you don’t want to be on your own too long,’ Deirdre replied. ‘I’m sure we can find you a nice young man who treats you well and keeps his pants on around other women.’
‘Deirdre!’
A cheeky glint sparkled in the older woman’s eyes. ‘Who knows, maybe there’ll be someone at the talent show to put a spring in your step.’
‘Don’t start,’ Clara warned. ‘I don’t need a man.’
‘Oh, I know you don’t need one,’ Deirdre replied. ‘But everyone enjoys a good seeing to once in a while, don’t they?’
Clara wasn’t sure how to reply to that. Instead, she nodded, smiled and made her way to the youth club’s main hall. She’d fiddle with the speakers again, double check they were set up properly. She’d go and unblock the sink in the boy’s loos that was forever emitting an eggy odour. Anything rather than stay here, because she sure to goodness didn’t want to listen to her boss discussing the ins and outs, quite literally, of her sex life.
* * *
Clara peeped from behind the red velvet curtain that flanked the stage.
There was quite a crowd gathering in the hall. The additional emergency chairs that were usually stacked high in the broom cupboard and only brought out on rare occasions had been filled, and it looked as though it was standing room only at the back.
Her stomach fluttered at the prospect of welcoming the parents. Despite her apparent confident demeanour, Clara had never been a natural when it came to public speaking. She put it down to the time she fluffed her line in the nativity play at infant school. Her mum had tried to assure her that no one had noticed, but Clara hadn’t believed her then and she certainly didn’t believe her now. She’d been dressed head to toe in white, with cotton-wool balls sewn over the t-shirt to make it obvious to everyone she was a sheep, yet when it reached her turn to take centre stage, Clara had panicked. The only thing she’d managed to say was ‘moo’. A mooing sheep. No wonder everyone had laughed.
But there’d be no mistakes like that tonight; Clara had come prepared. She’d written notes on crisp white index cards to ensure she remained sharp and to the point.
Gulping down her nerves, she smoothed her hands over 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
