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‘… Rovers star striker, Dean Harford!’
Dean strolled onto the stage with a swagger – well, as much swagger as anyone could manage wearing an enormous puffa jacket. He pumped his hands over his head in a ‘raise the roof’ motion and the predominantly teenage crowd whooped their approval.
Joe lifted his hands above his head and joined in with the clapping, swept away on the wave of excitement. Dean might not be a major star, but on the local circuit this was quite the coup.
It was only as he saw Deirdre frantically shaking her head that he slowed, noticing Clara had lowered her lantern to the floor and turned her back on the stage.
‘What?’ he asked, puzzled. ‘What’s up?
‘I’m going to shoot off,’ Clara replied. Her voice cracked as she spoke. ‘The kids are getting picked up from here anyway and it’s nearly over. I’ll see you tomorrow, right?’
Deirdre sympathetically rubbed Clara’s shoulder. ‘Fine by me, love. I’ll see you tomorrow at the club.’
‘That was a bit sudden,’ he said, as he watched Clara disappear into the crowds.
Deirdre leaned in. ‘It’s Dean,’ she explained, spitting his name like an insult. ‘He’s the ex-fiancé. She’s avoided him so far, so I think him being here was too much for her to take.’
‘And everyone acting like he’s some sort of hero. No wonder she wanted to get away.’
His eyes followed Clara, who was slinking away down a gennel. Joe couldn’t repress the urge to go with her. More than anything, he wanted to let her know he understood how it felt to be sad, afraid and alone. His experience was different, but the resulting emotion was much the same.
‘Am I alright to go now, too?’
His eyes flickered back towards Clara and he caught a final glimpse of the tail of her coat as she turned a corner.
‘Go,’ Deirdre replied with a knowing smile. ‘I can finish off here.’
‘See you tomorrow,’ Joe called, already breaking into a jog as he made his way towards the gennel.
He’d definitely lost fitness. By the time Clara was back in view he was panting.
‘Clara!’ he called breathlessly.
She turned quickly, a look of startled surprise on her face.
‘Joe.’
Now he was closer he could see she’d been crying. Even in the semi-darkness her eyes looked red and small.
She laughed. ‘You must think I’m stupid, letting myself get in such a state over him.’ She dragged her hand under her nose and sniffed. It was noisy and ungainly. ‘We were together a long time and even though I know he’s a bastard, I can’t forget the past. We did have some good times along the way.’
‘I take it you didn’t know he was doing the light switch-on?’
She shook her head, the pompom on her bobble hat bobbing like a rabbit’s tail. ‘Not a clue. It’s always Santa, every year. They probably thought Dean was an upgrade.’ She laughed again. ‘I can just imagine how he revelled in being asked. He always liked to think he was some big-wig celeb. In his mind he was the next David Beckham.’
‘He’s well known around here. Especially since the cup run last year.’
The look Clara gave was scathing.
‘Whatever you do, don’t mention the cup run. It was all he ever spoke about.’ She tutted. ‘I went to that game, you know. Third round, versus Rochdale. Me and all the other “wags”. It was bloody freezing. It snowed all second half.’
‘I remember. I went to that match. A year ago this weekend.’
‘Really?’ She looked interested. ‘I’ve not been to a match since we split up. That’s one thing I don’t miss, standing out on the touchline come rain or shine.’
‘I’ll bet.’ He smiled softly. ‘Are you sure you’re alright? It must have shaken you up, seeing him unexpectedly like that.’
‘It’s made me realise what a lucky escape I had,’ she replied, although Joe could tell from the tremor in her voice she was masking her hurt. ‘Did you see him in that ridiculous puffa jacket? He looked like the flaming Michelin man.’
‘He did, too,’ Joe said with a laugh. ‘I bet if he’d fallen over he’d have never been able to get back up again. That coat could double up as one of those sumo-suits they have for corporate away-day bonding sessions.’
‘I wish he had fallen over, and that the photographer had captured it for good measure. And that it had made the front page of the paper. Am I a bad person for saying that?’
‘Nah. Anyone would think the same, given the circumstances.’
‘It’s not even about Dean, really,’ she admitted. ‘The whole situation made me doubt my judgement. I thought I knew him inside and out, but it turned out I never really knew him at all. That’s one hell of an eye-opener.’
‘Not all men are like him.’
‘That’s what Deirdre says, but with his actions, and what happened with my dad …’ Her voice trailed off. ‘I’ve been asked out a few times since me and Dean split up, but I’m not ready to put my heart on the line again.’
‘Not all men are like him,’ Joe repeated. ‘And if you let me take you out somewhere, I’ll prove it.’
He could have sworn her eyes brightened, but when she spoke there was a hesitance in her voice. ‘Are you asking me on a date?’
‘No!’ Joe replied, a fraction too quickly. He forced himself to swallow down his embarrassment. ‘I don’t really do dates. I meant as friends. If we’re going to be working together, we might as well get to know each other.’
‘I can’t decide whether that’s really gentlemanly or if I’m a bit insulted.’
‘Well, I was trying to be gentlemanly …’
‘In that case, I’ll go out with you,’ she said, glancing up through her long, dark lashes. ‘On one condition.’
‘Go on …’
‘I can tell you’re not a fan of Christmas from the way you’ve acted tonight.’ Joe went to talk, but Clara raised mitten-clad hands to stop him. ‘You joined in, but the joy wasn’t shining out of you. Christmas is the most magical time of the year to me. So, I’m going to make a suggestion. You can take me out and show me that not all men are grade-A losers, if you’ll let me share exactly why I love the festive season so much with you.’
Joe sighed. Clara had piqued his curiosity. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘We’ll be seeing a lot of each other anyway, what with you helping out at the youth club every other night, so, as a thank you for volunteering I’d like to give you some festive gifts.’
‘Presents? I don’t think anyone in their right mind would argue with presents.’
‘On the nights you’re at the club I’ll bring you something to remind you why Christmas is so amazing. And on the nights you’re not volunteering, you can pick me up and take me out.’
Joe raised an eyebrow. ‘That escalated quickly. So we’ve gone from one date to multiple dates?’ He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he was aware of his heart beating faster than normal, and the sensation wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
Clara waggled what Joe thought was probably a finger, although it was hard to tell through the silhouette of her pink and blue striped mittens. ‘Not dates, remember? But a chance for you to prove there are still some chivalrous men out there that aren’t either married or gay.’
‘Challenge accepted.’
‘But there’s one more condition.’
‘Name it.’
‘Wherever you take me on these non-dates has to be Christmassy. I don’t care where, but it’s December. I want to feel festive.’
Joe wasn’t sure he was ready to embrace eggnog and carol singing and all the memories that were tangled up with the run-up to Christmas. The tree-decorating and lantern parade had been more than enough festivity for him. But because he already liked Clara he found himself saying, ‘Okay. You’ve got a deal.’
‘Fantastic,’ Clara replied. ‘I’ve got high expectations.’ She smiled before adding, ‘I’ll have your first gift ready for you tomorrow, if one night with the kids hasn’t put you off helping out.’
‘Not at all. I’ll be there with bells on.’
‘See, you’re already getting into the festive mood,’ she laughed as she started walking away. ‘Until tomorrow,’ she called.
‘Until tomorrow,’ Joe echoed, pulling down his beanie to cover the chilly tips of his ears.
As he headed back towards the now-glitzy lights twinkling above the square, Joe was pleasantly surprised there was a new-found spring in his step.
Clara (#u2441c26f-29ff-5aa9-826c-8fb0d389b5d1)
Saturday, December 2
2017
Clara couldn’t wait for Joe to arrive at The Club on the Corner that day so she could give him the first of his gifts. She’d been slogging away all afternoon, sorting out the seemingly endless amount of paperwork that was required to keep a youth club up and running in the twenty-first century, and was ready for some festive frivolity. Admittedly, she’d already managed to distract herself by attaching two new strands of thick golden tinsel to the edge of her desk. She’d seen them in the market that morning and hadn’t been able to resist. It was Christmas, after all.
‘Afternoon,’ Deirdre called cheerily, as she popped her head around the office door. ‘How are the accounts going, busy bee?’
‘Ah, you know. Not the most positive reading.’ Clara pulled a face. No matter how hard she looked at the numbers on the spreadsheets, there was no way she could make them add up. ‘Then again, it’s no worse than normal. We’ll keep ticking over. We always do.’
‘That we will.’ There was a pause, and Clara had a suspicion she knew where Deirdre’s conversation was about to head. She had that look in her eye that suggested she was ready to start digging. ‘So,’ she began, ‘what’s going on with you and Joe?’
‘Nothing,’ Clara replied. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
It was a half-truth, but Clara pushed away the guilt rising in her chest by assuring herself that Deirdre was only concerned with romance, and there was none of that between her and Joe. A hint of harmless flirting and a countdown to Christmas, but no full-blown love affair like her boss was craving.
Deirdre peered over the upper rim of her glasses like a TV detective scrutinising the evidence.
‘Nothing?’ she frowned. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Because the way he came charging after you at the lantern parade … well, it didn’t seem like nothing to me. In fact, I’d go as far as to say it looked like the act of someone trying to get into your good books,’ she pressed, with a suggestive jiggle of her eyebrows. The implied meaning was clear. Deirdre’s voice might be saying ‘good books’, but her eyebrows were saying ‘bed’.
‘You said it yourself, Joe’s a nice guy. He could tell I was shaken after seeing Dean and wanted to make sure I was okay. That’s all there is to it.’
The mention of Dean was all it took to set Deirdre off. Dean-bashing had become one of her favourite hobbies over the past few months.
‘Didn’t he look ridiculous in that massive coat?’ Deirdre said. ‘And what the hell was that dancing all about? What a cock.’
‘Deirdre!’ Clara exclaimed. ‘That’s harsh.’
‘Not harsh enough. I speak as I find.’
Deirdre gingerly lowered herself onto the sofa that backed against the far wall of the office. Her face strained with the effort.
‘Oooof, that’s better,’ she said, sticking her right leg straight out in front of her. ‘My knee’s been giving me gip all day.’
‘You’re doing too much,’ Clara chided. ‘The aches and pains are your body telling you to take things more easily.’
‘Stop giving me orders. You’re not a nurse.’
‘No, I’m not,’ Clara replied, biting her tongue, ‘but I’ve been working with you long enough to know when you’re overdoing it.’
Deirdre’s face softened as she spied the tin of chocolates on Clara’s desk. ‘I’d feel better if I could have one of those orange creams …’
Clara froze rigid. The chocolates were her first festive gift for Joe, but she knew that if she tried to explain the countdown to Deirdre she’d only end up reading more into it than there was. It was easier to say nothing.
Reluctantly, she handed the chocolates over. ‘Knock yourself out,’ she said with a smile she hoped didn’t look forced.
Deirdre was practically salivating as she clamoured to pull back the seal. ‘A brand-new tin, what a treat. Means nobody’s hogged the best ones already.’
‘Like I said, knock yourself out.’
As Deirdre rummaged noisily through the confectionery, seeking the distinctive amber wrapper of her most coveted chocolate, Clara hoped there’d be more than a tin of empty foils to give Joe when he arrived for his shift at six o’clock. Although, she reasoned, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if that was all that remained. Not much says Christmas quite as well as a half-eaten tin of Quality Street.
* * *
By the time they were shutting the heavy doors after the last group of kids had left for the night, Joe looked beat. He leant against the door and let out a long, slow sigh.
‘I don’t know how you do this and look so young. I’m convinced I’ve aged twenty years in one night,’ he said, rubbing his fingertips against his cheeks.
‘Lightweight. One night and you’re ready to throw in the towel?’ Clara clucked her tongue sarcastically. ‘I expected you to have more staying power.’
‘I didn’t say anything about giving up,’ he clarified. ‘Just that I feel like I’ve been mauled by a pack of wolves, and my shoulder’s killing me.’
He massaged the joint, before rolling his shoulder in a circular motion.
‘You should never have told them you could breakdance. You should have known they weren’t going to stop badgering until you demonstrated your windmill,’ Clara teased.
The group of awestruck pre-teens had watched on in amazement as Joe showed off his flips and tricks with apparent ease, and Clara herself had been impressed. These were the kind of moves Diversity would be proud of and, she’d realised, Joe had a look of Ashley Banjo about him. Part of it was the height and rich skin, although Joe’s was darker than the breakdance king’s, but it was more the open face and wide, friendly smile. Clara had to admit, Joe was handsome, and, from what she knew, kind and unassuming too. The total opposite of blonde, show-off Dean in every possible way.
It had been Clara leading the applause when Joe had stood, arms folded across his chest and an unbelievable mean look on his face as he finished his routine, but she wasn’t his only fan. She’d noticed a group of girls whispering, and recognised their giggling ways as a sure-fire sign of a crush on someone older and unobtainable. She’d had a similar infatuation herself when she was twelve, with her maths teacher Mr Miles. He’d been the one thing that had held her interest in trigonometry and quadratic equations.
‘I’ve learned my lesson,’ he said. ‘I’m sure it’s swelling up.’
‘Come on,’ Clara said, nodding to the stairwell. ‘There’s all sorts of stuff in the first-aid cupboard in the office. I’m sure we can find something to make it more bearable.’
