Читать книгу Joe and Clara’s Christmas Countdown - Katey Lovell - Страница 12

Clara tilted her head back as she inhaled the super-sweet aroma that lingered in the air. Sugared almonds and cinnamon. Whiskey and mulled wine. Balsam and fir trees.

‘This place smells amazing.’

Joe grinned. ‘I know, right? The food here is incredible too. We’ll have to make sure we sample as much as we can.’

The Christmas market was thronging with people, all wrapped up against the elements with their thick coats, bobble-topped hats and woolly scarves. Wind-chapped cheeks and noses bright enough to rival Rudolph himself were all that was on show other than their eyes, sparkling with festive joy as they took in the array of wooden cabins selling everything from tree decorations to squidgy pastel cubes of fresh Turkish delight.

For tonight Manchester’s Albert Square was the heart of the city, alive with cheer. It was full of life and energy and the overwhelming sense of togetherness that the city had become known for after the horrific terrorist attack earlier in the year. Manchester was resilient, and Joe felt he had a lot he could learn from his home city.

‘Look at that!’ Clara squealed, pointing to a wooden hut selling squishy ring doughnuts by the dozen. They were piled high, dusted in a fine layer of speckled sugar that looked like morning frost. ‘Oh, I bet they taste amazing. And the stall next to it is selling Gluhwein. I could do with something spicy and alcoholic after the day I’ve had.’

‘We’ll drink later,’ Joe promised, ‘but let’s get something to eat first.’

‘Doughnuts?’ Clara sounded hopeful.

‘I was thinking something a bit more substantial,’ Joe laughed. He’d purposely not eaten all day, saving himself for the delicious fare on offer.

Clara pouted. ‘Spoilsport.’

‘You’ll enjoy your doughnut even more after a hot dog, I promise. Especially from the stand over there.’

He waved his hand in the direction of the town hall, where an enormous orange-faced Santa proudly watched over proceedings from his lofty vantage point high up above the entrance of the neo-gothic building. Joe couldn’t tell if it was meant to resemble Zippy from Rainbow or not, but it did. He found the Santa bizarre, and slightly sinister, so rather than dwell on it he grabbed Clara’s hand and began to weave his way through the crowds.

It was busier than he’d anticipated. He’d thought people might be having a quiet night in front of the telly before all the Christmas madness and mayhem really kicked off in the next week or so, but no … it seemed everyone in Manchester had decided tonight was the night to head to the town centre and splash the cash on gourmet food and overpriced Christmas ‘necessities’.

He’d been to one of the big European markets on Billy’s stag do. They’d wanted to go to Oktoberfest, but Billy’s brother hadn’t been able to get holiday from work at the start of the academic year. He was a chemistry lecturer, based at Manchester Met, and September and October were no-no’s for time off, unless he wanted to make enemies with the course leaders before he’d really started; so everyone else had fitted in around his plans instead. It wasn’t like he was the groom, nor even the best man (that honour had gone to Joe, and he’d been exceptionally proud of being picked for the job), but Billy had compromised on the stag do in a magnanimous act of brotherly love.

The group of ten had booked a dirt-cheap flight that set off from Manchester Airport at an ungodly hour and a ‘bargain’ hotel that had turned out to be a filthy hovel well out of Munich city centre. They’d had to get an underground train to access anything more than a corner shop or the ladies of the night that had lurked opposite the hotel’s main entrance, and Joe had accessed neither, nor had he wanted to. Some of the other lads had, though, which had repulsed Joe. He’d never had so much as a one-night stand and prostitutes were way beyond his moral compass.

On the last night, when he was steaming drunk after too many tankards of beer to count, he’d given a handful of euros to one of the girls. She couldn’t have been much older than Simone was now, her thick red lipstick clown-like and gaudy, her black dress short, tight and low- cut. There had been a sadness to her face, and her eyes darted around the shadows of the surrounding alleyways as she took the money. At the time Joe had thought she was afraid he was going to attack her, but with hindsight he thought the girl was scared in case her pimp saw her taking money from a potential client without earning it. He’d wished he could speak German, but as it was he could only say ‘Danke’ as he gave her the money, which he later realised meant ‘thank you’ rather than ‘please’. It weighed heavy on his mind and heart that he’d never know her fate.

He was snapped out of his thoughts as Clara shouted, ‘Don’t you just love it here?’ Even at full volume her voice could barely be heard above the blend of laughter and chatter and the mellow Christmas panpipe music blaring out over the speakers.

Joe didn’t love the crowds, but the way Clara’s face was shining perked him up enough to smile; that and the sight of the bratwurst sausage logo coming into view.

‘We made it,’ Joe said breathlessly as they joined a queue of people waiting for hot dogs. ‘And I promise they’re worth the fuss. I reluctantly came with Simone last week because she wanted to start her Christmas shopping and we ended up eating two of these beauties each.’

‘Two? But they’re enormous!’

Joe looked to the ground, guilty as charged. ‘I know. But honestly, when you’ve tasted it you’ll see why one wasn’t enough. They’re incredible. And we had to make the most of it, because once the markets are gone for another year there won’t be the opportunity to have them again until next November or December.’

‘Ah, so you’re making the most of the opportunity by aiming to eat your annual quota of hot dogs in a month.’

‘Exactly.’

The round-faced man in the hut was wearing a gigantic furry hat with earflaps that hung down like spaniels’ ears. It was at odds with the professional-looking apron he was wearing, the combination giving him the air of an eccentric elf. He beamed as he rubbed his palms together. ‘Good evening!’

‘Good evening,’ Joe echoed. ‘Can we have two of your finest hot dogs, please?’

The man nodded as he pressed the meat into a bread roll. The sausage was too long, poking out at both ends, and Joe was already salivating at the thought.

‘Onions?’ the man asked.

‘Yes, please,’ Clara replied quickly. ‘And lots of them.’

Joe pulled a face and shook his head. ‘No thanks.’

Clara looked on in disbelief. ‘A hot dog without onions? What are you, some kind of maverick? Next you’ll be saying you don’t have red sauce.’

‘I don’t.’

The look of sheer horror that passed over Clara’s face at that revelation made Joe snort with laughter.

‘I can’t believe I’m willingly spending time with someone who has such terrible taste in hot dogs. I bet you’re one of those weirdoes who has mustard too, aren’t you?’ The man offered the hot dog to Clara, loaded high with the soft, curled onions. She reached straight for the bottle of red sauce and drew two thick lines of ketchup along the top of the sausage. ‘Red sauce is the only way forward when it comes to hot dogs.’

Joe accepted a hot dog from the man and handed him a note in payment. When Clara reached for her purse, Joe stopped her. ‘My treat,’ he said, as she gratefully withdrew her hand from her bag and bit into her food.

‘Mmmm,’ she said, her eyes closing as she chewed the hot dog. ‘This is amazing.’

Joe couldn’t hide his pride, as though he’d made it himself from scratch. ‘I know, right? And I think it tastes better because we’re out in the cold and there’s all the smells. It tricks your senses into thinking it’ll taste a certain way and then it doesn’t at all. It’s a million times better.’

‘I couldn’t eat it like that, though,’ Clara said, nodding her head towards Joe’s plain hot dog.

‘I like it naked.’ As soon as Joe realised what he’d said he waited for Clara to pounce as she undoubtedly would.

‘If that’s not too much information then I don’t know what is,’ she said, with a salacious giggle.

Joe glanced coyly at the floor before meeting her eyes.

‘Oh, stop acting all innocent and virtuous, you don’t have to get embarrassed,’ she said. ‘We’re only having a laugh.’

She wrapped her mouth around the hot dog sausage and although he knew it wasn’t meant to be sexual – she was only eating, after all – Joe was aware of his cheeks getting warm. All the innuendo was making him hot under the collar.

‘I’m a vicar’s son, remember? I am innocent and virtuous.’

As though to prove the point he fluttered his eyelashes, and Clara laughed. It was a beautiful laugh, Joe thought, full on and loud and brimming over with positivity. Being around Clara was certainly a tonic. The heaviness that weighed down his heart lessened in her presence.

‘Yeah, right. I bet you’re not as innocent as you make out. No one is.’

‘That sounds like an invite for me to ask about your deepest, darkest secrets.’

‘Uh huh.’ She shook her head. ‘No way. This is about you, not me! Come on. Share something that’ll surprise me.’

Joe thought for a moment as he chewed on the sausage. The herbs and spice exploded on his tongue, fizzing like fireworks against the roof of his mouth. What could he share? Nothing about Michelle, not yet, and nothing about his ambivalence towards many aspects of life, either. He wracked his brains for something witty and light-hearted. There were plenty of minor exploits from his youth, but nothing shock-worthy. The time Billy dared him to go into the ladies’ toilets at The Club on the Corner and Deirdre had been lurking outside waiting for him because one of the girls had snitched on him. He’d got into a lot of trouble over that. Or when he’d downed the best part of a bottle of White Lightning behind the bus shelter, again a dare from Billy. Billy was almost always involved when he got in trouble, now he thought about it.

‘I kissed a boy once.’ The words were out of his mouth before he could think about what he was revealing.

‘Really?’ She looked surprised. ‘Even if I’d had a hundred guesses, I wouldn’t have predicted you were going to say that.’

‘Sometimes there’s more to people than meets the eye.’

‘You can’t say something like that and just leave it there,’ she said, looking forlornly at the now-empty napkin. All that was left of her hot dog were a few stray crumbs and a smear of red sauce. ‘Come on. Spill the beans.’

‘There’s not much to spill. It was during my first month at uni. The guy I lived next to in halls had a friend come to stay.’ He could picture him clearly in his mind’s eye, even now – the slicked-back blonde hair, the sharp, pale features, the all-black clothes. ‘He looked like the actor who played Draco Malfoy in the Harry Potter films.’

Clara nodded her approval. ‘Not bad.’

‘We all went out to a club, everyone from our floor, and when we got back someone suggested we played spin the bottle. There were maybe ten of us still up, all steaming drunk. And when he spun the bottle, it landed on me. I thought he’d kiss the girl I was sat next to instead because he’d been flirting with her all night, but he didn’t. He walked straight across the middle of the circle and lowered down onto his haunches, placed his hands on my cheeks and kissed me.’

Clara fanned her hand in front of her face. ‘Sounds hot.’

‘It wasn’t. Not for me, anyway.’

Michelle had been there, sat on the other side of the circle, watching in amusement, not remotely threatened by someone else kissing him. If roles had been reversed he’d have been squirming with jealousy, but then Michelle had always been easy-going, a free spirit. She’d teased him mercifully about it forever more. At least, as forever more as they’d been granted, which hadn’t been long enough.

‘Were there tongues?’

Joe pressed his lips firmly together, wondering what had made him willingly share something so personal with Clara, who he barely knew. He’d not breathed a word of this to anyone who hadn’t been there, not even Billy.

‘Yeah.’

‘You’re a dark horse, Joe Smith. Snogging men after a drunken night out. I wouldn’t have had you down as the type.’

‘It was a game,’ he shrugged. ‘And it wasn’t for me. Anyway, why is it me revealing all this stuff? Make it fair, come on. Tell me more about you.’

‘I might go down in your estimation if I tell you too much.’

‘Not a chance.’

‘When I was fourteen I let Darren Wilder touch my boobs at the school disco.’

Joe laughed. ‘That’s not shocking, that’s just teenagers being teenagers.’

‘I graffiti-ed the toilets in the Imperial War Museum once on a school trip.’

‘What did you write?’

‘Clara was here,’ she laughed.

‘Stealthy,’ he nodded. ‘I like it. But it doesn’t shock me.’

‘I once climbed out of my window to go to an Avril Lavigne concert at the Apollo because I knew my mum wouldn’t let me go if I asked.’

‘Now that’s shameful. Avril Lavigne? Really?’

‘She had some classic tunes, I’ll have you know.’

Joe snorted. ‘Whatever you say.’

‘She did!’ Clara laughed, playfully slapping his arm. ‘I bet even you liked Sk8er Boi.’ She proceeded to sing it theatrically, and Joe found himself joining in. He hadn’t realised he still knew the lyrics after all these years.

‘Ha! I knew you were a closet fan.’

‘Simone liked her.’

‘She did not, you liar. She’s not the right age.’

‘It’s only that one song. It’s a catchy tune.’

‘It’s immense,’ Clara agreed. ‘But enough talk about Avril. Are you ready to hit the stalls? Because I noticed one back there that I’d like to have a look at.’

‘The one with the alpaca-wool hats?’ he grinned. The stall had stood out for Joe, the brightly coloured garments catching his eye. There had been shawls and ponchos hanging on a rack and one of those twizzly stands covered in hats with earflaps, like the one the sausage-seller had been sporting. Then there had been knee-high socks, thick and striped, and pairs of mittens that looked warm and snuggly, similar to the ones Clara had been wearing the evening of the light switch-on, but in an array of garish clashing colours.

‘Haha,’ she said, poking out her tongue. ‘That wasn’t the one I had in my sights, actually. There was a stall with wooden ornaments that I thought would make nice gifts. My mum is as nuts about Christmas as I am, so I always get her a new decoration as part of her Christmas present.’

‘Cool,’ Joe replied, before looking through the crowds to try and locate the stall. There were so many, and every hut looked alike. He hoped Clara could remember where it was because otherwise it could take a while to find. ‘Any idea which direction we need to head in?’

Clara wafted her hands around. ‘Somewhere towards the middle.’

Joe couldn’t help but smile at her vagueness. ‘We’d better get searching then, hadn’t we?’

And they amiably linked arms and headed off in search of the perfect gift for Clara’s mum.

* * *

‘Aren’t they gorgeous?’ Clara said, as she ran her fingers gently over the smooth curves of a carved reindeer. The wood was varnished, yet the colour remained delicate and pale.

Joe wasn’t usually won over by ornaments, but even he had to admit they were beautifully made. The attention to detail was phenomenal and the intricate nativity scenes had particularly caught his eye.

‘Handcrafted in Scandinavia,’ said a ruddy-faced blonde in a fisherman’s sweater. ‘And all individual. You won’t find two the same.’

‘That’s what I like about them,’ Clara enthused. ‘That they’re all unique.’ She picked up a small reindeer, not much bigger than her thumb. ‘I think something like this would be best. Our place isn’t really big enough for one like that,’ she laughed, nodding towards the largest of the reindeers. It came up to Joe’s waist, and he wondered who would ever buy a decoration that big. He supposed they appealed to people who had mansions, or those families who turned their gardens into a winter wonderland for a month so it became a bizarre local attraction.

Clara handed the miniature reindeer to the stall-holder with a decisive nod. ‘I’ll take this one.’

As she handed over the money in exchange for the wooden trinket, now wrapped in shimmering silver tissue paper, she beamed.

‘My mum’ll love it. Thank you,’ she added, waving to the man as they moved on to the next stall, where a wild-haired lady was waxing lyrical about her homemade scented candles.

‘I’ve tried to conjure up some more unusual scents,’ she said, every word deliberate and pronounced. ‘Everyone likes vanilla, but I wanted to give them more of a Miranda vibe.’ Sensing Clara’s bemusement and mistaking it for confusion, 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.’