Katey Lovell - Joe and Clara’s Christmas Countdown

Simone, one of the enthusiastic cheerleading troupe who also happened to be the smiliest sixteen-year-old Clara had ever seen, appeared as though from nowhere, her tight, dark curls bobbing in bunches either side of her head.

‘Thank you for organising the talent show,’ she gushed. ‘It was fun, even though we didn’t win.’

‘Yeah, thanks Deirdre. Thanks Clara,’ added Tiffany, before chewing on her gum and blowing a large pink bubble. She was always chewing and popping, chewing and popping. Clara was amazed she’d gone without gum long enough to complete the cheerleading routine. Tiff could have been subtly chewing the whole time, she supposed, even though she most definitely hadn’t been popping. She wouldn’t mention that possibility to Deirdre, though. She was, quite rightly, big on following health and safety regulations to the letter.

‘You’re welcome,’ Deirdre said. ‘And I loved that routine. Those high kicks were brilliant, and when you ended with the splits it took me right back to my youth.’

‘You used to be able to do the splits?’ Tiff gawped, then chewed, then popped.

‘I was quite the gymnast back in the day,’ Deirdre said, a wistful smile passing over her face. ‘Splits, cartwheels, backflips – I could do the lot. I’d have given Olga Korbut a run for her money.’

The girls looked back at her in disbelief. Deirdre looked about as far from a gymnast as you could get, with her bulky build and the crutch she used whenever she had to stand for any length of time propping her up. Her dodgy knee had been giving her gip recently. Probably all those years of acrobatics finally catching up with her, Clara thought with a smile.

‘I’ve not always been this old, you know,’ Deirdre added.

And here was I thinking you were born old,’ Clara teased.

‘Ha-ha,’ Deirdre replied with a roll of her eyes. ‘Very funny.’ She turned her attention back to Simone. ‘Are your parents still here?’

‘They’re in the kitchen, washing the pots,’ Simone explained. ‘We thought it’d save you two a job.’

‘Oh, that’s so kind!’ Clara exclaimed. She didn’t add she was pleased that she might get home in time to watch the season finale of the drama she’d been glued to for the past month. It started at ten, and with a bit of luck, and the help of the families chipping in, she’d be back, showered and in her pyjamas by then. ‘I’ll grab a tea towel and start drying, if you’re alright hanging around here, Deirdre? You’re better at asking people for money than I am.’

She peered into Deirdre’s bucket, which held a healthy layer of notes with a shimmer of pound coins twinkling through the gaps. Clara’s bucket contained mainly copper and silver, where people had felt obliged to give something – anything – so pulled out whatever was lurking in their coat pockets. The fluff balls and sticky sweet wrappers mingled in with the coins attested to that.

‘You go and give them a hand,’ Deirdre said. ‘I’ll finish off here, and if Tiffany and Simone help me stack the chairs we’ll all get home sooner. It takes me a bit longer these days,’ she added, gesturing to the crutch. ‘Is that alright with you, girls?’

Simone set straight to it, putting one brown chair on top of the other and moving them to the corner of the room when they were stacked five high. Tiff was less enthusiastic, but begrudgingly assisted her friend.

‘Thanks, girls,’ Clara called from the kitchen as she grabbed a striped tea towel from the towel rail and started drying the mugs. They hadn’t been rinsed properly – bubbly suds clouding their glossy surfaces – but Clara was so grateful for the help that she didn’t feel she could complain. Simone’s family hadn’t wasted any time. The washing up was all but done.

‘Thanks, everyone,’ Clara said, passing the dried mugs to Simone’s mum to put away in the cupboard. ‘It makes things much easier for me and Deirdre if people lend a hand now and again.’

‘I’ll bet,’ Simone’s dad replied. He was the local vicar and a familiar face in the community. The strip-lighting was reflected off his shaved head as he grinned the same infectious grin as his daughter. ‘Don’t think the hard work you two put into this place goes unnoticed. We’re very grateful for everything you do for these kids.’

‘It’s worth it to see everyone enjoying themselves.’ Clara truly believed that, and loved being able to boost the confidence of the club members. There was a special atmosphere to the old place on showcase night, an almost palpable buzz of joy thronging through the building. ‘Plus, the kids are great, and it’s them we do it for.’

‘When I used to come here there was nowhere else for teenagers to go at this end of town,’ Simone’s brother added. ‘At least now there’s the indoor skate park, and the ice rink’s not bad since it’s been refurbished.’

‘They’re expensive, though,’ Clara pointed out. She’d been shocked at the cost of the tickets on a recent cinema trip with Deirdre, and that was before she’d splashed out on popcorn (sweet, naturally) and a large diet coke. By the time she was done she’d spent almost a day’s wages. ‘Not all the families around here can afford it. At least here they only have to find the money for subs once a term. Plus, some of the kids just want somewhere to hang around away from their parents.’

‘I suppose that’s what I did when I was a member. Me and my mates used to spend all our money in the tuck shop and then talk about music for a few hours in between stuffing our faces with strawberry laces.’

‘Strawberry laces. Good choice.’

‘We’d have competitions to see who could cram the most into their mouths,’ he laughed. ‘I managed forty-eight once.’

‘Wow. You must have a really big mouth.’ Clara clamped her lips together in embarrassment as she realised how insulting that sounded. ‘I didn’t mean any offence …’

‘None taken,’ he said with a shrug as he plunged the last mug into the soapy water and rubbed it with a battered scourer. ‘There,’ he proclaimed, placing the mug on the draining board. Suds slithered down its side. ‘We’re done.’

‘Thank you,’ Clara said genuinely. ‘You’ve been a great help, all of you. I’ll finish off here, though, if you want to get home. It’s getting late.’

The clock read half-past nine. She’d have to get a wiggle on if she was going to make it back home in time for her programme.

‘If you’re sure?’ Simone’s mum replied, reaching for her large straw sunhat. She was well presented, as though dressed for an event. Mind you, she always looked smart. Part of the role of being a vicar’s wife, Clara supposed.

‘Absolutely. There’s not much to do now, you’ve done most of it already. You go,’ she smiled. ‘And thanks again.’

‘It was a brilliant evening,’ the vicar added. ‘A real celebration of everyone’s talents. I’m glad I came.’

‘It was fun,’ Simone’s brother said. ‘I thought the girl who did Riverdance should have won, though. She was amazing.’

‘She was great, wasn’t she? She’s got dreams of dancing on the stage one day. She’ll probably make it too, she’s a hard worker.’

‘You are too, by the look of it,’ he said, sliding into his leather jacket.

‘Well, there’s no point doing anything half-heartedly. My work’s important to me.’

‘It shows. It’s nice to finally meet you, Clara. Simone talks about you all the time at home. And Deirdre too, of course.’

‘Nice to meet you too …’

Clara paused, realising she didn’t know his name.

‘Joe,’ he said, extending his hand to invite a handshake. ‘Joe Smith.’