she added, ‘I’m Miranda.’
‘Right,’ Clara said, stifling a giggle.
Joe elbowed her in the ribs, hoping it would encourage her to keep a straight face, but it only caused Clara to pull her hand to her face and clamp it over her mouth to hide her glee.
Something about Miranda’s manner was comical. She was intense, and Joe picked up on how the way she spoke, as though she was thinking about every word that came out of her mouth, was so at odds with how Clara blurted anything that came into her head the moment she thought it.
‘I create original blends that add the traditional Christmas aromas to the most popular scents.’
Clara moved closer and examined the labels, plain white with an embossed gold script. ‘Vanilla Berry, Cinnamon Rose, Sea Breeze and Balsam … Interesting combinations.’
‘Have a smell,’ urged Miranda, shoving a candle under Clara’s nose with such force that she jumped back in surprise. ‘This is Sunrise and Snowflakes. It’s a combination of summer mornings and winter nights.’
‘Wow,’ Joe said, swallowing down a laugh that was bubbling in his throat. ‘There really is something for everyone.’
Clara wrinkled her nose as she inhaled. ‘This smells a bit gingery,’ she said. ‘And maybe bergamot too?’
‘You’ve got a good nose for scents.’ Miranda’s bob of the head suggested she was impressed by Clara’s ability to pick out the key ingredients in her bespoke candles. ‘I bet you’re a woman who uses her senses to their full potential.’
She gazed intently at Clara, which Joe found unsettling, so he could only imagine how it must feel for Clara being in the spotlight like that. And what was she rambling on about, Clara using her senses to their full potential? Joe was beginning to feel both trapped and weirded out by Miranda and her scented candles, and was keen to escape. Not least because he didn’t fancy being coerced into buying a candle he’d never light.
‘Oh Clara, look!’
He started to wave frantically at a group of young people eating churros a few feet away. Never mind that he’d not seen the youths before in his life, if it got him and Clara away from Miranda and her candles, he didn’t really care.
Her eyes darted to where he was looking, just as a girl with bright-green hair gave an awkward smile and waved back.
‘We really should go and say hello,’ Joe said pointedly. ‘It’s a long time since I last saw … erm …’ he wracked his brain for a name that he could pretend belonged to the girl, ‘… Erin.’
‘We must,’ said Clara, a flicker of recognition in her eyes. Joe was relieved she’d understood what he was trying to do and that she was willing to play along. ‘Nice to meet you, Miranda. I hope you have a successful evening.’
‘Don’t waste that nose of yours!’ Miranda called after them as they walked away as quickly as they could.
‘Thank you,’ Clara gushed when the pair were safely out of Miranda’s earshot. ‘I was beginning to wonder what she was going to say next. Talking about using my senses to my full potential and all the other mumbo jumbo,’ she laughed.
‘It might not be mumbo jumbo,’ Joe reasoned. ‘I was thinking we might put our sense of taste to good use again in a minute. That doughnut stall is just over there,’ he said, nodding towards a crowd of people queuing for the sugary delights.
‘And the Gluhwein. You did promise,’ Clara reminded him.
‘You’re right, I did.’
Clara linked her arm through Joe’s once more. ‘Now you’re talking. Tasting that is the kind of sense I don’t mind using to my full potential,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’
Monday, December 4th 2017
The gloomy grey clouds hadn’t lifted all day, and the darkness they cast around the office at The Club on the Corner wasn’t encouraging Clara to work. The paperwork she’d been staring at was also tedious and depressing, so much so that she’d almost caved and opened the stollen she’d bought for Joe. The sweet bread-like texture dissolving in her mouth would have been an antidote to the charity submissions she’d been working on all day, first at home and then at the office. If the cake hadn’t taken so bloody long to wrap the previous evening she’d have opened it first thing; all that would’ve been left of it would be a Hansel and Gretel trail of crumbs leading from her house to the club. Or halfway to the club, more likely. It would never have lasted her all the way to work.
Stollen was another of the traditional Christmas foods that she couldn’t resist, and the brand she’d bought from a European supermarket on Ayres Road was her absolute favourite. It was packed with so much dried fruit that it wasn’t far off being a Christmas cake, and the icing sugar dusted on top was thick and generous. Most importantly was the marzipan rope woven through the centre of the dough, the sharp almond tang the perfect finishing touch. Her grandparents’ next-door neighbours were Austrian and gifted her family one of the cakes each year, and the sight of the distinctive wrapper alone was enough to set Clara’s mouth watering.
At the Christmas market Joe had mentioned in passing that he’d never tried stollen and she’d immediately known it was the next gift she’d get him. She only hoped he liked it as much as she did, because she’d gone for the biggest they’d had in stock.
Clara looked at the clock, noting it was later than she’d thought. She really should start setting up for the session, especially as it was doubling as a much-needed fundraising event. Deirdre had decided a bake sale was a relatively easy way to bring more money into the club, but Clara wasn’t in the mood for swarms of adults descending on the place. She loved being with the youngsters, finding them much easier to talk to than their older counterparts. They were more straightforward, less prone to game-playing. If they had an issue with you it’d come firing out in a hormone-fuelled rage.
Picking up her bag, along with her mum’s spotty cake tin, she headed downstairs, hoping people wouldn’t laugh her misshapen Smartie cookies out of town. Clara never professed to be a baker and didn’t aspire to be one either, and she’d only brought something along to the event to show her support. If no one wanted to buy them, she’d throw a tenner into the margarine tub they used for collecting money and take them back home herself.
* * *
Deirdre was flapping. She often got like this when there was an event, keen to show the club in its best light. Plus, of course, there was the near desperation, the need to make as much money as possible from this bake sale to keep the club open and available to as many young people as possible. Clara understood all that, but the tension in the kitchen rubbed off on her as soon as she walked through the door.
‘Oh, Clara. Thank goodness! I thought you were never going to come down.’ Deirdre peeled back the lid of a Tupperware container and examined the contents – mince slices – before adding the box to a pile. ‘I’ve got a system,’ she said, her voice hurried and flustered. ‘Buns and cupcakes near the kettle, biscuits next to the microwave and big cakes and Christmassy goods here on the table.’
Clara cast
