by Katey Lovell
Clara paused, running her tongue quickly over her lips. Her mouth was dry, but she’d come this far, she might as well take the last step.
‘I’m falling in love with you, Joe.’ Her voice cracked as a hint of a smile crept onto Joe’s face. ‘And I think that maybe you might be falling in love with me too.’
She waited for him to speak, a painful moment of silence until he vehemently shook his head.
‘I’m not falling in love with you,’ Joe said with a nervous laugh. ‘It’s too late for that. I’m already head over heels.’
Relief swamped Clara, and she let out a moan she didn’t realise she’d been holding in.
‘Come here,’ he said, arms wide open.
She willingly fell into his embrace, her face pressed against the contours of his chest. His heart pulsed against her cheek as life coursed through him. The moment in his arms felt like forever.
He stepped back and looked at her – really looked at her – before drawing the pad of his thumb along her cheekbone. It was the most sensuous thing she’d ever experienced.
And when their lips finally connected, Clara allowed herself to fall into the moment. It felt so natural, tasting the sweetness of him. It wasn’t like it had been with Dean, or with anyone else. With Joe it was better. Easier. More real. There was nothing to hold them back any more.
‘Merry Christmas, Joe,’ she giggled as they finally came apart for air.
‘Merry Christmas, Clara.’
And as she kissed him again, and again, and again, the hat and scarf set she’d planned to give him remained, forgotten, in her bag.
Joe
Saturday, December 23rd 2017
‘I should have worn something more suitable.’ Clara looked doubtfully at her mid-thigh- length skirt, and Joe knew she was thinking it wasn’t going to offer much protection if she ended up laid flat-out on the cold, smooth surface of the ice rink. ‘At least I’m wearing leggings, I suppose,’ she added. ‘I could have been in tights and that would have been a disaster.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ he reassured her. ‘Once you get out there you’ll be so busy zipping about that you won’t even feel the cold.’
‘Zipping about? You’ve obviously never seen me on ice skates. My balance is abysmal.’ Clara shivered – or maybe shuddered, Joe wasn’t sure. ‘I have a hard enough time staying upright on solid ground, let alone on a sheet of ice.’
‘It’s not real ice,’ Joe said. ‘This plasticky stuff is much easier to stay upright on, I promise. And you’ve got me to look after you. Come on, let’s get these boots hired. You’ll feel more confident when you’re out there.’
Joe hoped he was right. Clara had made it clear she wasn’t entirely comfortable on skates, but this was their first proper date – not a non-date, a real, honest-to-goodness date – and he wanted it to be romantic. Ice skating was supposed to be the ultimate in Christmas romance, wasn’t it? It was in all the Christmas films. Anyway, it was a good excuse for hand-holding and clinging on to each other.
The temporary outdoor ice rink was heaving with skaters; some who could give Torvill and Dean a run for their money, but most of them novices like Joe and Clara. Onlookers gathered to watch around the edge of the rink, mesmerised by the smooth gliding motion of the more eloquent ice dancers (and amused by the disgruntled expressions of those landing with a bump on the ice as they clumsily fell).
Clara jiggled as she waited in the queue, hands buried deep in the pockets of her cherry-red coat.
‘We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,’ Joe offered, noticing her apprehension. ‘We can do something you’re more comfortable with. Although, you can hold on to me if you’re nervous. I’ve not skated in a while, but I used to be pretty decent, once upon a time.’
‘I don’t need a knight in shining armour.’
Joe smiled. ‘I know you don’t. And I’m hardly riding in on a trusty stead. I thought it might reassure you, that’s all.’
‘I trust you,’ she said, taking her hand out of her pocket and sliding it around his waist. The contact sent a fizz up his spine. ‘Just promise you’ll look after me?’
‘Always,’ he answered, slipping his arm around her and pulling her close.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Because we’re nearly at the front of the queue, and if we’re doing this, we’re going to need boots.’
As a nervous smile flickered across her face, Joe hoped Clara wasn’t doing this entirely for his sake. He wanted their first date to be exactly what Clara deserved – nothing less than perfect.
***
‘I don’t know if I can do this.’ Clara pulled her boot away from the ice and back to the safety of the green carpet that lined the rink edge.
A child behind groaned in annoyance. Clara had already made to head out onto the ice three times and changed her mind at the last moment.
‘Of course you can,’ he said, calmly but firmly, taking Clara’s hand in his.
Clara tentatively put first one foot and then the other onto the ice. Joe could feel the tension ripple through her body, her arms locked stiff.
‘We’ll take it slow,’ he assured her, as she reached across his body and clung to his forearm. ‘I promise, I won’t let you go unless you want me to.’
By the time they were on their third snail’s-paced lap of the rink, there was a fiery intent in Clara’s eyes. Her grip on Joe hadn’t loosened, but her knees were more relaxed. Her movement was somewhere between a skate and a walk and could never be described as elegant, or speedy. Nevertheless, Joe was immensely proud of her, for both her effort and for facing her fear head-on, and he told her as much.
Clara looked embarrassed. ‘It’s not much fun for you, babysitting me when you could be whizzing around.’
‘It’s a good excuse to hold your hand,’ he smiled. Her fingers were icy but her palm was warm in his, and wafts of her heady vanilla scent surrounded her. She smelt like a cupcake shop. Super-sweet and delicious.
‘I can always sit out for a while so you can go faster,’ she said hopefully, and Joe laughed.
‘Not a chance. If you sit out, I sit out. I want to spend time with my girlfriend.’
Clara grinned. ‘And I want to spend time with my boyfriend.’
Joe leant down and softly kissed her forehead, not letting go for a second.
‘Aren’t we the most sickening couple?’ he said, still not quite able to process that that’s exactly what they were now – a couple.
‘Totally,’ she said, squeezing his hand.
It was then that Joe’s nose twitched. He tried to avoid the sensation of the sneeze building within him, clamping his mouth shut and wriggling his nose like a bunny in the hope that it’d go away, but he couldn’t stop it. Not a chance. As the roar escaped him, Joe instinctively let go of Clara’s hand to bring his own hand to cover his mouth. The surprise of the action sent Clara off balance and she wobbled, falling almost in slow motion.
Clara looked tiny sitting there on the ice, her hands clasped tightly together in front of her chest. He knew it was to ensure no one skated over her fingers. She’d told Joe that was a phobia of hers more than once as they’d made their way around the rink.
‘I’m sorry. Honestly, Clara, I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to let go, I did it without thinking …’
And then Clara threw her head back and laughed.
‘I know you didn’t mean it, you fool,’ she said, shaking her head. Her furry black earmuffs bobbed. She reminded Joe of Minnie Mouse, but without the annoying whiney voice. ‘But you’re not much of a gentleman leaving me sat here. I’m going to end up with piles.’ She held her hand out to him and Joe pulled her up, relieved not to be in her bad books, even though she was rubbing her coccyx. ‘I bet I look like I’ve wet myself, don’t I?’ she said, trying to peer over her shoulder.
Joe looked. The part of her skirt that covered her bottom was definitely a darker shade than the rest of the denim.
‘And now you’re looking at my b
utt.’ Joe was unsure if her tone was teasing or genuine disapproval.
‘I was only looking because you asked.’
‘Yeah right,’ she said, giving him the side eye. Joe bet Minnie never looked at Mickey like that.
‘It’s true!’ he spluttered. ‘I’m not one of those men who objectifies women.’
‘I know you’re not,’ she assured him.
‘Good.’
Clara linked her arm through his. They moved cautiously together as a brass band played ‘Silent Night’. The sound was haunting and melancholy. Spellbinding, Joe thought. Much like Clara herself.
‘I think you enjoyed it,’ she said, as they sailed into the barrier at the side of the rink.
‘The skating?’
She raised her eyebrows salaciously and her mouth curled at the corners. ‘Looking at my arse.’
Joe could feel his face flush. The truth was, he’d been struggling to banish thoughts of the gentle curve of Clara’s arse ever since her fall.
‘Ta da,’ Clara said, as she bravely let go of the side of the rink for a fraction of a second. Her face was filled with terror, but she was moving, albeit slowly. When she’d negotiated a wobbly turn, her jagged movements seemingly using every bit of strength and courage she had, she grabbed back on to the side.
‘Bravo!’ Joe cheered, clapping his hands together. ‘I knew you could do it.’
‘I genuinely didn’t think I could,’ Clara said with a nervous laugh. ‘I surprised myself there.’
‘You should be really proud. Skating scares you, but you still had a go. “Feel the fear and do it anyway”.’
‘I could barely move,’ Clara admitted. ‘But I did it, didn’t I?’
She was still shaking. It could be because of the Manchester temperature – never warm, especially in the middle of December – but Joe had a sneaky suspicion it was more to do with her nerves than the chill in the air.
‘You did it,’ Joe said. ‘You’re incredible.’
And as he wrapped his arms around her waist and spun her around, he thought that right now he really must be the luckiest man on the planet.
Clara
Sunday, December 24th 2017
Joe and Clara stood in the grounds of St Michael’s church, the winding pathway leading up to the arched entrance. It was enchantingly pretty as the light from inside the church radiated out through the stained-glass windows, the bright colours glowing with festive positivity through the darkness.
‘My head’s buzzing,’ Clara admitted. ‘I can’t stop wondering whether The Club on the Corner will be the charity of the year. Do you think we’ve got a chance?’
‘A great chance. But I’m preparing for a headache after this too,’ Joe laughed, ‘from the noise. The nativity service never goes to plan, but it’s always good fun. The little kids get so into it.’
Two excitable girls ran past, their lacy white dresses flowing behind them as coronets of tinsel crowned their angel costumes.
Clara smiled. After her disastrous outing as a mooing sheep, she’d been an angel herself in numerous nativity plays. She’d hated the feeling of the tinsel scratching against her forehead. One year she’d itched so much that the headmistress had quietly approached her mum to ask if she’d checked for head lice recently. Her mum had been mortified. The year after that she’d been cast as a carol singer, which only required wearing her usual coat, scarf and hat. Far less irritating, but rather dull.
‘They look cute.’
A boy Clara assumed was a king from his pointed crown (a band of cardboard covered with tin foil) was walking obediently alongside his parents, clutching the wrapped box he was holding as though it was a genuine treasure.
‘That’s Stanley,’ Joe said, raising his hand to wave at the young boy. Stanley’s face erupted into an enormous grin, but he didn’t take his hands off the box, carefully protecting the block of gold he had to present to Baby Jesus. ‘His dad is the choir master.’
‘There are more people here than I expected,’ Clara observed. They were milling around chatting, exchanging cards and presents and hugging each other, filled with the festive spirit. ‘Are there always this many?’
‘On Christmas Eve there are,’ Joe replied, ‘but most Sundays it’s noticeably quieter. There’s a strong community, and the members of the congregation are really committed, but Dad wishes more of the people here tonight would come regularly.’
‘I suppose people like the idea of being in a church for the big events. I wouldn’t say I’m a Christian but churches are so calming. I can see why people choose to get married there, even if they don’t believe in God.’
‘I can’t imagine getting married anywhere other than in a church,’ Joe said.
‘I can’t imagine your dad would let you, anyway. He’d want to be the one to marry you, wouldn’t he?’
‘Yeah. I don’t think he’d trust anyone else to run such an important ceremony. Apparently, when I was christened he was a nervous wreck letting someone else take the lead. And that was his best friend from college, my godfather! He likes things to go according to plan.’
Joe was interrupted by the first peal of church bells calling out into the early-evening dusk, their descending scales the very essence of a traditional Christmas.
‘Is that our call to go in?’
Joe nodded. ‘Brace yourself,’ he grinned, linking his arm through Clara’s. ‘They don’t say “you’ve not seen a nativity service until you’ve seen a St Michael’s nativity service” for nothing.’
***
‘Hark the herald angels sing, glory to the new-born king!’
The dulcet tones of Stanley’s dad’s choir might have been well-versed, but the rest of the congregation were far less tuneful. Clara had never heard so many out-of-pitch voices, at least, not since the audition rounds of this year’s X Factor.
‘They’re doing well,’ she whispered, nodding towards the group of angels gathered in front of the font. They resembled statues with their heads held high and still, hands pressed together in prayer. ‘That one at the front can’t even be at school yet.’
The tiny girl had tumbling blonde ringlets framing her chubby face. She was the image of a cherub in a Renaissance painting, unlike the older girl to her right, who had been shoehorned into an ice-blue satin dress that Clara recognised as being the signature outfit of Elsa from Frozen. Her face was hard and fierce, as though she’d rather be anywhere but up on that stage.
‘They’re doing fantastically,’ Joe agreed, ‘but the real fun starts when the animal parade gets going.’
Clara had heard about the live nativity, and although she’d never been to one before she had clear expectations. A donkey, definitely. Maybe a couple of sheep from the nearby city farm, too. After all, shepherds were a key feature of the Christmas story, as the number of children with tea towels tied around their head attested. She was looking forward to it.
Everyone shushed as a confident teenager stepped up to the lectern to tell the next chapter of the Christmas story. A wave of peace washed over Clara as she listened to the familiar verses, and although she wasn’t religious she was glad she’d agreed to come to the service to represent the youth club.
The church was packed, just as Joe had predicted, with fold-out emergency chairs being brought in for latecomers to perch on. The flickering of the tall white candles that flanked the altar went some way to disguising the chill in the air of the old building.
The story played out before her, with ‘Mary’ whipping a baby Jesus (who looked remarkably similar to the Baby Annabel Clara had seen repeatedly advertised on TV in the weeks leading up to Christmas) from behind a strategically placed bale of hay to an enthusiastic round of applause from the congregation.
‘And on that note, it’s time to bring the animals to the stable to celebrate the arrival of Our Lord,’ said Reverend Smith, a look of mild panic registering on his face. ‘Let’s hope our furry friends are better behaved than they were last year,’ he added.
‘There was a bit of trouble between a Chihuahua and a Great Dane,’ Joe said, biting down on his lip. ‘There’s Scooby over there, look,’ he said, nodding in the direction of a frazzled- looking woman struggling to pull an enormous mutt towards the front of the church. Clara had never seen a Great Dane in real life before, but Scooby was bigger than she’d imagined, more like a Shetland pony than a dog.
Clara raised her hand to her mouth. ‘Was the Chihuahua alright?’ The lack of handbag-sized dogs at St Michael’s tonight was mildly perturbing. Could Scooby have eaten the miniature canine in one mouthful?
‘Was the Chihuahua alright?’ Joe repeated with a chuckle. ‘Oh yeah, Petal was fine. It was poor Scooby who came off worse, dopey thing that he is. He’s blind in one eye, so wasn’t ready when Petal decided to start biting his leg. She drew blood and everything. It caused quite a stir.’
‘I can imagine.’
Clara scanned the animals on the stage. There was a dapple-grey donkey with a doleful expression on his face, probably wondering what all the fuss was about, but the majority of the animals were domestic pets. Clara highly doubted there were four pugs present at the virgin birth, let alone the dirt-brown snake that Leon, a regular at youth club, had around his neck. It gave her the heebie-jeebies. She’d never like snakes.