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There was quite a crowd gathering in the hall. The additional emergency chairs that were usually stacked high in the broom cupboard and only brought out on rare occasions had been filled, and it looked as though it was standing room only at the back.
Her stomach fluttered at the prospect of welcoming the parents. Despite her apparent confident demeanour, Clara had never been a natural when it came to public speaking. She put it down to the time she fluffed her line in the nativity play at infant school. Her mum had tried to assure her that no one had noticed, but Clara hadn’t believed her then and she certainly didn’t believe her now. She’d been dressed head to toe in white, with cotton-wool balls sewn over the t-shirt to make it obvious to everyone she was a sheep, yet when it reached her turn to take centre stage, Clara had panicked. The only thing she’d managed to say was ‘moo’. A mooing sheep. No wonder everyone had laughed.
But there’d be no mistakes like that tonight; Clara had come prepared. She’d written notes on crisp white index cards to ensure she remained sharp and to the point.
Gulping down her nerves, she smoothed her hands over the rough fabric of her denim mini dress and stepped out onto the stage.
‘Good evening everyone, and welcome to The Club on the Corner’s annual talent show. This never fails to be anything other than a brilliant evening, where we get the opportunity to celebrate the talents of our wonderful members, so please whoop, holler, clap and cheer to show them your support.’ Clara paused as she looked out into the sea of faces, before quickly refocusing on her cards. She didn’t want to be thrown off her stride. ‘However, as many of you know, this is one of our main fundraising events of the year. We are committed to keeping our subs at the lowest possible level to ensure as many children and young people as possible can access all that we offer. However, demand is currently so high that although we have the space to accommodate new members, we don’t have the staff to supervise them. Our hope is that your donations will make a real difference, to both the club and the community as a whole, by enabling us to employ an additional member of staff. We’ve always made it our mission to work closely with other local groups, particularly the food bank and the hospital, as well as supporting local events such as the church summer fete and Christmas lantern march. Please dig deep so that the club you know and love can continue to thrive.’
A lump lodged in Clara’s throat. This place meant so much to so many, not least Deirdre. The club was her boss’s baby, the children who attended the closest she had to a family of her own. And not only the children – she was like a second mother to Clara too, never anything less than protective, supporting and mildly embarrassing.
‘But now, without further ado, I’d like to introduce our first act. Tonight Cally, Tiffany, Phoebe and Simone are The Club on the Corner’s cheerleading squad. Let’s give them a big round of applause!’
Clara initiated the clapping as the girls bounded on to the stage, waving fluffy red and white pompoms high over their heads. They looked full of pep and vim, and the audience clapped along to the rhythm of the cheesy music, encouraged by the energetic teens.
The temperamental sound system was working. That was a weight off Clara’s shoulders.
The night continued with a varied programme of acts. There were some fabulous dance routines showcased, some less than hilarious comedy acts and a surprisingly brilliant solo rendition of ‘Amazing Grace’ by a normally gobby girl called Shannon. There hadn’t been a dry eye in the house.
But it was Ted’s beautiful acoustic guitar-playing that ended up winning fair and square. The concentration etched on his face as he moved his fingers into the correct chord positions on the fretboard was endearing, and his delight when he made it to the end of the performance earned him the loudest cheer of all.
‘Nights like this make it worthwhile.’ Deirdre shook her collection bucket loudly as the crowds dispersed, making sure everyone was clear that a donation was expected. The families she knew best didn’t dare throw in loose change, instead pulling crinkled notes out of their wallets and back pockets. They knew that to give any less would be to face Deirdre’s wrath. It wasn’t worth the hassle. Far easier to cough up their hard-earned cash instead. ‘People want the club to succeed.’
‘We’ve got something special,’ Clara agreed. ‘There’s not enough in here to get close to what we’d need to employ a new member of staff, though, even in the short-term,’ she added glumly, looking at the smattering of money in the bottom of her bucket.
‘There’s got to be another way,’ Deirdre said. ‘It’s a shame Lynsey isn’t able to help out as often since she had the baby. An extra pair of hands made all the difference. Maybe we could ask about volunteers again? Some of the parents might help out if we can get a rota going.’
‘We didn’t get any interest last time,’ Clara reminded her. She was aware of coming across as the queen of doom and gloom, but it was true. ‘Part of the reason they like the kids coming here is so they get a bit of peace and quiet. They’re not likely to want to give up their time to spend it somewhere as loud and crazy as this.’
‘You never know,’ Deirdre said optimistically, as a generous grandfather dropped a twenty-pound note into her collection bucket. ‘We might fall lucky and find someone willing to give up a few hours for the cause.’
Simone, one of the enthusiastic cheerleading troupe who also happened to be the smiliest sixteen-year-old Clara had ever seen, appeared as though from nowhere, her tight, dark curls bobbing in bunches either side of her head.
‘Thank you for organising the talent show,’ she gushed. ‘It was fun, even though we didn’t win.’
‘Yeah, thanks Deirdre. Thanks Clara,’ added Tiffany, before chewing on her gum and blowing a large pink bubble. She was always chewing and popping, chewing and popping. Clara was amazed she’d gone without gum long enough to complete the cheerleading routine. Tiff could have been subtly chewing the whole time, she supposed, even though she most definitely hadn’t been popping. She wouldn’t mention that possibility to Deirdre, though. She was, quite rightly, big on following health and safety regulations to the letter.
‘You’re welcome,’ Deirdre said. ‘And I loved that routine. Those high kicks were brilliant, and when you ended with the splits it took me right back to my youth.’
‘You used to be able to do the splits?’ Tiff gawped, then chewed, then popped.
‘I was quite the gymnast back in the day,’ Deirdre said, a wistful smile passing over her face. ‘Splits, cartwheels, backflips – I could do the lot. I’d have given Olga Korbut a run for her money.’
The girls looked back at her in disbelief. Deirdre looked about as far from a gymnast as you could get, with her bulky build and the crutch she used whenever she had to stand for any length of time propping her up. Her dodgy knee had been giving her gip recently. Probably all those years of acrobatics finally catching up with her, Clara thought with a smile.
‘I’ve not always been this old, you know,’ Deirdre added.
And here was I thinking you were born old,’ Clara teased.
‘Ha-ha,’ Deirdre replied with a roll of her eyes. ‘Very funny.’ She turned her attention back to Simone. ‘Are your parents still here?’
‘They’re in the kitchen, washing the pots,’ Simone explained. ‘We thought it’d save you two a job.’
‘Oh, that’s so kind!’ Clara exclaimed. She didn’t add she was pleased that she might get home in time to watch the season finale of the drama she’d been glued to for the past month. It started at ten, and with a bit of luck, and the help of the families chipping in, she’d be back, showered and in her pyjamas by then. ‘I’ll grab a tea towel and start drying, if you’re alright hanging around here, Deirdre? You’re better at asking people for money than I am.’
She peered into Deirdre’s bucket, which held a healthy layer of notes with a shimmer of pound coins twinkling through the gaps. Clara’s bucket contained mainly copper and silver, where people had felt obliged to give something – anything – so pulled out whatever was lurking in their coat pockets. The fluff balls and sticky sweet wrappers mingled in with the coins attested to that.
‘You go and give them a hand,’ Deirdre said. ‘I’ll finish off here, and if Tiffany and Simone help me stack the chairs we’ll all get home sooner. It takes me a bit longer these days,’ she added, gesturing to the crutch. ‘Is that alright with you, girls?’
Simone set straight to it, putting one brown chair on top of the other and moving them to the corner of the room when they were stacked five high. Tiff was less enthusiastic, but begrudgingly assisted her friend.
‘Thanks, girls,’ Clara called from the kitchen as she grabbed a striped tea towel from the towel rail and started drying the mugs. They hadn’t been rinsed properly – bubbly suds clouding their glossy surfaces – but Clara was so grateful for the help that she didn’t feel she could complain. Simone’s family hadn’t wasted any time. The washing up was all but done.
‘Thanks, everyone,’ Clara said, passing the dried mugs to Simone’s mum to put away in the cupboard. ‘It makes things much easier for me and Deirdre if people lend a hand now and again.’
‘I’ll bet,’ Simone’s dad replied. He was the local vicar and a familiar face in the community. The strip-lighting was reflected off his shaved head as he grinned the same infectious grin as his daughter. ‘Don’t think the hard work you two put into this place goes unnoticed. We’re very grateful for everything you do for these kids.’
‘It’s worth it to see everyone enjoying themselves.’ Clara truly believed that, and loved being able to boost the confidence of the club members. There was a special atmosphere to the old place on showcase night, an almost palpable buzz of joy thronging through the building. ‘Plus, the kids are great, and it’s them we do it for.’
‘When I used to come here there was nowhere else for teenagers to go at this end of town,’ Simone’s brother added. ‘At least now there’s the indoor skate park, and the ice rink’s not bad since it’s been refurbished.’
‘They’re expensive, though,’ Clara pointed out. She’d been shocked at the cost of the tickets on a recent cinema trip with Deirdre, and that was before she’d splashed out on popcorn (sweet, naturally) and a large diet coke. By the time she was done she’d spent almost a day’s wages. ‘Not all the families around here can afford it. At least here they only have to find the money for subs once a term. Plus, some of the kids just want somewhere to hang around away from their parents.’
‘I suppose that’s what I did when I was a member. Me and my mates used to spend all our money in the tuck shop and then talk about music for a few hours in between stuffing our faces with strawberry laces.’
‘Strawberry laces. Good choice.’
‘We’d have competitions to see who could cram the most into their mouths,’ he laughed. ‘I managed forty-eight once.’
‘Wow. You must have a really big mouth.’ Clara clamped her lips together in embarrassment as she realised how insulting that sounded. ‘I didn’t mean any offence …’
‘None taken,’ he said with a shrug as he plunged the last mug into the soapy water and rubbed it with a battered scourer. ‘There,’ he proclaimed, placing the mug on the draining board. Suds slithered down its side. ‘We’re done.’
‘Thank you,’ Clara said genuinely. ‘You’ve been a great help, all of you. I’ll finish off here, though, if you want to get home. It’s getting late.’
The clock read half-past nine. She’d have to get a wiggle on if she was going to make it back home in time for her programme.
‘If you’re sure?’ Simone’s mum replied, reaching for her large straw sunhat. She was well presented, as though dressed for an event. Mind you, she always looked smart. Part of the role of being a vicar’s wife, Clara supposed.
‘Absolutely. There’s not much to do now, you’ve done most of it already. You go,’ she smiled. ‘And thanks again.’
‘It was a brilliant evening,’ the vicar added. ‘A real celebration of everyone’s talents. I’m glad I came.’
‘It was fun,’ Simone’s brother said. ‘I thought the girl who did Riverdance should have won, though. She was amazing.’
‘She was great, wasn’t she? She’s got dreams of dancing on the stage one day. She’ll probably make it too, she’s a hard worker.’
‘You are too, by the look of it,’ he said, sliding into his leather jacket.
‘Well, there’s no point doing anything half-heartedly. My work’s important to me.’
‘It shows. It’s nice to finally meet you, Clara. Simone talks about you all the time at home. And Deirdre too, of course.’
‘Nice to meet you too …’
Clara paused, realising she didn’t know his name.
‘Joe,’ he said, extending his hand to invite a handshake. ‘Joe Smith.’
The Countdown (#u2441c26f-29ff-5aa9-826c-8fb0d389b5d1)
Clara (#u2441c26f-29ff-5aa9-826c-8fb0d389b5d1)
Thursday, November 30
2017
Clara had always loved everything about Christmas, and although Advent hadn’t yet started she was fully prepared for the season. She’d retrieved her collection of knitted Christmas jumpers from the back of her wardrobe (they were now hanging prominently from the picture rail in her bedroom so she could admire them in all their hideously gaudy beauty), and already done the majority of her shopping. Her cards were written and stamped, ready to go into the post box at the end of the road on the first day of December. And now she was trying to persuade Deirdre to let her decorate the youth club with spangly decorations galore.
‘There’s no way you’re putting them up today, Clara. Not a chance. It’s still November!’ Deirdre shook her head with such vigour that her monstrous clip-on earrings threatened to fly off. ‘The ones at home don’t go up until at least the middle of the month. If they were up any earlier I’d get bored. I’m gagging to take them down by Boxing Day as it is.’
‘Spoilsport,’ Clara pouted.
‘You’re not going to change my mind. It’s November. It’s too early.’
Clara sighed, ready to admit defeat. It was the same every year – she’d be itching to get the club covered in tinsel and glitter whilst Deirdre would be putting the Christmas dampeners on.
‘I’ve been patient. The supermarkets have had their decorations up since the day after Hallowe’en.’
‘Bully for the supermarkets!’ Deirdre blustered. ‘Go and work for them if you’re so desperate to have your bloody baubles up!’
Clara laughed. ‘You don’t mean that. We’re struggling enough as it is with the two of us running this place. You’d have no chance if you were doing it single-handedly.’
‘Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,’ Deirdre replied, a cryptic smirk curling at the corners of her lips. ‘I wouldn’t be doing it alone. My new volunteer would be able to help me out.’
Clara’s ears pricked up. ‘New volunteer? You mean someone’s actually been daft enough to sign up to spend their free time in this madhouse?’
‘Yes, and, what’s more, I think he’ll be great with the kids.’
‘He?’
‘Yes, he. He’s young and enthusiastic and it’ll be good for the boys to have a male role model. I know it’s all about equality these days, but I switch off the minute Jordan starts talking about football. What do I know about whether United would be better moving their right back into central defence or whatever it was he was rambling on about last night? This way he can chew someone else’s ear off about it rather than mine. Someone who might be able to make a more incisive comment than “Hmm, I don’t know”.’
‘Are you going to tell me who this saviour is or are you going to sit there teasing me all night?’
Deirdre jokingly tapped the side of her nose with her index finger. ‘I could tell you, but it’s far more fun to keep you guessing.’
‘You’re so mean!’ Clara hated being left in the dark over anything, especially when it came to the youth club. Deirdre might be the manager, but Clara had taken on more and more responsibility over the years until they were pretty much equals. Everything was a team effort, from budgeting, to choosing which fundraising events to run and which local groups to work in partnership with. Clara couldn’t remember the last time Deirdre had made a decision without consulting her first. ‘So you’re not even going to give me a clue?’
Deirdre shook her head once more. ‘Nope. This one’s for me to know and you to find out.’
‘Meanie.’
‘You love me really. And you’ll love me even more when you find out who our new volunteer is. I’ve got a good feeling about the two of you.’
Clara’s face dropped. Deirdre and her meddling.
‘If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. I’m not looking for a man. They’re smelly and lazy and slob about on the settee with their hands shoved down their pants.’ Clara remembered the time she’d called Dean out on that, because she’d been sick of the sight of him with his hands in his trousers. He’d insisted he wasn’t playing with himself but she’d had her doubts. The excuse that his hands were cold didn’t wash with her. Hadn’t he heard of pockets? ‘Not to mention they have a habit of sleeping around.’
Bitterness filled her mouth. She’d got past the sadness of their relationship ending, but she couldn’t get past the anger at being lied to and cheated on. It took a lot for her to trust someone. Watching her mum’s confidence dwindle away to nothing after her dad’s infidelity had been painful. Dean screwing around behind her back had only reaffirmed her distrust.
‘Not all of them, and not this one. This one’s a good one.’
‘I thought Dean was a good one, once upon a time,’ Clara grumbled in retort. ‘If there are good ones out there, why have you never got married, eh? Answer me that.’
‘I’m married to this place, remember. The club, the kids – they’re all the family I need.’
‘Well, maybe that’s enough for me, too,’ she answered defiantly. ‘Maybe I’ll be married to this place.’
Deirdre waggled her finger in front of her face, wearing a stern expression no one in their right mind would argue with. ‘I don’t think so, Clara. I think you need to trust me for once.’
‘I always trust you. Except when it comes to your decisions of when to put the Christmas decorations up, because when it comes to that you’re just downright wrong.’
‘The decorations can go up tomorrow. December the first. Which is still too early, but at least it’ll tie in nicely with the lantern parade. Plus Joe will be around then, so you can do it together.’
‘Joe? Simone’s brother Joe?’
Deirdre smacked the heel of her hand into her forehead. ‘I can’t believe I let that one slip. Me and my big mouth! But yes, he’s our new volunteer. Be nice to him, Clara. I’ve known Joe since he was eleven years old and he had lines shaved into his eyebrows like he was some sort of gangster. He was trying to be tough, but he’s was a softie then and he’s a softie now.’
She looked dreamy, and Clara suspected her boss was imagining Clara in a puffy meringue-like dress and Joe in a jet-black top hat and tails. Typical Deirdre, never one to let reality get in the way of a good story.
‘Don’t go getting any ideas, Deirdre. I barely know the guy.’
‘But you’ll get to know him,’ Deirdre reasoned. ‘Don’t rule anything out yet, that’s all I’m asking.’
Clara didn’t have the energy to argue. In ten minutes’ time they’d be opening the doors and the stream of excitable kids would flood into the hall ready to spend the next two hours wreaking havoc.
‘If I can’t have fairy lights, I’m going to need caffeine,’ she grumbled, heading towards the kitchenette.
‘Clara?’ Deirdre called after her.
‘Yeah?’
‘If you believe in the magic of Christmas, you can surely believe in the magic of love too.’
Clara rolled her eyes. Christmas was one thing. Love was something else altogether.
Joe (#u2441c26f-29ff-5aa9-826c-8fb0d389b5d1)
