скачать книгу бесплатно
She started up the stairs, her fingers tickling the strands of tinsel that were wrapped around the banister.
‘Ouch,’ Joe said, as he slowly followed in Clara’s footsteps. ‘I think I’ve strained a muscle in my thigh too. I’ve not pulled off those moves for the best part of ten years.’
‘Well, you’ve still got it.’ Clara was glad Joe couldn’t see her face, which was half smug grin and half flushed cheeks. ‘Right,’ she said, pulling open a tall cupboard and whipping out a green bag marked with a white cross, ‘let’s see what’s in here.’
She unloaded bandages and plasters (always near the top, as they were the most frequently used) until she found a tube of Deep Heat. She tossed it to Joe, who caught it with one hand and a wince, before checking the use-by date.
‘These aren’t standard first-aid kit supplies,’ Joe noted.
‘This is the staff first-aid kit.’ Clara held up some of the other contents, which included a box of Alka Seltzer and a family-sized box of Rennies. ‘The Deep Heat is Deirdre’s, for when her leg’s playing up. She says the warmth helps her bones.’
Joe smiled. ‘And the Alka Seltzer?’
‘Mine,’ Clara admitted, shamefaced. ‘I had a couple of big nights out when I split up with Dean. I never came to work drunk,’ she added hastily, ‘but there were a couple of occasions where I was a bit … let’s say “worse for wear”.’
‘Ah,’ Joe said, raising a knowing eyebrow. ‘They work wonders, don’t they?’
He squirted a generous dollop of the smelly cream onto the palm of his hand before rubbing it into his shoulder, and Clara watched as he closed his eyes with blessed relief and exhaled.
‘That’s taken the edge off,’ he said finally.
‘I’ve got something else that might cheer you up.’ Clara walked to the desk and picked up the now half-empty tub. ‘This was supposed to be your first gift.’
His eyes lit up at the sight of the trademark purple packaging. ‘Chocolate. That’s exactly what I need right now.’
‘Don’t get too excited. Deirdre got to them before I had chance to hide them away.’
His lips curled up into a knowing smile. ‘So my first gift is a half-eaten tin of chocolates?’
‘Yep,’ Clara replied with a chuckle, relieved Joe could see the funny side of the situation. ‘I’m a chocoholic, but Deirdre is something else. As soon as she saw them she pounced. I’ll have to up my game next time I bring anything sweet for you.’
She handed him the tin and he prised off the lid. It popped as it loosened. ‘At least all the good ones are left,’ he said, taking in the golden wrappers of the toffees.
‘That’s because Deirdre can only have the soft centres. The chewy ones play havoc with her false teeth.’
Joe pulled at either end of the wrapper of a slender toffee finger, the sweet twisting as he unravelled it from its shimmering casing. He moaned as he popped it into his mouth.
‘So my first gift was a good choice, then?’
‘Mmm,’ Joe replied with a nod, still chewing on his toffee. ‘The Deep Heat works, but this is the best medicine.’
He swallowed it down, then offered the tin to Clara, who shook her head.
‘I’ll admit it, I had a few earlier too. What’s left are all yours.’
‘I admire your honesty.’
‘So food works as a gift for you?’
‘Food’s always a good choice,’ he said, selecting a second chocolate.
‘That’s useful to know.’
‘And what about you? I’m supposed to be taking you out on a non-date tomorrow,’ he reminded her. ‘And the place I was thinking of probably involves half your daily calorie intake. You’re not one of these women who doesn’t eat, are you?’
Clara swallowed down the laugh that was rising in her throat, thinking of how much she loved her food. If it wasn’t for her constant nervous energy about the future of The Club on the Corner she’d probably be a good few dress sizes larger than she was.
‘It’s safe to say food’s always good with me, too,’ she confirmed. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’
And she realised with a jolt that she was. She really, really was.
Joe (#u2441c26f-29ff-5aa9-826c-8fb0d389b5d1)
Sunday, December 3
2017
Clara tilted her head back as she inhaled the super-sweet aroma that lingered in the air. Sugared almonds and cinnamon. Whiskey and mulled wine. Balsam and fir trees.
‘This place smells amazing.’
Joe grinned. ‘I know, right? The food here is incredible too. We’ll have to make sure we sample as much as we can.’
The Christmas market was thronging with people, all wrapped up against the elements with their thick coats, bobble-topped hats and woolly scarves. Wind-chapped cheeks and noses bright enough to rival Rudolph himself were all that was on show other than their eyes, sparkling with festive joy as they took in the array of wooden cabins selling everything from tree decorations to squidgy pastel cubes of fresh Turkish delight.
For tonight Manchester’s Albert Square was the heart of the city, alive with cheer. It was full of life and energy and the overwhelming sense of togetherness that the city had become known for after the horrific terrorist attack earlier in the year. Manchester was resilient, and Joe felt he had a lot he could learn from his home city.
‘Look at that!’ Clara squealed, pointing to a wooden hut selling squishy ring doughnuts by the dozen. They were piled high, dusted in a fine layer of speckled sugar that looked like morning frost. ‘Oh, I bet they taste amazing. And the stall next to it is selling Gluhwein. I could do with something spicy and alcoholic after the day I’ve had.’
‘We’ll drink later,’ Joe promised, ‘but let’s get something to eat first.’
‘Doughnuts?’ Clara sounded hopeful.
‘I was thinking something a bit more substantial,’ Joe laughed. He’d purposely not eaten all day, saving himself for the delicious fare on offer.
Clara pouted. ‘Spoilsport.’
‘You’ll enjoy your doughnut even more after a hot dog, I promise. Especially from the stand over there.’
He waved his hand in the direction of the town hall, where an enormous orange-faced Santa proudly watched over proceedings from his lofty vantage point high up above the entrance of the neo-gothic building. Joe couldn’t tell if it was meant to resemble Zippy from Rainbow or not, but it did. He found the Santa bizarre, and slightly sinister, so rather than dwell on it he grabbed Clara’s hand and began to weave his way through the crowds.
It was busier than he’d anticipated. He’d thought people might be having a quiet night in front of the telly before all the Christmas madness and mayhem really kicked off in the next week or so, but no … it seemed everyone in Manchester had decided tonight was the night to head to the town centre and splash the cash on gourmet food and overpriced Christmas ‘necessities’.
He’d been to one of the big European markets on Billy’s stag do. They’d wanted to go to Oktoberfest, but Billy’s brother hadn’t been able to get holiday from work at the start of the academic year. He was a chemistry lecturer, based at Manchester Met, and September and October were no-no’s for time off, unless he wanted to make enemies with the course leaders before he’d really started; so everyone else had fitted in around his plans instead. It wasn’t like he was the groom, nor even the best man (that honour had gone to Joe, and he’d been exceptionally proud of being picked for the job), but Billy had compromised on the stag do in a magnanimous act of brotherly love.
The group of ten had booked a dirt-cheap flight that set off from Manchester Airport at an ungodly hour and a ‘bargain’ hotel that had turned out to be a filthy hovel well out of Munich city centre. They’d had to get an underground train to access anything more than a corner shop or the ladies of the night that had lurked opposite the hotel’s main entrance, and Joe had accessed neither, nor had he wanted to. Some of the other lads had, though, which had repulsed Joe. He’d never had so much as a one-night stand and prostitutes were way beyond his moral compass.
On the last night, when he was steaming drunk after too many tankards of beer to count, he’d given a handful of euros to one of the girls. She couldn’t have been much older than Simone was now, her thick red lipstick clown-like and gaudy, her black dress short, tight and low- cut. There had been a sadness to her face, and her eyes darted around the shadows of the surrounding alleyways as she took the money. At the time Joe had thought she was afraid he was going to attack her, but with hindsight he thought the girl was scared in case her pimp saw her taking money from a potential client without earning it. He’d wished he could speak German, but as it was he could only say ‘Danke’ as he gave her the money, which he later realised meant ‘thank you’ rather than ‘please’. It weighed heavy on his mind and heart that he’d never know her fate.
He was snapped out of his thoughts as Clara shouted, ‘Don’t you just love it here?’ Even at full volume her voice could barely be heard above the blend of laughter and chatter and the mellow Christmas panpipe music blaring out over the speakers.
Joe didn’t love the crowds, but the way Clara’s face was shining perked him up enough to smile; that and the sight of the bratwurst sausage logo coming into view.
‘We made it,’ Joe said breathlessly as they joined a queue of people waiting for hot dogs. ‘And I promise they’re worth the fuss. I reluctantly came with Simone last week because she wanted to start her Christmas shopping and we ended up eating two of these beauties each.’
‘Two? But they’re enormous!’
Joe looked to the ground, guilty as charged. ‘I know. But honestly, when you’ve tasted it you’ll see why one wasn’t enough. They’re incredible. And we had to make the most of it, because once the markets are gone for another year there won’t be the opportunity to have them again until next November or December.’
‘Ah, so you’re making the most of the opportunity by aiming to eat your annual quota of hot dogs in a month.’
‘Exactly.’
The round-faced man in the hut was wearing a gigantic furry hat with earflaps that hung down like spaniels’ ears. It was at odds with the professional-looking apron he was wearing, the combination giving him the air of an eccentric elf. He beamed as he rubbed his palms together. ‘Good evening!’
‘Good evening,’ Joe echoed. ‘Can we have two of your finest hot dogs, please?’
The man nodded as he pressed the meat into a bread roll. The sausage was too long, poking out at both ends, and Joe was already salivating at the thought.
‘Onions?’ the man asked.
‘Yes, please,’ Clara replied quickly. ‘And lots of them.’
Joe pulled a face and shook his head. ‘No thanks.’
Clara looked on in disbelief. ‘A hot dog without onions? What are you, some kind of maverick? Next you’ll be saying you don’t have red sauce.’
‘I don’t.’
The look of sheer horror that passed over Clara’s face at that revelation made Joe snort with laughter.
‘I can’t believe I’m willingly spending time with someone who has such terrible taste in hot dogs. I bet you’re one of those weirdoes who has mustard too, aren’t you?’ The man offered the hot dog to Clara, loaded high with the soft, curled onions. She reached straight for the bottle of red sauce and drew two thick lines of ketchup along the top of the sausage. ‘Red sauce is the only way forward when it comes to hot dogs.’
Joe accepted a hot dog from the man and handed him a note in payment. When Clara reached for her purse, Joe stopped her. ‘My treat,’ he said, as she gratefully withdrew her hand from her bag and bit into her food.
‘Mmmm,’ she said, her eyes closing as she chewed the hot dog. ‘This is amazing.’
Joe couldn’t hide his pride, as though he’d made it himself from scratch. ‘I know, right? And I think it tastes better because we’re out in the cold and there’s all the smells. It tricks your senses into thinking it’ll taste a certain way and then it doesn’t at all. It’s a million times better.’
‘I couldn’t eat it like that, though,’ Clara said, nodding her head towards Joe’s plain hot dog.
‘I like it naked.’ As soon as Joe realised what he’d said he waited for Clara to pounce as she undoubtedly would.
‘If that’s not too much information then I don’t know what is,’ she said, with a salacious giggle.
Joe glanced coyly at the floor before meeting her eyes.
‘Oh, stop acting all innocent and virtuous, you don’t have to get embarrassed,’ she said. ‘We’re only having a laugh.’
She wrapped her mouth around the hot dog sausage and although he knew it wasn’t meant to be sexual – she was only eating, after all – Joe was aware of his cheeks getting warm. All the innuendo was making him hot under the collar.
‘I’m a vicar’s son, remember? I am innocent and virtuous.’
As though to prove the point he fluttered his eyelashes, and Clara laughed. It was a beautiful laugh, Joe thought, full on and loud and brimming over with positivity. Being around Clara was certainly a tonic. The heaviness that weighed down his heart lessened in her presence.
‘Yeah, right. I bet you’re not as innocent as you make out. No one is.’
‘That sounds like an invite for me to ask about your deepest, darkest secrets.’
‘Uh huh.’ She shook her head. ‘No way. This is about you, not me! Come on. Share something that’ll surprise me.’
Joe thought for a moment as he chewed on the sausage. The herbs and spice exploded on his tongue, fizzing like fireworks against the roof of his mouth. What could he share? Nothing about Michelle, not yet, and nothing about his ambivalence towards many aspects of life, either. He wracked his brains for something witty and light-hearted. There were plenty of minor exploits from his youth, but nothing shock-worthy. The time Billy dared him to go into the ladies’ toilets at The Club on the Corner and Deirdre had been lurking outside waiting for him because one of the girls had snitched on him. He’d got into a lot of trouble over that. Or when he’d downed the best part of a bottle of White Lightning behind the bus shelter, again a dare from Billy. Billy was almost always involved when he got in trouble, now he thought about it.
‘I kissed a boy once.’ The words were out of his mouth before he could think about what he was revealing.
‘Really?’ She looked surprised. ‘Even if I’d had a hundred guesses, I wouldn’t have predicted you were going to say that.’
‘Sometimes there’s more to people than meets the eye.’
‘You can’t say something like that and just leave it there,’ she said, looking forlornly at the now-empty napkin. All that was left of her hot dog were a few stray crumbs and a smear of red sauce. ‘Come on. Spill the beans.’
‘There’s not much to spill. It was during my first month at uni. The guy I lived next to in halls had a friend come to stay.’ He could picture him clearly in his mind’s eye, even now – the slicked-back blonde hair, the sharp, pale features, the all-black clothes. ‘He looked like the actor who played Draco Malfoy in the Harry Potter films.’
Clara nodded her approval. ‘Not bad.’
‘We all went out to a club, everyone from our floor, and when we got back someone suggested we played spin the bottle. There were maybe ten of us still up, all steaming drunk. And when he spun the bottle, it landed on me. I thought he’d kiss the girl I was sat next to instead because he’d been flirting with her all night, but he didn’t. He walked straight across the middle of the circle and lowered down onto his haunches, placed his hands on my cheeks and kissed me.’
Clara fanned her hand in front of her face. ‘Sounds hot.’
‘It wasn’t. Not for me, anyway.’
Michelle had been there, sat on the other side of the circle, watching in amusement, not remotely threatened by someone else kissing him. If roles had been reversed he’d have been squirming with jealousy, but then Michelle had always been easy-going, a free spirit. She’d teased him mercifully about it forever more. At least, as forever more as they’d been granted, which hadn’t been long enough.
‘Were there tongues?’
Joe pressed his lips firmly together, wondering what had made him willingly share something so personal with Clara, who he barely knew. He’d not breathed a word of this to anyone who hadn’t been there, not even Billy.
‘Yeah.’
‘You’re a dark horse, Joe Smith. Snogging men after a drunken night out. I wouldn’t have had you down as the type.’
‘It was a game,’ he shrugged. ‘And it wasn’t for me. Anyway, why is it me revealing all this stuff? Make it fair, come on. Tell me more about you.’
‘I might go down in your estimation if I tell you too much.’
‘Not a chance.’
‘When I was fourteen I let Darren Wilder touch my boobs at the school disco.’
