Katey Lovell - Joe and Clara’s Christmas Countdown

‘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.’

Joe laughed. ‘That’s not shocking, that’s just teenagers being teenagers.’

‘I graffiti-ed the toilets in the Imperial War Museum once on a school trip.’

‘What did you write?’

‘Clara was here,’ she laughed.

‘Stealthy,’ he nodded. ‘I like it. But it doesn’t shock me.’

‘I once climbed out of my window to go to an Avril Lavigne concert at the Apollo because I knew my mum wouldn’t let me go if I asked.’

‘Now that’s shameful. Avril Lavigne? Really?’

‘She had some classic tunes, I’ll have you know.’

Joe snorted. ‘Whatever you say.’

‘She did!’ Clara laughed, playfully slapping his arm. ‘I bet even you liked Sk8er Boi.’ She proceeded to sing it theatrically, and Joe found himself joining in. He hadn’t realised he still knew the lyrics after all these years.

‘Ha! I knew you were a closet fan.’

‘Simone liked her.’

‘She did not, you liar. She’s not the right age.’

‘It’s only that one song. It’s a catchy tune.’

‘It’s immense,’ Clara agreed. ‘But enough talk about Avril. Are you ready to hit the stalls? Because I noticed one back there that I’d like to have a look at.’

‘The one with the alpaca-wool hats?’ he grinned. The stall had stood out for Joe, the brightly coloured garments catching his eye. There had been shawls and ponchos hanging on a rack and one of those twizzly stands covered in hats with earflaps, like the one the sausage-seller had been sporting. Then there had been knee-high socks, thick and striped, and pairs of mittens that looked warm and snuggly, similar to the ones Clara had been wearing the evening of the light switch-on, but in an array of garish clashing colours.

‘Haha,’ she said, poking out her tongue. ‘That wasn’t the one I had in my sights, actually. There was a stall with wooden ornaments that I thought would make nice gifts. My mum is as nuts about Christmas as I am, so I always get her a new decoration as part of her Christmas present.’

‘Cool,’ Joe replied, before looking through the crowds to try and locate the stall. There were so many, and every hut looked alike. He hoped Clara could remember where it was because otherwise it could take a while to find. ‘Any idea which direction we need to head in?’

Clara wafted her hands around. ‘Somewhere towards the middle.’

Joe couldn’t help but smile at her vagueness. ‘We’d better get searching then, hadn’t we?’

And they amiably linked arms and headed off in search of the perfect gift for Clara’s mum.

* * *

‘Aren’t they gorgeous?’ Clara said, as she ran her fingers gently over the smooth curves of a carved reindeer. The wood was varnished, yet the colour remained delicate and pale.

Joe wasn’t usually won over by ornaments, but even he had to admit they were beautifully made. The attention to detail was phenomenal and the intricate nativity scenes had particularly caught his eye.