‘These aren’t standard first-aid kit supplies,’ Joe noted.
‘This is the staff first-aid kit.’ Clara held up some of the other contents, which included a box of Alka Seltzer and a family-sized box of Rennies. ‘The Deep Heat is Deirdre’s, for when her leg’s playing up. She says the warmth helps her bones.’
Joe smiled. ‘And the Alka Seltzer?’
‘Mine,’ Clara admitted, shamefaced. ‘I had a couple of big nights out when I split up with Dean. I never came to work drunk,’ she added hastily, ‘but there were a couple of occasions where I was a bit … let’s say “worse for wear”.’
‘Ah,’ Joe said, raising a knowing eyebrow. ‘They work wonders, don’t they?’
He squirted a generous dollop of the smelly cream onto the palm of his hand before rubbing it into his shoulder, and Clara watched as he closed his eyes with blessed relief and exhaled.
‘That’s taken the edge off,’ he said finally.
‘I’ve got something else that might cheer you up.’ Clara walked to the desk and picked up the now half-empty tub. ‘This was supposed to be your first gift.’
His eyes lit up at the sight of the trademark purple packaging. ‘Chocolate. That’s exactly what I need right now.’
‘Don’t get too excited. Deirdre got to them before I had chance to hide them away.’
His lips curled up into a knowing smile. ‘So my first gift is a half-eaten tin of chocolates?’
‘Yep,’ Clara replied with a chuckle, relieved Joe could see the funny side of the situation. ‘I’m a chocoholic, but Deirdre is something else. As soon as she saw them she pounced. I’ll have to up my game next time I bring anything sweet for you.’
She handed him the tin and he prised off the lid. It popped as it loosened. ‘At least all the good ones are left,’ he said, taking in the golden wrappers of the toffees.
‘That’s because Deirdre can only have the soft centres. The chewy ones play havoc with her false teeth.’
Joe pulled at either end of the wrapper of a slender toffee finger, the sweet twisting as he unravelled it from its shimmering casing. He moaned as he popped it into his mouth.
‘So my first gift was a good choice, then?’
‘Mmm,’ Joe replied with a nod, still chewing on his toffee. ‘The Deep Heat works, but this is the best medicine.’
He swallowed it down, then offered the tin to Clara, who shook her head.
‘I’ll admit it, I had a few earlier too. What’s left are all yours.’
‘I admire your honesty.’
‘So food works as a gift for you?’
‘Food’s always a good choice,’ he said, selecting a second chocolate.
‘That’s useful to know.’
‘And what about you? I’m supposed to be taking you out on a non-date tomorrow,’ he reminded her. ‘And the place I was thinking of probably involves half your daily calorie intake. You’re not one of these women who doesn’t eat, are you?’
Clara swallowed down the laugh that was rising in her throat, thinking of how much she loved her food. If it wasn’t for her constant nervous energy about the future of The Club on the Corner she’d probably be a good few dress sizes larger than she was.
‘It’s safe to say food’s always good with me, too,’ she confirmed. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’
And she realised with a jolt that she was. She really, really was.
Sunday, December 3rd 2017
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.