by Katey Lovell
Once all the animals were in the spotlight, Reverend Smith invited everyone to stand to sing the final carol of the night, ‘Away in a Manger’, and although the vocal abilities of the church-goers hadn’t improved since their earlier efforts, Clara found it especially moving to see the children dressed up, as the familiar Christmas carol echoed around the 200-year-old church. The skin on the back of her neck rose into goose bumps beneath her scarf.
But it was when Joe laced his fingers through hers at the start of the third and final verse, Clara’s goose bumps multiplied. It was as though every hair on her body stood to attention, and she was glad she hadn’t removed her bobble hat. If she had she’d probably look as if she was being electrified. She was sure a million volts were surging through her body.
She squeezed tightly, marvelling at how right it felt to have his hand in hers. She took in the weave of their grip, their entwined hands reminding her of a piano keyboard as his black skin contrasted with the pale tone of her own.
***
Chaos ensued as a gaggle of proud parents scrambled forward to take photos of their offspring in their costumes, and dogs who’d had enough of being the centre of attention began yapping. The large ginger cat belonging to Joe’s family had made himself comfortable, though, snuggling into the bed of hay where Baby Annabel had been earlier.
Joe’s hand pulled away from Clara’s as he bent down to pick up a hymn sheet, which had fallen to the floor. She was surprised by the overwhelming sense of longing that filled her, the desire to reach hurriedly out and take his warm hand back in her own. She hadn’t been looking for love. She hadn’t even wanted it, but somehow it seemed to have crept up on her, muddled in with tinsel and Gluhwehn and Christmas carols.
After everyone had got their pictures to preserve this moment in history (or more likely to be uploaded online and never looked at again once the ‘likes’ stopped coming in), Joe’s father took his place at the pulpit and, with a look of quiet relief, sent the children back to their parents.
‘I’m sure you’ll all agree that the tradition of the St Michael’s nativity service on Christmas Eve is a very special one. It’s an opportunity for our community to come together and celebrate Jesus’s birth, just as those present in the stable did over two thousand years ago. New life is worthy of the biggest celebration, and for many of us in the twenty-first century Christmas is the biggest annual celebration of them all. It’s become a month-long party of rich foods, alcohol, lavish gifts and excess, and with so many modern distractions it can be easy to forget what it’s all about. That’s why we take this opportunity to share the charity we’ll be supporting throughout the next year, as a timely reminder of the message Jesus taught us – to love one another. The charity St Michael’s will be working with from January is one that is very dear to my heart. The committee voted unanimously in favour of supporting this safe, inspiring organisation, which has benefited many people in this church. It gives me great pleasure to announce our charity of the year for 2018 is The Club on the Corner youth group.’
Clara gasped.
Everyone was applauding, and the woman who worked at the post office patted Clara’s back in congratulation.
‘Did you know we’d been chosen?’
Joe’s expression said it all, and the soft nod of his head confirmed to Clara what she already knew. ‘I only knew for definite this morning. Dad says people were really enthusiastic about it. We’ve had a few parishioners express an interest in volunteering to help too, including the lady who runs the Sunday School. Everyone wants to help us, Clara. People didn’t realise how desperate things had got.’
Clara cupped her hand over her mouth, unable to take it all in.
‘So as well as the fundraising, people are going to give up their time?’
‘They’ll need to go through the necessary checks, obviously. But yes, so many people have offered their services. Stanley’s dad even said he’d start up a rock choir, if there was enough interest. The choir at church is mainly made up of older members of the congregation, and I think he’s hoping this might bring in a bit of new blood.’
‘Rock choir? Singing “Bohemian Rhapsody” and that sort of thing?’
Joe laughed. ‘Well, I think he was going to try and keep it as modern as possible to attract as many of the kids as he can, but yes. Popular songs that they all know, and then they can sing at events. It’s another way to fundraise and keep the club in the public eye.’
‘I can’t believe it.’
‘You’d better believe it,’ Joe answered, ‘because it’s happening. And this is only the beginning. Next year is going to be a big one for The Club on the Corner.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Clara grinned, finally allowing herself to believe that maybe this was the glimmer of hope they’d been waiting for. ‘I want us to give those kids what they deserve. You’ve seen them, Joe. They’re a special bunch.’
‘They are,’ he agreed. ‘I didn’t realise how attached I’d get to them all, but I can’t imagine not being part of the old place now.’
Clara swallowed. ‘So you’ll keep volunteering in the new year?’ Her voice cracked as she spoke.
‘I’m going nowhere. In fact, I’m thinking of going to college and training to be a youth worker. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my life, and that’s thanks to that club. The kids, Deirdre, you …’ His voice tailed off and Clara noticed his Adam’s apple bob as he mimicked her own gulp.
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you.’
‘Come here,’ she said, arms wide.
And as she enveloped Joe in a hug, the bells rang out their song. It was a song of peace, and joy, and love.
***
‘Thank you. Thank you so, so much. You don’t know what a difference this is going to make to the club, and to all the children.’ Clara knew she was rambling, but she was flooded with gratitude that just had to escape.
‘I know first hand what a wonderful place The Club on the Corner is,’ Reverend Smith said. He seemed mildly bemused by Clara’s excitement. ‘Joe’s found friendships that have lasted into adulthood there, and now it’s Simone’s turn to benefit. It means a lot to us as parents to know that she’s somewhere safe and warm.’
Clara almost laughed. The Club on the Corner could never be described as warm.
‘You hear such horror stories about kids that have nowhere to go, and we at St Michael’s believe that by supporting you and Deirdre and enabling you to have more children on site that there will be a noticeable drop in petty crime. It will have a positive impact on everyone, not just those that use the club. That said, it’ll be great to see it full to bursting again. It’s a crying shame, that enormous building going to waste because of staff ratios. That’s why our first mission is to help find volunteers. Hopefully we’ll be able to fund qualified staff to assist you and Deirdre too, in the long run.’
‘I’m going to phone Deirdre and let her know,’ Clara said in awe. ‘It’s everything we’ve been dreaming of. I’ll go outside to do it. It’s pretty noisy in here.’
People were in the festive mood as they gladly sipped their Irish coffees, and as Clara glided through the crowd – floated, almost – she couldn’t keep the dopey grin off her face.
Pulling her phone from her coat pocket, she found Deirdre’s number and pressed the call button. It rang only twice before she heard the familiar voice at the end of the line.
‘Hello?’
‘Deirdre, its Clara.’
‘Oh, hello love. Happy Christmas Eve!’
Clara wasn’t sure when that had become a thing, but she repeated it anyway, ‘Happy Christmas Eve. And it really is happy. I’ve got something amazing to tell you!’
‘You don’t need to tell me, Clara. It’s brilliant, and I’m over the bloody moon for you, I really am.’
‘Isn’t it fantastic? It’s not just me that you need to be over the moon for, though. Don’t you mean you’re over the moon for both of us?’
‘Oh,
I’m happy for Joe too, obviously. That poor boy’s been through the mill and he deserves all the happiness he can get. You two were made for each other, you really were.’
It slowly dawned on Clara that Deirdre and her were talking at crossed purposes. Her boss didn’t have a clue about The Club on the Corner being the charity of the year. She thought Clara had rung to talk about developments between her and Joe!
‘No, no,’ Clara interjected quickly, before Deirdre had her and Joe married off with two point four children, a house in the country and a Labradoodle for good measure. ‘I didn’t ring to talk about me. I rang to talk about the youth club. I’ve been at the church service at St Michael’s, and Reverend Smith announced his charity of the year at the end of the service.’
She caught her breath.
‘And?’ Deirdre asked.
‘And it’s us, it’s The Club on the Corner. They’re going to help us find volunteers, and get new resources and hopefully fund some trained staff too.’
Deirdre gasped down the phone, and Clara felt a tingling around her eyes.
‘Are you sure?’ Deirdre said finally. ‘You didn’t mishear?’
‘Of course I’m bloody sure!’ Clara almost shouted, before feeling immediately guilty for swearing in the church grounds. ‘He came to talk to me about it afterwards, and Joe said there are people at church keen to get involved. He said the choirmaster wants to start a rock choir. Can you imagine how much Shannon and her posse would love that?’
‘I can’t believe it. That’s amazing.’
‘I can’t believe you thought I was ringing about me and Joe,’ she said, shaking her head despite there being no chance of Deirdre seeing it from the warmth of her front room.
‘That’s just as amazing as the news about being selected as the charity of the year,’ Deirdre said.
‘Stop it,’ Clara said, embarrassed.
‘No, I won’t stop it. Admitting you’ve found someone you want to play a bigger part in your life isn’t a weakness. Recognising that they make everything that bit brighter is a strength.’
‘Thank you.’ It was all that Clara could manage. She felt surprisingly choked up by her boss’s honesty.
‘Joe’s not like Dean, and he’s not like your dad. Don’t let him get away, not if he makes you happy.’
‘I won’t,’ Clara whispered.
‘There’s a good girl. Now, I might treat myself to a port and lemon to celebrate, so you get back to that young man of yours, alright?’
Clara smiled. ‘I will. Night night, Deirdre. Enjoy your drink.’
‘Night, love.’
Spinning on her heels, Clara turned to face the bright lights of the church.
And there, bold as brass in his ridiculous Michelin-man coat, was Dean Harford.
***
Clara’s eyes closed as she exhaled in frustration. How typical that he’d be here to put a dampener on what was turning out to be the best Christmas Eve she’d experienced in her life. And wearing that shit coat, too. She wished Joe was out here with her, making her laugh by blasting out the chorus to ‘Stay Another Day’.
‘Clara.’ Dean greeted her with a nod, his hands buried deep into his pockets and his eyes only just visible through the tufts of grey fur that trimmed his hood. ‘I’m glad I caught you. I’ve been wanting to speak to you. I tried to when I saw you at the Trafford Centre, but you ran off.’
‘Dean,’ she replied, offering a courtesy she didn’t feel he deserved.
‘I got your letter. The one asking about tickets for a match for that football fan at the youth club. Jordan, did you say his name was?’
‘Oh,’ she stumbled. ‘I’d forgotten about that.’
‘It was in with a sack of fan mail,’ Dean said, with a shrug of the shoulders that Clara knew was meant to look nonchalant. He was anything but, and Clara highly doubted he had a sack full of letters from his adoring public. Two appearances for the Man United reserves back in the day and now part time in the lower leagues. He was hardly a superstar. ‘I recognised your writing straight away. Thought it might be a love letter at first.’
‘Cut to the chase, Dean.’ She fought off the impulse to roll her eyes. He was so big-headed. Love letter. As if. He’d have loved that, having her scurry back to him. Well, if he’d come here to ask for her back because things had gone tits-up with Bella, then he could think again. Joe was ten times the man Dean ever was. More than ten times the man. Twenty times. A million times.
‘I’ve sorted it.’
Clara’s spine set rigid as she cocked her head. ‘Pardon?’
‘I’ve sorted it. The tickets for the big match.’
He looked delighted with himself and if he didn’t have something Clara so desperately wanted she’d have swung for him. He looked so smug. So punchable.
‘You’d better be telling the truth, Dean,’ she warned. ‘You’ve messed me around for so long that it’s what I expect of you. But Jordan? He doesn’t deserve to be dragged into your little games.’
‘It’s no game,’ he said defensively, producing an envelope from his pocket. ‘Pulled a few strings, didn’t I? Got in touch with a few contacts from back in the day who put in a good word with the guy in charge of the community scheme. Got VIP tickets for the kids, and a tour of the ground. They might get to meet some of the squad too, if they’re lucky, but he couldn’t promise that. They’ve got a strict match-day routine. Anyway, it’s all in the letter.’
Clara took the envelope he was offering and pulled out the letter. It was on thick paper, she noted, good quality. As she unfolded it she noticed it was headed too, the famous red and yellow crest emblazoned at the top of the page like the badge of honour it was for so many supporters the world over. She held the letter close to her face in order to read it in the darkness of the winter evening. Everything he’d said was true.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she said, folding the precious letter and putting it carefully into her pocket. ‘You really did sort it.’
She couldn’t wait to tell Jordan, to see the joy on his face when he realised he’d be going to a game at Old Trafford. The Stretford End might only be a few miles down the road, but it was a world away from Jordan’s reality.
‘Thanks, Dean.’
‘I’m not all bad. I know things got messy towards the end, when I was seeing both you and Bella …’
Clara held her hand up to cut him off. ‘I don’t want to hear it, Dean. I’m very grateful for the tickets, but I don’t want to hear your excuses. Our relationship is in the past. Ancient history. You’ve moved on, and so have I.’
Dean’s mouth gaped open. ‘You’re seeing someone? The guy you were with the other night?’
Clara almost laughed. He’d hate that she wasn’t moping over him. Poor Dean and his over-inflated ego.
‘That’s right,’ she said, with a perky smile.
‘Oh.’ His shoulders visibly sank, even though they were smothered by the padding of his coat. ‘That’s nice.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Clara replied, almost skipping back towards the church. ‘Thanks for the tickets, Dean.’
The more she thought about it, the more grateful she was that Dean was the past and Joe was her future. Not only for Christmas, but for good.
***
The crowds had thinned out considerably. Two girls were playing chase in the aisles. Their gauzy costumes flowing behind them made her heart race with nerves, especially when they neared the candles. One flyaway spark and the whole place would be alight – there was that much acrylic in the pure-white angel costumes they were wearing. Deirdre would have gone nuts, with her health-and-safety hat on.
Clara was surprised to see it was almost seven o’clock. No wonder people had all dashed off. The kids would be desperate to get home, keen to leave a mince pie for Santa and a carrot for his red-nosed helper, and the parents were probably geeing themselves up for a late night, regretting that they didn’t start wrapping earlier in the month.
Joe was collectin
g the now-crumpled hymn sheets from the shelves on the back of the pews. Clara felt a warm rush at the sight of him.
‘Joe!’ she called, her voice echoing around the almost-empty space.
‘You’re back,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d been ravished by a bear, you were gone that long.’
‘There aren’t many bears roaming the streets of suburban Manchester.’ Clara slipped into the row behind Joe, scooping up the flyaway papers. ‘I got through to Deirdre, though. In the nick of time too, I think. She was about to start on a bottle of port.’
Joe grinned. ‘Good for her. I might join her in raising a glass myself when I’ve finished up here. Although Billy’s with his family tonight, understandably, and I’ve never been one for drinking alone …’
‘Is that an invite?’
‘If you want it to be.’
Clara locked eyes with Joe.
‘I want it to be.’
Joe smiled shyly at the floor.
‘Then let’s get this place tidied up. There’s a brand-new bottle of vodka at home waiting to be cracked open and it’s got our name on it.’
Clara moved faster at the thought.
***
Clara hadn’t seen his flat before and was curious about what it would be like. He wasn’t the sort to hoard, but he didn’t strike her as a minimalist either. He wasn’t bothered about big name brands, at least not if his clothes were anything to go by. Not because he was scruffy – if anything, he was leaning towards smart – but he didn’t swan around in expensive designer labels. He wasn’t like Dean, thankfully.
Dean! She hadn’t told Joe about the tickets.
‘I almost forgot to tell you,’ she began. ‘I saw Dean at the church.’
Joe snorted. ‘Me too. He was hard to miss in that coat. He took up half a pew.’
Clara wondered if Joe might just be a teensy bit jealous.
‘Don’t be too hard on him. He’s used his contacts to get the kids from the club tickets for the match at Old Trafford.’
‘Don’t be too hard on him? After the way he treated you? You’re obviously a better person than I am.’