he’d shared them with being so cruelly snatched away.
‘Do you still do that?’
‘Spend the day in my pyjamas?’ Clara laughed. ‘Mostly, if I can get away with it.’
‘I meant, do you still spend Christmas with your grandparents?’
Her face hardened. ‘Not any more.’
‘Oh,’ he said awkwardly, feeling terrible. He, of all people, knew that losing someone cut deep. He should never have pried, it wasn’t his place. ‘I’m sorry. I’m really lucky to still have all four of my grandparents …’
‘They haven’t died!’ Deirdre replied, guffawing, as though the suggestion was absurd.
‘They sold up when they retired,’ Clara explained, throwing a withering look in Deirdre’s direction. The older lady’s shoulders were still shaking through laughing so violently. ‘They wanted to have more adventures while they’re still fit enough, so they put everything in storage and have been travelling ever since. They’re in South America at the moment. They climbed Machu Picchu last month.’
‘Wow.’ Joe was seriously impressed. ‘Whereas my Grandma Smith thinks her summer coach trip to Chester is a big adventure.’
Clara shrugged. ‘Anything can be an adventure, depending on how you look at it.’
Joe mulled the words of wisdom over as everyone ground to a halt outside the church hall, where a makeshift stage bedecked with fairy lights and something Joe assumed was an approximation of Santa’s sleigh was lit up by a spotlight. In reality it was little more than a mess of scarlet crêpe paper and cotton-wool rolls, and Joe dreaded to think what’d happen if it rained. It’d be a disaster. Crêpe paper and cotton-wool carnage.
The effect of so many lanterns en masse was nothing short of spectacular, the flickering flames (or in the cases of the youth-club kids battery-operated tea lights – Deirdre had made it clear she and Clara were taking no chances when it came to naked flames) giving the evening sky a warm amber glow. There was a nip in the air, which was to be expected now they were in December, and Joe was glad of his warm scarf and beanie hat. The hat in particular – a shaved head might suit the shape of his angular face, but it wasn’t doing any favours now the temperature was dipping to arctic levels.
There was a moment of hush as the local MP stood to address the crowd. She was a small lady, her petite frame drowning underneath a long, beige raincoat, which couldn’t have been doing much to conserve her body heat, but her voice was loud. She completely bypassed the waiting microphone, instead opting to increase her natural volume.
‘Good evening everyone, and welcome to our annual lantern parade and Christmas light switch-on. It’s fantastic that so many of you have braved the cold to come and support us in what has become a bit of a tradition in these parts.’ She rubbed her hands together. Joe couldn’t tell if it was with excitement or for warmth. ‘I’m delighted to have a very special guest turn on the lights for us this year, and what’s more, the council have invested in some new decorations to complement those from previous displays.’
‘Maybe more than half of them will actually work,’ Deirdre said, in a voice probably meant to be conspiratorial but which earned her a few glares from loyal locals. ‘What?’ she fired back. ‘It’s the truth. Last year they were a mess.’
‘I’m more interested in the special guest,’ Joe said, keen to change the subject.
‘Oh, it’ll be Santa flicking the switch,’ Clara replied. Her cheeks were rosy, a combination of the biting cold and the flattering half-light. ‘He does it every year.’
Joe couldn’t hide his disappointment. ‘That’s a let-down. I was expecting Hollywood royalty the way she was going on.’
‘It’s hardly the Blackpool Illuminations. No big-name celebrity would turn up here and do it for nothing. The only media coverage they’d get would be via the free paper.’
As though on cue, an eager photographer pointed a lens in Clara’s direction.
‘And you,’ he said, physically pushing Joe closer to Clara in a bid to fit them both in the frame. ‘That’s a good one,’ he said dully as he took the photograph. ‘Look out for it on Thursday when the new edition comes out.’
‘We will,’ Joe said politely, as Clara rose onto her tiptoes to try and get a better view of the stage.
The politician was building up to a climax now as she encouraged everyone to join in with a rendition of Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’. Her cringey dancing involved stepping from side to side like a particularly uncoordinated uncle at a wedding, and she didn’t seem to realise that people were laughing at her on-stage antics rather than singing along to the tinny backing track.
As the music came to a close everyone cheered (and jeered) as she motioned for quiet. ‘And now, without further ado, it’s time to welcome our special guest. Here he is …’
‘It’s “Santa”,’ Clara whispered, making air quotes with her fingers. ‘I’ll put money on it.’
‘… Rovers star striker, Dean Harford!’
Dean strolled onto the stage with a swagger – well, as much swagger as anyone could manage wearing an enormous puffa jacket. He pumped his hands over his head in a ‘raise the roof’ motion and the predominantly teenage crowd whooped their approval.
Joe lifted his hands above his head and joined in with the clapping, swept away on the wave of excitement. Dean might not be a major star, but on the local circuit this was quite the coup.
It was only as he saw Deirdre frantically shaking her head that he slowed, noticing Clara had lowered her lantern to the floor and turned her back on the stage.
‘What?’ he asked, puzzled. ‘What’s up?
‘I’m going to shoot off,’ Clara replied. Her voice cracked as she spoke. ‘The kids are getting picked up from here anyway and it’s nearly over. I’ll see you tomorrow, right?’
Deirdre sympathetically rubbed Clara’s shoulder. ‘Fine by me, love. I’ll see you tomorrow at the club.’
‘That was a bit sudden,’ he said, as he watched Clara disappear into the crowds.
Deirdre leaned in. ‘It’s Dean,’ she explained, spitting his name like an insult. ‘He’s the ex-fiancé. She’s avoided him so far, so I think him being here was too much for her to take.’
‘And everyone acting like he’s some sort of hero. No wonder she wanted to get away.’
His eyes followed Clara, who was slinking away down a gennel. Joe couldn’t repress the urge to go with her. More than anything, he wanted to let her know he understood how it felt to be sad, afraid and alone. His experience was different, but the resulting emotion was much the same.
‘Am I alright to go now, too?’
His eyes flickered back towards Clara and he caught a final glimpse of the tail of her coat as she turned a corner.
‘Go,’ Deirdre replied with a knowing smile. ‘I can finish off here.’
‘See
