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Friday, December 1
2017
Joe’s stomach fizzed as The Club on the Corner came into view. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt this excited.
He’d been at a low ebb for such a long time. Not officially depressed – nothing that a doctor would prescribe medication for – but weighed down by a lethargy that had taken away his usual bounce. ‘It’s a perfectly normal part of the grieving process’ the GP had said when Joe had finally given in to his mum’s desperate pleas to seek help. ‘Survivor guilt.’ It was supposed to be reassuring, but he’d left the surgery more defeated and deflated than ever.
Joe had tried to keep moving forward and not to dwell on events of the past, but sometimes everything was so damn overwhelming. When guilt-induced anxiety had reduced him to tears at work last Christmas as he’d unpacked a delivery of poinsettias, he’d taken it as a sign and halved his hours at the hardware store. When spring brought longer and lighter days he’d felt a little stronger, but by then he’d decided the freedom of part-time hours suited him. He had money saved, and it wasn’t as though he’d been a big spender to start with. He had plenty of clothes. He didn’t smoke and although he enjoyed a beer, he didn’t often drink to excess. Socialising took place mainly at his flat or at the home of his friends, usually Billy and Emma’s, since the arrival of baby Roman earlier in the year. Other than rent, bills and food, Joe didn’t have any regular outgoings, and the only real extravagance – annual trips to Jamaica to see his maternal grandparents – were paid for by his parents. He lived a simple life, and it worked for him.
But after taking a step back for the best part of a year, Joe was excited at the prospect of volunteering. He had a soft spot for The Club on the Corner, where he’d spent so much time during his most formative years.
If those walls could talk they could tell a story or two about Joe Smith. They’d seen his first kiss, a clumsy snog with a petite girl with a penchant for heavy eyeliner. They’d watched on as he’d broken his arm when he was fooling about breakdancing with Billy and a guy called Simon who he hadn’t seen in years. He wondered if the graffiti Billy had dared him to scrawl one reckless Friday night was still on the wall in the games room. He’d been petrified of getting caught, because no one wanted to get on the wrong side of Deirdre; so although he’d accepted the challenge he’d written his name in the tiniest writing he could, discreetly hidden in a gap between a plug socket and a skirting board. That room had also been where he’d first met Michelle, her skills at eight-ball pool enough to make every boy in the place fall for her. When she’d chosen Joe from the many admirers he’d been unable to believe his luck. The Club on the Corner … it had actually changed his life.
From the outside the building looked much the same as ever. Two big wooden doors painted in a vile pea-green shade detracted from the grandeur of the Victorian architecture. The paint was tired and peeling away near the hinges, and Joe vowed to make time to give it a sanding down and a fresh coat if Deirdre would allow him. It wouldn’t take much to tart it up and make it look more inviting.
The lead window panes were beautiful, very much of the era, and the arch above the doorway stated ‘Vestry Hall’, a nod to the building’s original use as a more general meeting place. The green-and-cream sign advertising the youth club was attached to the terracotta brickwork, along with a handwritten laminated notice stating ‘Waiting List Now in Operation’. Joe hoped his volunteering would give a few more kids the opportunity to join up.
The smell in the large entrance hallway transported him back in time. It was dusty, like an antiques showroom. Although Deirdre had always kept the place spick and span, the air was heavy with history and secrets.
‘Joe!’ Deirdre exclaimed, wrapping her arms so tightly around him that he caught his breath. ‘It’s good to see you.’ Her eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d turn up. Thought you might have chickened out.’
‘Ah, it can’t be that bad. I know what it’s like, remember? I spent many a happy night here.’
Deirdre shook her head. ‘It’s all different these days, Joe. The kids grow up so fast. And the technology they’ve got! It was bad enough when you and Billy got that camera phone, remember? You were taking pictures of everyone and everything, but the photos were all grainy. Now they film each other and put it online for the world to see. They’ve got the Internet at their fingertips. It’s all gone too far, if you ask me.’
‘It’s a different age,’ Joe agreed. ‘The iPhone Simone’s got is better than mine. But all her friends have got them. They don’t know any different.’
‘We had none of this new-fangled stuff back in my day,’ Deirdre poo-pooed. ‘And we all turned out alright.’
A glint appeared in Joe’s eyes as he took the bait. ‘That’s debatable.’
‘You cheeky so-and-so! It’s a good job I like you. I wouldn’t let any Tom, Dick or Harry get away with that.’
Clara appeared from the kitchen, carrying a mug in each hand.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’d have made you a drink if I’d known you were here. I didn’t hear the door go. I can always brew up if you want one, there’s water in the kettle still, freshly boiled.’
‘Clara.’ Deirdre gave a stern look over the top of her steel-rimmed glasses. ‘You’ve met Joe before, haven’t you? Simone’s brother. He used to be a member here so I know him well. He’s a good lad, but you’ll have to keep your eye on him. He used to be one for the ladies when he was a teenager.’
Joe held his hands up in defence. ‘I could have you for slander, Deirdre Whitehall. I only had two girlfriends in the whole seven years I was a member at The Club on the Corner.’
‘You must have got serious young,’ Clara interjected. ‘I’ve only had one relationship I’d class as serious.’
‘And the less said about that the better,’ Deirdre added pointedly, before turning to Joe with a grimace. ‘Stupid bugger was sleeping with his masseuse, can you believe?’
‘He must have been an idiot,’ Joe replied, rubbing the heel of his hand against the chocolate- brown skin of his forehead. He could feel the start of a stress headache coming on. Probably from nerves. He really hoped it wouldn’t develop into a full-blown migraine.
‘He was,’ Clara replied shortly. ‘Didn’t realise it at the time, though, obviously.’
‘You had a lucky escape,’ Deirdre said. ‘Imagine if you’d married him!’
Clara shuddered, then pulled her thick black woollen cardigan more tightly across her chest. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘They were engaged, you know,’ Deirdre continued, wrinkling her nose in obvious distaste. ‘But I always had a bad feeling about him. He thought he was better than Clara, because he was a local star. I told him on more than one occasion that Clara’s the star around here. I must have had an angel watching over me the day she came for her interview.’
Clara tutted and her cheeks flushed pink. It made her appear vulnerable.
‘I don’t know about that,’ she replied modestly, before visibly perking up. Her shoulders sprang back, her eyes brightened. ‘But … it’s December the first today, and you know what that means.’
Deirdre rolled her eyes theatrically, while Joe watched on with interest.
‘Hand over the keys to the store cupboard. It’s time to unleash the decorations.’ Clara waggled her eyebrows excitedly before doing a dance of delight on the spot. ‘You can’t put it off any longer, it’s well and truly time to count down to Christmas.’ She grinned enthusiastically in Joe’s direction and Joe forced an uncomfortable smile. So Clara was a Christmas junkie. ‘Don’t you just love Christmas!’ she enthused, clapping her hands together.
Joe didn’t have the guts to tell the truth – that one of the reasons he’d volunteered at the youth club in the first place was to avoid all the preparations. He’d hoped to lose himself in endless games of table tennis and conversations about which teams had a chance in the FA Cup this season. Anything, so long as it didn’t involve Christmas. Since Michelle’s death, the festive season had never been the same.
‘Here you go,’ said Deirdre, handing Clara a long silver key attached to a small red key fob. ‘But don’t go overboard,’ she warned. ‘Leave Santa’s grotto to the Trafford Centre.’
‘Don’t worry, Deirdre. You can rely on me.’
‘When it comes to Christmas, she doesn’t know when to stop,’ she said with a laugh. ‘You’re not an elf in disguise, are you Joe?’
‘Far from it.’ He was aware his voice was short – clipped – so in a vain attempt to lighten the mood he added, ‘Green’s never been my colour.’
Clara laughed. ‘I’ll get you in the Christmas spirit soon enough. Come on, let’s get that box down. If we work fast we’ll have the whole place dressed before the kids arrive.’
She turned on her heels, beckoning for Joe to follow on.
Deirdre gave a little wave before saying, ‘You’d better get a move on. Christmas is a serious business to Clara. Oh, and good luck!’
Joe smiled weakly as he followed Clara, who was enthusiastically humming ‘Jingle Bells’, all the while silently thinking he might need all the luck he could get.
* * *
By the time the majority of the main hall had been decorated, plastic pine needles from the artificial tree that stood proudly on the stage were coating the well-trodden parquet flooring and Joe had clumps of silver glitter clinging to the tips of his fingers. Long metallic decorations were strung from the beams overhead, reminding him of the ones his parents had had in his childhood, and thick swaths of scarlet tinsel curled around the creamy-white pillars, so they resembled barber’s poles.
‘Just the lights to test now,’ Clara said, crossing her fingers in front of her. ‘They should be fine, they were new last year.’ Then she frowned and added, ‘But have you got a torch feature on your phone?’
Joe nodded. ‘Yeah, I think so.’
‘Good. Get it out and set up ready, just in case.’
‘In case what?’
‘In case the lights trip the electrics. That’s what happened last year. The whole place went black and I could hear Deirdre shouting but couldn’t see where she was. It was like something from a film.’
‘And Deirdre doesn’t like to relinquish control of anything,’ Joe smiled.
‘Tell me about it,’ Clara replied, unravelling the tangled wires. ‘She’s not always the easiest person to be around.’
‘But you like working here? I mean, I suppose you must or you’d have got a different job.’
‘I love it,’ she said, her eyes bright. ‘It’s the kids that make it special, but the whole place has a positive vibe that makes it so much easier to come to work. I joke about Deirdre, but she’s a friend as well as a boss. I never understand when people complain about their job, because I’ve always loved coming here. I guess I’m lucky.’
‘Sounds better than my job.’ Joe thought of how he’d spent the morning stock-taking. He’d had one customer, a pensioner looking for polyfilla. That had been the extent of his social contact – one customer in a four-hour shift. And although he’d like to think he’d made a difference, Joe couldn’t, hand on heart, say he had.
‘What’s it you do?’
‘I work at a hardware shop at the far end of the Northern Quarter. It’s pretty dull, most of the time.’ He shrugged his diffidence. ‘I’m only there part time these days, though. Hard to believe I used to do forty hours a week. Most of the time I was twiddling my thumbs.’
‘Fancied a change of scene?’ she smiled, and Joe’s stomach twisted. It was an innocent enough question, but he didn’t want to talk about the reasons behind the changes in his lifestyle.
‘Something like that.’
‘Well, there’s not much time for thumb-twiddling here,’ she warned, plugging in the lights. ‘We’ll be glad of the extra body. In the past we’ve tried to get people to help out but no one’s volunteered.’
‘I know what a difference this place makes to the kids,’ Joe said, ‘and I’ve got the time to give, so it makes sense to help out.’
‘Well, we really appreciate it. Now … the moment of truth.’
Clara flicked the switch and the lights pinged on, the multi-coloured bulbs twinkling perfectly against the hardwood flooring.
‘At least they didn’t trip this year,’ Joe said.
‘It’s a relief,’ Clara agreed. ‘Now we need to get them around the tree before we open the door. In five minutes’ time it’ll be bedlam in here.’
Joe pushed himself up off the floor, scooping up the string of lights. ‘Let’s get cracking, then.’
‘Thank you so much for helping.’ An enormous beam of gratitude took over Clara’s face. ‘Don’t you just love Christmas?’
‘I used to,’ he muttered under his breath.
Clara didn’t reply and Joe was unsure whether she’d heard him or not. He suspected he’d been drowned out by strains of Wham’s ‘Last Christmas’, which was playing over the sound system.
And although he wouldn’t admit it out loud, Clara’s enthusiasm was infectious. Joe was beginning to feel just a little bit of the festive spirit.
* * *
‘Calm down,’ Deirdre warned, holding out her crutch to funnel the rush of kids spilling out of the building onto the street. ‘There’s no need to run.’
‘Oh, I think you’ll find there is,’ Clara replied. ‘Don’t you know that Christmas is coming?’
‘In three and a half weeks!’ Deirdre said in an exasperated tone.
‘Ah, come on. It’s the night of the lantern parade and light switch-on, they’re bound to be excited.’ Clara grinned. ‘I’m pretty excited myself.’
‘Really?’ Joe said. ‘I’d never have guessed you liked Christmas …’
‘Everyone likes Christmas, though, don’t they? Except for Mrs Scrooge over there,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘There are so many happy memories tied up with the season. It’s not only the lights and the presents and overdosing on rich foods; it reminds me of happy times with my mum and grandparents. We lived with them for a while, and they always made a big deal out of Christmas. All the rules would go out of the window for December, and no one minded. I’d laze around in new pyjamas watching films with my gran, then we’d settle down together around the open fire and play board games way past my bedtime. Happy times.’
Joe braved a smile, despite Christmas bringing very different memories to his mind than it brought to Clara’s. There had been happy times, and lots of them, but they were now tainted by the special person he’d shared them with being so cruelly snatched away.
‘Do you still do that?’
‘Spend the day in my pyjamas?’ Clara laughed. ‘Mostly, if I can get away with it.’
‘I meant, do you still spend Christmas with your grandparents?’
Her face hardened. ‘Not any more.’
‘Oh,’ he said awkwardly, feeling terrible. He, of all people, knew that losing someone cut deep. He should never have pried, it wasn’t his place. ‘I’m sorry. I’m really lucky to still have all four of my grandparents …’
‘They haven’t died!’ Deirdre replied, guffawing, as though the suggestion was absurd.
‘They sold up when they retired,’ Clara explained, throwing a withering look in Deirdre’s direction. The older lady’s shoulders were still shaking through laughing so violently. ‘They wanted to have more adventures while they’re still fit enough, so they put everything in storage and have been travelling ever since. They’re in South America at the moment. They climbed Machu Picchu last month.’
‘Wow.’ Joe was seriously impressed. ‘Whereas my Grandma Smith thinks her summer coach trip to Chester is a big adventure.’
Clara shrugged. ‘Anything can be an adventure, depending on how you look at it.’
Joe mulled the words of wisdom over as everyone ground to a halt outside the church hall, where a makeshift stage bedecked with fairy lights and something Joe assumed was an approximation of Santa’s sleigh was lit up by a spotlight. In reality it was little more than a mess of scarlet crêpe paper and cotton-wool rolls, and Joe dreaded to think what’d happen if it rained. It’d be a disaster. Crêpe paper and cotton-wool carnage.
The effect of so many lanterns en masse was nothing short of spectacular, the flickering flames (or in the cases of the youth-club kids battery-operated tea lights – Deirdre had made it clear she and Clara were taking no chances when it came to naked flames) giving the evening sky a warm amber glow. There was a nip in the air, which was to be expected now they were in December, and Joe was glad of his warm scarf and beanie hat. The hat in particular – a shaved head might suit the shape of his angular face, but it wasn’t doing any favours now the temperature was dipping to arctic levels.
There was a moment of hush as the local MP stood to address the crowd. She was a small lady, her petite frame drowning underneath a long, beige raincoat, which couldn’t have been doing much to conserve her body heat, but her voice was loud. She completely bypassed the waiting microphone, instead opting to increase her natural volume.
‘Good evening everyone, and welcome to our annual lantern parade and Christmas light switch-on. It’s fantastic that so many of you have braved the cold to come and support us in what has become a bit of a tradition in these parts.’ She rubbed her hands together. Joe couldn’t tell if it was with excitement or for warmth. ‘I’m delighted to have a very special guest turn on the lights for us this year, and what’s more, the council have invested in some new decorations to complement those from previous displays.’
‘Maybe more than half of them will actually work,’ Deirdre said, in a voice probably meant to be conspiratorial but which earned her a few glares from loyal locals. ‘What?’ she fired back. ‘It’s the truth. Last year they were a mess.’
‘I’m more interested in the special guest,’ Joe said, keen to change the subject.
‘Oh, it’ll be Santa flicking the switch,’ Clara replied. Her cheeks were rosy, a combination of the biting cold and the flattering half-light. ‘He does it every year.’
Joe couldn’t hide his disappointment. ‘That’s a let-down. I was expecting Hollywood royalty the way she was going on.’
‘It’s hardly the Blackpool Illuminations. No big-name celebrity would turn up here and do it for nothing. The only media coverage they’d get would be via the free paper.’
As though on cue, an eager photographer pointed a lens in Clara’s direction.
‘And you,’ he said, physically pushing Joe closer to Clara in a bid to fit them both in the frame. ‘That’s a good one,’ he said dully as he took the photograph. ‘Look out for it on Thursday when the new edition comes out.’
‘We will,’ Joe said politely, as Clara rose onto her tiptoes to try and get a better view of the stage.
The politician was building up to a climax now as she encouraged everyone to join in with a rendition of Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’. Her cringey dancing involved stepping from side to side like a particularly uncoordinated uncle at a wedding, and she didn’t seem to realise that people were laughing at her on-stage antics rather than singing along to the tinny backing track.
As the music came to a close everyone cheered (and jeered) as she motioned for quiet. ‘And now, without further ado, it’s time to welcome our special guest. Here he is …’
‘It’s “Santa”,’ Clara whispered, making air quotes with her fingers. ‘I’ll put money on it.’
