Katey Lovell
Clara slid the palm of her hand around the enormous cup of hot chocolate she’d ordered – the biggest they offered at the coffee shop she and Joe had stopped at – took a sip, then slammed it down on the dark wood table with force. Whipped cream drizzled down the side of the mug.
‘Now look what he made me do,’ she said, her face etched with frustration as a creamy pool formed against the polished surface. ‘It’s gone everywhere.’
Joe bit his tongue, not wanting to point out the obvious – that Dean was long gone and the loss of the swirly, chocolate-dusted cream was nothing to do with anyone but Clara herself. There are times in life where it pays to remain silent, and Joe recognised this was one of those times.
Noddy Holder was less considerate, screaming ‘It’s Christmas!’ at the top of his lungs, as Slade’s Christmas classic blared out over the speakers without a second thought for Clara’s heartache.
She glared in response, Joe noting the rare moment of Christmas antipathy from Clara.
‘Here,’ he said, handing her a napkin. ‘Use this.’
She dabbed at the spillage until the liquid seeped through the pure-white tissue.
‘Thanks.’ Her voice was clipped. ‘And I’m sorry,’ she added, with a sigh. ‘I’m angry, that’s all. I don’t have feelings for him any more, but he still hurt me more than I can say. Seeing the two of them touched a nerve.’
‘That’s natural,’ Joe replied gently. ‘You were together for a long time.’
‘Four years,’ Clara whispered. ‘And he threw it away like it was nothing.’
She circled her hands around the cup before bringing it to her mouth and sipping the hot chocolate. She had the merest hint of a whipped-cream moustache for a moment before her tongue licked her upper lip and it was as though it had never been there.
‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated. ‘You don’t want to listen to me going on about it.’
‘If it hurts, let it out. I want to listen. You listened to me. Last night … you were amazing, Clara. I was so scared you’d judge me, but you didn’t. You … you made it easy to talk about something so hard.’
She smiled weakly.
‘There’s nothing to say, really. It was a good relationship, until it wasn’t.’ She shrugged. ‘At the time I thought it was for keeps, but in retrospect I wonder if I was kidding myself all along. I don’t want to have to see him around, though, and I certainly don’t want to speak to him.’
‘Do you think you’re blocking it out so you don’t have to face up to it?’ Joe asked. ‘That’s what I do. Bury my head in the sand and pretend everything’s fine, even if I’m falling apart. When Michelle died, I didn’t cry a single tear. I told everyone I was doing okay, even though I was a mess. But you don’t have to pretend with me. You can tell me anything, any time.’
She looked humbled at his words, and he liked how that made him feel.
‘It’s not all about Dean,’ she blustered. ‘It’s bigger than that.’
Joe didn’t say a word, instead waiting for her to continue.
‘Do you remember when you asked if I had any brothers or sisters?’
Joe nodded. He remembered that conversation clearly. It was one of the first times he felt as if he was really connecting with Clara.
‘I said I didn’t, but that’s not strictly true.’ She blew on her hot chocolate, her eyes focused on the remainder of the cream. ‘I’ve got a half-brother.’
Joe’s heart pounded at the surprise revelation. Clara was always so upfront about everything that it didn’t seem possible that she could keep something as enormous as a sibling secret.
‘I don’t see him,’ she continued, avoiding eye contact. ‘He lives in Carlisle with my dad and his new wife. Isaac – that’s what he’s called – is six months younger than me.’
Joe struggled to hide his shock as the penny dropped. Six months younger than Clara …
‘Dad was leading a double life for years. He’d live with me and mum in the week, then spend the weekends with them, under the pretence that he was working away on a long-haul job. He was a lorry driver, you see.’
‘That’s awful. No wonder you find it hard to trust people.’
‘Exactly. When my mum found out she was devastated, obviously, and although she loved him completely, she threw him out and filed for divorce, but it didn’t faze him. He already had a replacement family waiting in the wings.’
‘It’s like something from one of Deirdre’s soaps,’ Joe said, trying to lighten the mood. He could see the tears welling in Clara’s eyes.
‘Dad seemed to forget I even existed,’ she said sadly, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her misshapen cardigan. ‘I sent him a card every year on Father’s Day, but he never got in touch – not even a phone call.’
‘That’s harsh.’
‘Then a couple of years ago Isaac turned up at my door. He looked so like my dad. It freaked me out.’
‘And that was the first time you’d met him?’
‘The only time. Some of the things he told me …’ Clara sniffed. ‘Well, they upset me. Things about how my dad never even spoke about me.’ Her voice faded to almost nothing as she added, ‘And how he tore up the cards I sent.’
He didn’t speak – he didn’t know what he could say to make the story any less tragic – but as tears spilled from Clara’s eyes Joe drew his hand over his own cheeks. He was surprised to find that they, too, were damp.
Clara
Friday, December 22nd 2017
Clara pulled the neck of her chunky navy jumper over the bottom half of her face and blew into the fabric in a desperate attempt to warm up. The office felt colder than usual today. Goose pimples prickled her arms, making it increasingly hard for her to concentrate on the rows of figures on the spreadsheet in front of her.
‘You look like you’ve lost a pound and found a penny.’
Clara turned to face her boss and waved the figures at her. ‘You’re not far off the mark,’ she said with a vague smile. ‘I’d hoped by some miracle the bank balance might have increased.’
‘If it comes to it, I’ll get my begging bowl out again,’ Deirdre said. ‘But I’m still hoping we might get chosen as the charity of the year at church.’
Clara’s stomach flipped. Two days to go.
‘I wonder if Joe knows anything about who’s been selected for charity of the year,’ Deirdre pondered out loud. ‘And if not, maybe we could wheedle it out of his dad somehow.’
‘I’m sure it’ll be top secret,’ Clara replied, although she’d been wondering the same thing. The suspense was unbearable. If they hadn’t been selected it would be nice to be forewarned, and if they had been chosen she wanted to perfect her ‘gracious and grateful, but not overbearing’ look. Was it wrong to serious consider bribing a man of the cloth? Probably.
‘There was an email about a fund we could apply for too,’ Deirdre continued, waving her hand dismissively, as though she couldn’t remember the details. She probably couldn’t. Retaining facts wasn’t Deirdre’s strong point, which was why she’d handed so much of the day-to-day running of the club over to Clara. ‘The one that gave us money for sports equipment in the summer. The deadline’s in a few weeks’ time, I think.’
Clara remembered the fund. The form had been ten pages long and mind-numbingly repetitive, and when the lady had finally phoned to say their claim had been successful, she’d spoken with such a strong lisp that Clara had had to strain to understand. It had taken a full five minutes for her to realise they were being given the money.
Clara closed down the spreadsheet she’d been scrutinising and pulled up the club’s email account, scrolling through the list of emails. Most of them were advertising excruciatingly expensive resources that would be way out of The Club on the Corner’s price range even if they weren’t in their current predicament.
Clara saw a name she recognised alongside an email headed FUNDING DEADLINE and clicked through to the main body of the email. Scanning the text for details sh
e caught a few key words and most importantly a date – December 23rd.
Her heart sank.
‘Deirdre’ she said, unable to keep the snappiness out of her tone. ‘The deadline’s tomorrow. I can’t believe you didn’t mention this sooner!’
‘The emails are a shared responsibility,’ Deirdre pointed out. ‘You are supposed to read them too.’
‘I know, I know,’ Clara mumbled, sending the downloaded form to the printer. She had a feeling she’d be up until the early hours filling in all the necessary details. ‘I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.’
‘I know,’ Deirdre replied. ‘Joe, for starters.’
Clara turned sharply to face her boss. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You can’t hide it from me, Clara. I might be falling apart at the seams but I have eyes in my head and a working brain. It’s obvious there’s something between the two of you. The presents, for one thing, and a little dicky bird tells me you’ve been going on dates too.’ She peered over the rims of her glasses. ‘I’m disappointed you kept it to yourself after I as good as set the pair of you up,’ she said, with a critical cluck of her tongue.
‘A little dicky bird? Or a spy?’
Clara wondered who’d ratted on them. Manchester was a big city and although her and Joe hadn’t been hiding, they hadn’t been advertising it either. Most of their dates – or rather, non-dates – had been in the centre of town, well away from the prying eyes and wagging tongues of the kids who’d have a field day if they thought Joe and Clara were anything more than friends.
‘Who is it that’s been gossiping behind my back? Is it Shannon?’
She was the kid most likely to spread rumours, who loved having a juicy story to share. When nothing exciting happened locally, she’d resort to reiterating whatever scandal was plastered in the magazines, whichever actress had been sleeping with their co-star or who’d been to Beverly Hills for a boob job. But she much preferred it when she could spread gossip about someone she knew. The more Clara thought about it, the more she was convinced it was her.
‘It wasn’t Shannon.’
‘Well, if it wasn’t her, then who? I’ve got a right to know if someone’s spreading rumours about me behind my back. That’s slander.’ Clara folded her arms across her chest. ‘I’m not moving a muscle until you tell me who you’ve been talking to.’
Deirdre took off her glasses and rubbed the lenses between the cotton folds of her top before squinting as she replaced them. ‘Are you sure you want to know?’
Clara nodded. There was a sudden tension in the room.
‘It wasn’t Shannon who told me you two had been going out together.’ The glint in her eyes as they connected with Clara’s told her what she needed to know even before Deirdre confirmed it. ‘It was Joe.’
Joe?’ Clara could hardly believe it. ‘What did he say?’
Deirdre revealed how Joe had given her all the details, from how Clara had taken a mince pie home for her mum after their night at the café to their tearful recent heart-to-hearts.
‘So, now you see why I’ve not believed you when you say there’s nothing going on. Why didn’t you tell me? I’m happy for you both.’
‘We’re friends,’ Clara responded, batting away the fluttering in her core. ‘Neither of us is on the lookout for love.’
‘But you’re attracted to each other! So what’s the problem?’
‘Has he told you he likes me?’ Clara asked, her reply coming a fraction too fast.
‘He doesn’t have to, it’s obvious. He spoke to you about Michelle. He told me how you’d opened up to him, too. You’d never have spoken to him about your dad if you didn’t trust him.’
Clara’s heart plummeted. She couldn’t deny it any more, not to Deirdre or to herself. She had developed feelings for Joe over the past month.
‘You were right. He’s a good guy.’
‘At last!’ Deirdre said, throwing her hands up in the air. ‘Now can you tell him that, and put us all out of our misery? I was disappointed when the two of you hadn’t got together when I locked you in.’
‘I knew you did that on purpose!’
‘You needed coaxing. I thought a night alone together would push things along. Although I wasn’t keen the idea of you getting jiggy on the couch.’
‘Deirdre …’ Clara warned.
‘Oh, he told me nothing happened, although I think he’d have liked it to. That’s why you’ve got to tell him how you feel. When love comes around, you’ve got to grab it with both hands.’
‘Love? You’re getting ahead of yourself, Deirdre.’
‘Don’t spoil my fun. I was planning on going to the Arndale to buy a hat for the wedding first thing tomorrow,’ Deirdre replied, her voice dripping in sarcasm.
‘He’s taking me ice skating tomorrow,’ Clara said. ‘You know I don’t like anything like that. I’m much happier with my feet firmly on the ground. I don’t even like climbing on step-ladders, for crying out loud, so sliding about over some death trap masquerading as entertainment isn’t really my idea of fun. I’m petrified.’
Deirdre stifled a laugh, badly.
Clara blinked. ‘I don’t know why you’re laughing. I don’t see you ice skating.’
Deirdre tutted. ‘Can’t these days, can I? Not with my dodgy knee. Back in the day I used to be pretty good at it. Even had my own skates. They were white as snow with silver laces. I was the envy of every girl at school.’
Clara rolled her eyes, not in the mood for one of her boss’s tall tales.
‘Ice skating’s so romantic.’
‘Not to me, it isn’t. I’m going to make an idiot of myself in front of him, aren’t I?’ Clara sighed, defeatist.
‘You know what, Clara? From seeing the two of you together, I really don’t think that’s possible. He told me he cried when you told him about your past. That’s a huge deal, Clara. Joe never cries.’
‘I never planned for this to happen. When we started the countdown he wanted to help me trust again and I wanted to bring the magic of Christmas back into his life. At first I didn’t even realise why he hated December so much.’
Deirdre nodded knowingly. ‘Michelle. Yes, that was horrendous. Knocked him sideways, unsurprisingly, and totally changed him. When he came here as a teenager he was really involved in the church. It was expected of him, of course, what with his dad being the minister and everything. But it was obvious that he had faith. He was radiant with it. Not in a preachy way, like some people are, but as though he had a quiet peace.’ Her face fell. ‘Then when he came back from university he was a different person altogether. He’d lost his sparkle. But since meeting you, it’s like the old Joe’s back. That’s how I know you’re meant to be. He’s had a rough ride, but that doesn’t stop him from being one of the nicest people I’m blessed to know. He’s got a heart of gold, genuinely cares for everyone. Did he tell you about the food bank?’
‘I’ve not spoken to him today,’ Clara replied, realising how much she missed his company. She hoped he’d turn up soon. She had a hat and scarf set in her bag ready to give him as today’s gift. She’d thought he could wear it tomorrow for their skating session.
‘They told him that thanks to the donations from the club they’ve been able to give a Christmas food hamper to everyone on their list.’ Deirdre beamed. ‘Isn’t that fantastic? Think of what a difference that’ll make to some of the poorest families around here.’
Clara didn’t have to think. Clara knew. She remembered the joy of the cardboard box wrapped in brightly coloured paper being delivered by a rosy-cheeked man with a bushy white beard. She’d thought it had been Santa himself, until he laughed at the suggestion.
‘Just a few presents for you and your mam,’ he’d said, and her mum had cried as she’d taken in the tinned meats and box of cream crackers, the chocolate coins and a bottle of posh fizzy apple juice.
‘That’s amazing,’ Clara whispered. ‘I’ll have to tell him how grateful I am for all his hard work on the proje
ct.’
‘You do that. And there’s no time like the present. Look, he’s here now.’
Clara looked out of the window and just caught a glimpse of Joe’s dark coat before he disappeared from view and she heard the loud bang of the front door of the club.
‘Clara?’ Deirdre said, as she made her way towards the door.
‘Yes?’
Deirdre’s eyes twinkled wickedly. ‘Tell him how you feel, and if he tries to kiss you, for heaven’s sake let him.’
Clara didn’t need telling. She’d already made up her mind. If Joe didn’t try to kiss her, she was going to use her own initiative. No more time for game-playing. She was falling in love with Joe, and she wasn’t going to hide it any longer.
Clara ran down the stairs faster than she’d have ever believed possible, to be met by a startled Joe looking up at her.
‘Where’s the fire?’
‘No fire,’ she replied, catching her breath. ‘But I wanted to speak to you.’
‘Is everything okay? It’s not Deirdre, is it?’
Clara shook her head. ‘Everything’s fine.’
His face loosened, visibly relaxing in response to her words and Clara inhaled as she prepared herself to continue her spiel. She could taste polish in her mouth, smell the bitter scent lingering in her nostrils. It made her feel woozy and as she made her way down the final three steps of the staircase she took extra care, in case her dizziness caused her to fall.
‘Are you sure about that?’ He placed his hand on her arm, his skin dark next to the luminescent pale of hers. She jolted, his touch pulling her back into the entrance hallway and into the present.
‘Deirdre told me that you’d spoken to her. About us.’
Joe opened his mouth, but Clara continued talking. She needed to say this now, before she chickened out.
‘It’s fine. I don’t blame you. There were times I was desperate to talk about the countdown too.’ She thought back to the night she’d almost told her mum, but had forced herself to stay quiet rather than try to explain. ‘The presents and trips started out as something fun and a good way to get to know each other better. It worked too. You did help me believe that not all men are wankers and I think I helped you find some of the joys of Christmas wrapped up in the tacky gifts. But then things started to change between us. I found myself looking forward to seeing you, and I’d be counting down until the moment you were due to walk through that door. I don’t know how it’s taken me so long to realise that it wasn’t only because I wanted to give you a bobble hat or a tacky jumper, it was because I wanted to see you. You’ve been the best bit of my day, every day.’
