Joe and Clara’s Christmas Countdown. Katey Lovell
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the rough fabric of her denim mini dress and stepped out onto the stage.
‘Good evening everyone, and welcome to The Club on the Corner’s annual talent show. This never fails to be anything other than a brilliant evening, where we get the opportunity to celebrate the talents of our wonderful members, so please whoop, holler, clap and cheer to show them your support.’ Clara paused as she looked out into the sea of faces, before quickly refocusing on her cards. She didn’t want to be thrown off her stride. ‘However, as many of you know, this is one of our main fundraising events of the year. We are committed to keeping our subs at the lowest possible level to ensure as many children and young people as possible can access all that we offer. However, demand is currently so high that although we have the space to accommodate new members, we don’t have the staff to supervise them. Our hope is that your donations will make a real difference, to both the club and the community as a whole, by enabling us to employ an additional member of staff. We’ve always made it our mission to work closely with other local groups, particularly the food bank and the hospital, as well as supporting local events such as the church summer fete and Christmas lantern march. Please dig deep so that the club you know and love can continue to thrive.’
A lump lodged in Clara’s throat. This place meant so much to so many, not least Deirdre. The club was her boss’s baby, the children who attended the closest she had to a family of her own. And not only the children – she was like a second mother to Clara too, never anything less than protective, supporting and mildly embarrassing.
‘But now, without further ado, I’d like to introduce our first act. Tonight Cally, Tiffany, Phoebe and Simone are The Club on the Corner’s cheerleading squad. Let’s give them a big round of applause!’
Clara initiated the clapping as the girls bounded on to the stage, waving fluffy red and white pompoms high over their heads. They looked full of pep and vim, and the audience clapped along to the rhythm of the cheesy music, encouraged by the energetic teens.
The temperamental sound system was working. That was a weight off Clara’s shoulders.
The night continued with a varied programme of acts. There were some fabulous dance routines showcased, some less than hilarious comedy acts and a surprisingly brilliant solo rendition of ‘Amazing Grace’ by a normally gobby girl called Shannon. There hadn’t been a dry eye in the house.
But it was Ted’s beautiful acoustic guitar-playing that ended up winning fair and square. The concentration etched on his face as he moved his fingers into the correct chord positions on the fretboard was endearing, and his delight when he made it to the end of the performance earned him the loudest cheer of all.
‘Nights like this make it worthwhile.’ Deirdre shook her collection bucket loudly as the crowds dispersed, making sure everyone was clear that a donation was expected. The families she knew best didn’t dare throw in loose change, instead pulling crinkled notes out of their wallets and back pockets. They knew that to give any less would be to face Deirdre’s wrath. It wasn’t worth the hassle. Far easier to cough up their hard-earned cash instead. ‘People want the club to succeed.’
‘We’ve got something special,’ Clara agreed. ‘There’s not enough in here to get close to what we’d need to employ a new member of staff, though, even in the short-term,’ she added glumly, looking at the smattering of money in the bottom of her bucket.
‘There’s got to be another way,’ Deirdre said. ‘It’s a shame Lynsey isn’t able to help out as often since she had the baby. An extra pair of hands made all the difference. Maybe we could ask about volunteers again? Some of the parents might help out if we can get a rota going.’
‘We didn’t get any interest last time,’ Clara reminded her. She was aware of coming across as the queen of doom and gloom, but it was true. ‘Part of the reason they like the kids coming here is so they get a bit of peace and quiet. They’re not likely to want to give up their time to spend it somewhere as loud and crazy as this.’
‘You never know,’ Deirdre said optimistically, as a generous grandfather dropped a twenty-pound note into her collection bucket. ‘We might fall lucky and find someone willing to give up a few hours for the cause.’
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