by Katey Lovell
‘Not because you’re trying to fit into some macho stereotype, I hope?’
‘Do you know me at all? No, I’ve just never found it easy to cry. I feel it all in here …’ He patted his chest twice in quick succession, ‘But for some reason the tears don’t often come.’
‘As long as you don’t feel you can’t.’
‘I’m fine, Clara. Live music, a roaring fire, a beer in my hand … it’s not all bad.’
Clara smiled. ‘Not to mention my scintillating company and conversation.’
‘That’s been the highlight,’ he teased. ‘How do you know I’m not actually a secret collector of wellies? I might have a whole room dedicated to them, for all you know.’
‘That might be the end of our friendship. I’m calling it – wellies are officially the worst footwear in the world. Along with all other plastic shoes, of course.’
‘Of course,’ he said, taking a large swig of his lager. The pint glass was half empty now, or half full, depending on how you looked at it. ‘But seriously, thank you. I’ve enjoyed tonight, and I never would have expected to find myself saying that when I left the flat. The anniversary is always difficult.’
‘Thank you for showing me the Advent windows. I had a great time, although I’m sure I can feel blisters swelling up underneath these socks,’ she said, peeping the colourful striped socks out from underneath the table and playfully waggling her toes.
‘Sounds painful,’ Joe said, with a nod that suggested mock sympathy. ‘Maybe another drink is the answer? It might help numb the pain.’
‘Go on, then,’ she said, knocking back what was left of her wine. ‘Purely for medicinal reasons.’
‘Of course,’ said Joe with a wink as he pushed himself out of the chair. ‘These are on me,’ he added, patting the bulge his wallet was making on his hipbone. ‘And thanks again for being such good company.’
As Joe made his way to the bar, Clara’s smile turned into a full-on laugh. Joe’s besocked feet were padding mutely across the filthy floor.
When Joe reached the bar, he turned to look at Clara.
He trusted her. He wanted to tell her everything.
Clara
Wednesday, December 20th 2017
‘This isn’t a traditional Christmas present,’ she said apologetically. ‘Not like the others.’
Joe feigned a look that Clara assumed was supposed to register ‘aghast’.
‘Surely the Christmas queen isn’t running out of ideas? I thought you’d have an endless list of perfect festive gifts compiled.’
‘Oh, I do,’ she laughed. ‘I’m like Santa himself, making a list and checking it twice, three times, four times…’
‘I hope I’m on the nice list,’ Joe replied, ‘after taking you to some of the best places Manchester’s got to offer.’
‘If Santa’s been keeping an eye on you you’ll have plenty of presents under your tree next week. I’ve loved every minute of our adventures. Although you wouldn’t know it from what I’m about to give you.’ She reached into her bag and pulled out a small brown paper bag that doubled as wrapping paper. ‘It’s really not much,’ she said apologetically, ‘and I’m having a bit of gift-buying regret. I was in a bit of a silly mood. I blame the wine last night. I swear I was still drunk when I woke up. You should have stopped me!’
They’d stayed at the pub much longer than they’d planned, eventually getting thrown out at closing time, with Clara grumbling about having to encase her feet in the offending wellies, especially as on inspection they had caused some rather nasty blisters on her heels. She’d lost count of how many drinks she’d had altogether, but she’d estimate five. Or maybe six. No wonder she felt as if her brain cells were imploding. The Alka Seltzer had helped but hadn’t yet restored her to the best version of herself. Urgh.
‘I drank as much as you, but I made sure I had two pints of water before going to bed,’ he said virtuously. ‘That always keeps the hangovers at bay.’
‘You should have made me drink water too,’ moaned Clara.
‘I did. Don’t you remember? When we stopped off at the chippy?’
‘We had chips? I don’t remember.’
‘Large chips, cheese and gravy,’ he corrected. ‘And a bottle of water each.’
‘Why don’t I remember that? That’s my favourite meal.’
‘Erm … because you were drunk?’ Joe laughed. ‘Surely you remember going to the park?’
Clara shook her head blankly.
‘You were insistent that we went on the swings. And the slide. And you wanted to go on the monkey bars too, until you realised that even you were tall enough to reach them without your feet leaving the ground.’
‘Oh, the shame.’ Clara could feel her cheeks flushing. ‘I’m a terrible drunk, always making a fool of myself. At least I wasn’t sick this time.’ When Joe failed to reply she panicked. ‘I wasn’t, was I?’
‘You weren’t,’ he reassured her. ‘It was fun, and I was as bad. I pretty much bullied you into going on the seesaw, because despite being almost thirty I love a seesaw.’
Clara giggled, a vague recollection of Joe whooping as he flew into the air coming to mind. ‘It was a good night, wasn’t it? And good to talk. Although it’s a shame we won’t get to see the rest of the Advent windows.’
‘We could do the last few another time, if you want to. Maybe on Christmas Eve, before the church service.’
‘Don’t talk to me about that. The thought of us not being selected as the charity of the year makes me feel a bit sick. Those donations would make such a difference to a group like ours.’
‘It’d make a difference to whichever charity gets chosen,’ Joe corrected, and Clara immediately felt guilty. Just because The Club on the Corner meant so much to her, it didn’t mean the other charities weren’t also worthy recipients. She just wanted to give kids like Jordan somewhere safe and supportive to go.
‘I know, and they all make this a great community to be part of. But it’d be brilliant if we could get some help. More income would mean we could let more kids through the door. We might even be able to give the place a bit of a facelift too. Look at the walls in here! It must be years since this room had a lick of paint.’
‘Do you want to see something?’ Joe said, beckoning her towards a corner of the room.
Clara followed, curious.
‘You’ll have to bend down,’ he said.
Joe crouched, and Clara mirrored him, unsure what he could be showing her in the corner of the games room. They hadn’t used it for anything other than storage for the past year – partly because of the shabby paintwork and partly because it was one less room to heat – and first impressions didn’t suggest there was anything out of the ordinary about this particular corner.
‘Look.’
Joe pointed to a gap between the skirting board and a plug socket. When Clara couldn’t see what he was trying to show, she lowered herself to her knees.
There on the wall, in tiny script, she saw his name.
‘When did you do this?’ she asked, rubbing her finger over the writing. The blue biro was as vibrant as if it had been put there only yesterday.
‘I can’t remember exactly. Years ago. Forever ago.’
‘This shows you can be a rebel, once in a while,’ she said with a smile.
‘It shows how long it is since this room’s been redecorated,’ he corrected. ‘But maybe it’ll be restored to its former glory before too long. We need to have a little faith.’ He nodded at the gift she was still holding. ‘Am I ever going to get today’s present?’ he asked with a smile.
‘It’s not at all Christmassy,’ Clara apologised, ‘but after our conversation last night I saw this and it made me think of you.’
‘This is great,’ he said, immediately taking the mug out of its box and smiling at the image on the front. Dave Grohl’s face looked warped on the curved surface of the mug. ‘I’ll always love Foo Fighters and this is perfect. Thank you. I’ll leave it here so I
won’t have to drink out of the awful mugs from the cupboard any more.’
‘That’s what I thought. You’ve lasted this long, so you earned a mug of your own.’
Most of the mugs at The Club on the Corner were functional but ugly, mainly freebies advertising local businesses. Clara, Deirdre and Lynsey had their own, brought in from home and closely guarded, and she’d noticed him looking mildly envious whenever they brewed up and he had to make do with a receptacle advertising landscape gardeners or double-glazers.
‘And Foo Fighters too. Best live band on the planet, bar none.’
‘You’ll not be saying that after I’ve dragged you to see Take That,’ Clara said, a naughty gleam in her eye.
‘Did you watch the Foo Fighters when they headlined Glastonbury back in the summer? Hit after hit and they got better as the night went on. Overran, but no one cared because they’re epic,’ he enthused. ‘Dave Grohl is a legend. I could listen to him play forever and my ears wouldn’t tire of it.’
‘They’re not my cup of tea, but I’m glad you like the mug. Might encourage you to do the tea run a bit more often.’
‘Thanks, Clara,’ he said, pulling her in for a hug. He squeezed her close and she could smell his aftershave, a dark, mysterious aniseed aroma.
‘Not just for this,’ he clarified, ‘For last night too, and for being such a good friend.’
‘You’re welcome,’ she breathed, not rushing to disentangle herself from his embrace. Because, as much as she hated to admit it to herself, being close to Joe was a pleasure and a thrill.
***
The kids had all gone, leaving the hall in disarray, and just Joe and Clara to tidy the mess. Deirdre had left early to celebrate her neighbour Enid’s birthday. Enid, a spritely one hundred today, wanted to show off her birthday cards, particularly the one from the palace. She was a staunch royalist.
‘I haven’t got the energy tonight,’ Clara said. ‘Shall we just chuck all the resources into the storage crates for now and sort it out properly tomorrow?’
‘Sure,’ Joe replied, getting stuck into the tidying straight away. ‘Then maybe I’ll put the kettle on and have another cup of tea. I swear it tastes better out of my new mug.’
Clara chuckled. ‘I’ll join you. Let’s take this stuff through to the games room first, so it’s out of the way.’
Between the two of them it didn’t take long to collect up the books, games and craft activities. It was as they were putting them into the storage space that Clara thought she heard Joe speak. This voice was exceptionally quiet, and it wasn’t until he repeated himself more loudly that Clara heard what he was saying.
‘I should have died, not Michelle.’
She turned to face him, lowering the plastic crate to the ground. His features were crumpled, his eyes brimming with tears. Seeing him in such obvious pain hurt her, and Clara instinctively placed her hand on his shoulder in an attempt to offer comfort.
‘We were in the car together, on our way home from a party. It was a Christmas do someone on her course had organised. We hadn’t even wanted to go.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘I’d been drinking, so Michelle said she’d drive. It wasn’t far, five minutes at the very most, and the roads weren’t busy. It was the middle of the night.’
He paused, closing his eyes. Clara waited, not wanting to push him. He would talk when he was ready.
‘We got into the car and she put on her seatbelt. I didn’t bother. Didn’t think it was worth it for such a short drive.’
Clara thought back to the night when they’d taken Cally to the hospital and he’d taken such care to ensure his seatbelt was secure. Vaguely recalled a comment about getting strapped in when they’d shared a taxi together after their night on Oldham Street.
‘We were almost home, literally at the junction at the end of our road, when it happened. Someone pulled out at high speed.’ He wiped the back of his hand under his nose and sniffed before continuing. ‘They smashed into us with force. I went straight through the windscreen. My torso was cut to ribbons but by some miracle there was no internal damage. I’ve got the scars, though.’
That explained the marks she’d seen.
‘Michelle wasn’t as lucky. The other car had hit her side. The seatbelt, the air bag … none of it was enough to protect her. None of it was enough to keep her alive.’
Clara didn’t know how to respond. Words didn’t seem adequate, somehow.
So instead, she put a lesson she’d learned from her mum into action and said, ‘Let’s finish talking about this over a cup of tea.’
Joe
Thursday, December 21st 2017
‘Ouch!’
Joe rubbed his ribs, which had been elbowed by an overzealous woman determined to get her greedy mitts on the last copy of the latest album by the boy band of the moment.
‘Are you okay?’ Clara asked, with concern. ‘We should have known better than to come to the Trafford Centre four days before Christmas. It was never going to be anything other than a total nightmare.’
‘It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have left it to the last minute. Or I could have done it all online from the comfort of my own sofa. That would have been less painful.’
‘In every sense,’ Clara added, with a grin that infuriated Joe. Not because he couldn’t take a bit of ribbing – he could hold his own when bantering with his mates – but because she looked so damn cute with that cheeky look. Like a little elf, or something, but not one of those creepy ones. More like Zooey Deschanel. Impish and mischievous and one hundred per cent adorable.
This was what he’d discovered about Clara O’Connell. She had the capacity to be a minx one minute, but a confidante the next. They’d spent the previous night talking, crying and laughing together, and he’d told her things he’d not revealed to anyone before. He’d been surprised by how much it helped, and how she’d known when to talk and when to merely listen.
Joe scanned the rows of DVDs and Blu-rays that made up the charts, desperately hoping he’d find the one Simone had her heart set on. She’d given clear instructions. It had to be the limited-edition version as it had extra features – outtakes and a director’s cut and an interview with the household-name actress who played the lead.
When he recognised the shiny green box from the picture his sister had sent him on WhatsApp (she’d sent it four times, just to make absolutely sure Joe knew what he was looking for) he felt a wave of relief. What’s more, there were at least ten copies of it, so he wouldn’t have to fight anyone for it. Thank goodness Simone wasn’t into boy bands. He wouldn’t have been able to face traipsing around endless shops looking for that must-have CD, and anyway, the lead singer freaked him out. He had the most ridiculously high quiff that must require a crazy amount of gel to stay upright, especially when gyrating around on the stage. Maybe Joe was jealous because his own hair had receded early. He’d decided to shave the lot off to save the hassle.
‘Very funny,’ he said drily, as he took the Blu-ray off the shelf and placed it into the plastic basket alongside a Stevie Wonder CD for his mum.
‘That’s another tick on your list,’ Clara said. ‘So who else do you need to buy for?’
‘My dad. Billy and Emma. Something noisy for Roman. And I probably ought to get Deirdre a present too, although I’ve no idea what.’
‘I’ve already bought and wrapped all my presents.’ She was borderline smug.
‘Of course you have. You’re the sort of person who ties them up with curling ribbon.’
Clara jutted out her chin. ‘I like things to look nice.’
‘I’ve noticed how neatly the countdown gifts you’ve given me are tied. There’s been a perfectly symmetrical bow on almost every gift.’
Clara’s cheeks went scarlet, making her look even more like one of Santa’s little helpers. All she needed was a green and red hat and she’d be set, Joe thought with a smile.
‘You’ll have to wait and see the full force of my wrapping prowess when I give you your final
present for Christmas Day.’
Joe’s head cocked. He hadn’t been expecting a present to go under the tree, not when Clara had already been giving him gifts for the best part of a month.
‘You don’t have to get me anything. Honestly, you’ve given me more than enough already. Save your money,’ he begged.
‘Too late. I told you, I bought all my gifts weeks ago.’
‘You didn’t have to …’ he started.
‘I know I didn’t. I wanted to.’
He couldn’t deny the glow that built inside him at that comment, and even though he knew Clara had only bought him a present because she was a kind-hearted Christmas fanatic, who’d use any excuse to buy and wrap another gift, Joe liked that she’d thought of him.
‘Santa will be transferring you to the nice list at this rate,’ Joe replied. ‘It was worth posting your letter after all.’
Clara had considered waited in line to meet the main man, but when it became evident they’d be waiting all night to see Santa along with every child in the shopping centre, she’d settled for leaving a letter in his special post box. Joe had loved seeing her so giddy, so childlike, as the grotto had come into view.
He was still in his dreamy bubble when a tall, burly man in a puffa jacket barged into him, bringing him right back down to earth.
‘Sorry mate,’ came a gruff voice.
Joe’s heart sank further as Clara stood frozen, mouth agog.
Dean.
Dean with a woman in a navy-blue tunic with a fob watch pinned over her breast pocket, who Joe suspected was the woman he’d cheated on Clara with.
***
‘I’m sorry,’ Clara said, rapidly flapping her hands in front of her face. Joe knew she was fighting back angry tears. ‘I shouldn’t have run like that.’
‘You can’t help how you feel.’
Joe emptied a sachet of sugar into his coffee, although it was probably sweet enough already, what with the festive vanilla spice syrup he’d asked the barista to add. All the same, it had suddenly become a day where sugar seemed necessary.
‘I don’t feel anything!’ Clara’s voice was high and pitchy. ‘I’m just angry that he’s parading around with her on his arm. And when he tried to strike up a conversation …’ Clara let out a puff of frustration. ‘What would I have to talk about with him? I had to get out of there, and fast.’