been at a low ebb for such a long time. Not officially depressed – nothing that a doctor would prescribe medication for – but weighed down by a lethargy that had taken away his usual bounce. ‘It’s a perfectly normal part of the grieving process’ the GP had said when Joe had finally given in to his mum’s desperate pleas to seek help. ‘Survivor guilt.’ It was supposed to be reassuring, but he’d left the surgery more defeated and deflated than ever.
Joe had tried to keep moving forward and not to dwell on events of the past, but sometimes everything was so damn overwhelming. When guilt-induced anxiety had reduced him to tears at work last Christmas as he’d unpacked a delivery of poinsettias, he’d taken it as a sign and halved his hours at the hardware store. When spring brought longer and lighter days he’d felt a little stronger, but by then he’d decided the freedom of part-time hours suited him. He had money saved, and it wasn’t as though he’d been a big spender to start with. He had plenty of clothes. He didn’t smoke and although he enjoyed a beer, he didn’t often drink to excess. Socialising took place mainly at his flat or at the home of his friends, usually Billy and Emma’s, since the arrival of baby Roman earlier in the year. Other than rent, bills and food, Joe didn’t have any regular outgoings, and the only real extravagance – annual trips to Jamaica to see his maternal grandparents – were paid for by his parents. He lived a simple life, and it worked for him.
But after taking a step back for the best part of a year, Joe was excited at the prospect of volunteering. He had a soft spot for The Club on the Corner, where he’d spent so much time during his most formative years.
If those walls could talk they could tell a story or two about Joe Smith. They’d seen his first kiss, a clumsy snog with a petite girl with a penchant for heavy eyeliner. They’d watched on as he’d broken his arm when he was fooling about breakdancing with Billy and a guy called Simon who he hadn’t seen in years. He wondered if the graffiti Billy had dared him to scrawl one reckless Friday night was still on the wall in the games room. He’d been petrified of getting caught, because no one wanted to get on the wrong side of Deirdre; so although he’d accepted the challenge he’d written his name in the tiniest writing he could, discreetly hidden in a gap between a plug socket and a skirting board. That room had also been where he’d first met Michelle, her skills at eight-ball pool enough to make every boy in the place fall for her. When she’d chosen Joe from the many admirers he’d been unable to believe his luck. The Club on the Corner … it had actually changed his life.
From the outside the building looked much the same as ever. Two big wooden doors painted in a vile pea-green shade detracted from the grandeur of the Victorian architecture. The paint was tired and peeling away near the hinges, and Joe vowed to make time to give it a sanding down and a fresh coat if Deirdre would allow him. It wouldn’t take much to tart it up and make it look more inviting.
The lead window panes were beautiful, very much of the era, and the arch above the doorway stated ‘Vestry Hall’, a nod to the building’s original use as a more general meeting place. The green-and-cream sign advertising the youth club was attached to the terracotta brickwork, along with a handwritten laminated notice stating ‘Waiting List Now in Operation’. Joe hoped his volunteering would give a few more kids the opportunity to join up.
The smell in the large entrance hallway transported him back in time. It was dusty, like an antiques showroom. Although Deirdre had always kept the place spick and span, the air was heavy with history and secrets.
‘Joe!’ Deirdre exclaimed, wrapping her arms so tightly around him that he caught his breath. ‘It’s good to see you.’ Her eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d turn up. Thought you might have chickened out.’
‘Ah, it can’t be that bad. I know what it’s like, remember? I spent many a happy night here.’
Deirdre shook her head. ‘It’s all different these days, Joe. The kids grow up so fast. And the technology they’ve got! It was bad enough when you and Billy got that camera phone, remember? You were taking pictures of everyone and everything, but the photos were all grainy. Now they film each other and put it online for the world to see. They’ve got the Internet at their fingertips. It’s all gone too far, if you ask me.’
‘It’s a different age,’ Joe agreed. ‘The iPhone Simone’s got is better than mine. But all her friends have got them. They don’t know any different.’
‘We had none of this new-fangled stuff back in my day,’ Deirdre poo-pooed. ‘And we all turned out alright.’
A glint appeared in Joe’s eyes as he took the bait. ‘That’s debatable.’
‘You cheeky so-and-so! It’s a good job I like you. I wouldn’t let any Tom, Dick or Harry get away with that.’
Clara appeared from the kitchen, carrying a mug in each hand.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’d have made you a drink if I’d known you were here. I didn’t hear the door go. I can always brew up if you want one, there’s water in the kettle still, freshly boiled.’
‘Clara.’ Deirdre gave a stern look over the top of her steel-rimmed glasses. ‘You’ve met Joe before, haven’t you? Simone’s brother. He used to be a member here so I know him well. He’s a good lad, but you’ll have to keep your eye on him. He used to be one for the ladies when he was a teenager.’
Joe held his hands up in defence. ‘I could have you for slander, Deirdre Whitehall. I only had two girlfriends in the whole seven years I was a member at The Club on the Corner.’
‘You must have got serious young,’ Clara interjected. ‘I’ve only had one relationship I’d class as serious.’
‘And the less said about that the better,’ Deirdre added pointedly, before turning to Joe with a grimace. ‘Stupid bugger was sleeping with his masseuse, can you believe?’
‘He must have been an idiot,’ Joe replied, rubbing the heel of his hand against the chocolate- brown skin of his forehead. He could feel the start of a stress headache coming on. Probably from nerves. He really hoped it wouldn’t develop into a full-blown migraine.
‘He was,’ Clara replied shortly. ‘Didn’t realise it at the time, though, obviously.’
‘You had a lucky escape,’ Deirdre said. ‘Imagine if you’d married him!’
Clara shuddered, then pulled her thick black woollen cardigan more tightly across her chest. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘They were engaged, you know,’ Deirdre continued, wrinkling her nose in obvious distaste. ‘But I always had a bad feeling about him. He thought he was better than Clara, because he was a local star. I told him on more than one occasion that Clara’s the star around here. I must have had an angel watching over me the day she came for her interview.’
Clara tutted and her cheeks flushed pink. It made her appear vulnerable.
‘I don’t know about that,’ she replied modestly, before visibly perking up. Her shoulders sprang back, her eyes brightened. ‘But … it’s December the first today, and you know what that means.’
Deirdre rolled her eyes theatrically, while Joe watched on with interest.
‘Hand over the keys to the store cupboard. It’s time to unleash the decorations.’ Clara waggled her eyebrows excitedly before doing a dance of delight on the spot. ‘You can’t put it off any longer, it’s well and truly time
