It's a Wonderful Night

by Jaimie Admans

  ‘Wow,’ I say, struck again by how you never know what people are going through behind a smile. Even with the phone call, I had no idea of the connection Leo had to this coffee shop or what had led to him buying it. I remember his smile as I peered in the window on the first day he opened. It must’ve been mere months after his dad passed. That day must’ve been so bittersweet for him, and yet his smile was bright enough to pull me in from the outside. ‘That’s a beautiful way to honour him. He’d be so proud if he could see it now.’

  Leo pushes himself off the counter where he’s been leaning and I focus on the line the edging has made where it’s dug into his forearm. ‘Yeah, well, pretty soon it’s going up a creek with no paddle, so I doubt he’d be proud then.’

  ‘Of course he would,’ I say, but Leo doesn’t look like he’s listening.

  ‘Flipping heck, it’s quarter past nine,’ he says, his attention on the clock on the wall. ‘I’ve made you late for work. Your boss can’t be so easygoing that he’d be happy about that.’

  Bollocks. Never mind a boss, I’ve got a 73-year-old assistant manager who’s sweet and innocent on the outside but has a backbone of steel and spikes of wrought iron when someone does something she doesn’t approve of. Poor timekeeping is one thing of the many things she can’t abide.

  ‘It’s easy to lose track of time talking to you,’ I say, trying not to think about Mary and the two volunteers due in this morning, undoubtedly waiting in the car park out back at the moment. I’ve got the keys and I’m always there by 8.45 at the latest.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Leo says. ‘I didn’t mean to ramble at you like that. Talk about unprofessional.’

  ‘Leo, don’t. It was great. I love talking to you.’

  It gives me a little thrill to see his cheeks turn red. ‘I can close up for a couple of minutes and walk you in? I’ll talk to your boss and take all the blame?’

  ‘No, don’t you dare. Your mum’s not even here to mind the shop. You could miss a walking club of twenty customers in that time. Besides, I do not want you to bear witness to the terrible lies I’ll have to come up with to satisfy my boss. I was thinking sheep in the road, does that sound realistic to you?’

  ‘Hmm. Doesn’t really work unless you live somewhere where there are actually sheep. Not a lot of sheep come shopping on the high street.’

  ‘Yeah. Can’t remember the last time I served one.’

  It makes him laugh.

  ‘See? I’m a terrible liar!’

  ‘Ah, Georgia. If all else fails, tell him “women’s problems”. Always works for me.’

  ‘Women’s problems works for you?’

  He grins. ‘Genius, right? People are so confused by that excuse coming from a man that they don’t even question it.’

  ‘You’re an evil mastermind under that sunny smile, aren’t you?’

  He does a gallant bow. ‘I try my best.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what, before I run off, can I have three hot chocolates to go, please?’

  ‘As a bribe or for use as a shield?’

  ‘If you promise not to judge me – a bribe.’

  ‘Good thinking.’ He turns around and sets about making them. ‘You’re single-handedly keeping me in business today. Is this one bank manager who really likes hot chocolate or three managers to placate?’

  I hate lying to him about this, it’s so stupid, but how can I tell him anything different? ‘One manager and two colleagues who’ll have had to cover my desk for twenty minutes. They won’t mind but one of your hot chocolates will certainly smooth the way,’ I lie, thinking about the three old ladies freezing in the car park. A hot chocolate would give them something to dump over my head if they weren’t all chocoholics.

  ‘Yikes,’ he says. ‘I’d better put extra spray cream on top for good measure.’

  I watch as Leo makes one cup after the other, obviously rushing to save me being even later than I already am, putting each one on the counter and filling them up with more squirty cream than should be legal at this time of day before fitting the lids on. Our fingers brush as I hand him the money and listen to the ding of the till again, a real old-fashioned bell ringing sound, and watch as he slots each cup into a cardboard cup holder and holds it out to me.

  My hands close around the cardboard tray but he doesn’t let go. Instead he pulls it back slightly, making me look up at him. ‘Thank you, my lovely.’

  His gaze is holding mine, his eyes so intense that I feel a delicious little shiver at the base of my spine, and I get the feeling he doesn’t just mean for the multiple drinks I’ve bought this morning.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, trying not to think about how easy it would be to use the tray to pull him across the counter and press my lips against his.

  I reluctantly take the tray of hot chocolates in one hand and hoist my bag over my shoulder with the other. I don’t want to go, but I’ve probably got another five minutes before Mary starts doing door-to-door enquiries and if she finds me in here, there’s going to be no getting away with pretending to work in the bank.

  ‘Sorry for making you late for work.’

  ‘You haven’t. It was … nice,’ I say, backing away but keeping my eyes on his, well aware that I’m likely to trip over my own feet and end up head over heels under three cups of hot chocolate in a minute, and I’m beginning to think there’s already enough head-over-heels-ing when it comes to Leo.

  ‘Let me get the door for you, your hands are full.’ Leo dashes out from behind the counter and strides across the shop, pulling the door open for me with another jingle of the bell.

  ‘Thanks,’ I mumble, a bit too aware of the heat from his body as I squeeze past him in the doorway, and of how much I’ve heated up from his closeness. It’s not normal to feel this hot on a cold December morning.

  ‘Hey, Georgia?’ he says as I go to say goodbye.

  I stop and turn back, my shoulder millimetres away from his.

  ‘Thank you. It was incredible to talk to someone who actually remembers my father. As Santa and as himself. That’s what he would’ve wanted. To affect someone’s life in some small way. He would’ve liked that.’

  A lump forms in my throat as I go to reply, and Leo nudges his shoulder against mine gently. ‘Sorry, I’m holding you up even more. See you tomorrow, right? Have a good day.’

  I decide it’s probably a good time to leave even if I don’t want to. Crying in the middle of the street in front of Leo is not a good idea, and I’m sure I’ve just seen the flap of a lilac coat disappear around the corner, meaning that Mary’s come out looking for me.

  ‘It was the most interesting morning I’ve had in a long time.’ I force my brightest grin and nudge his arm in return.

  ‘Worth the bollocking from the boss?’

  ‘Worth twenty bollockings from twenty bosses.’

  ‘Aww.’ He pushes his bottom lip out. ‘Never have I felt more valued in my entire life. Now I know why you’ll always be my favourite Georgia.’

  ‘Well, you’ll always be my favourite Leo, even if you did destroy the Christmas illusions of my childhood.’

  I hear him laughing behind me as I walk away and wave as I pass the window, and the grin he gives me is wide enough to break his face in two.

  Now, never mind bollockings from bosses, I’m going to have a car park full of annoyed old ladies who are all skilled at beating people with walking sticks.

  Chapter 6

  I placate Mary and the volunteers’ anger with hot chocolate and by telling them I was late because I was talking to a man and giving them free reign with questions. Yes, my own age. No, not homeless. Yes, single. Yes, handsome. No, I didn’t get a date. Yes, I am going to see him again tomorrow but not for that reason. No, I’m not telling you his name so you can cyberstalk him on Facebook. I didn’t know 73-year-olds knew what Facebook or cyberstalking was. The excitement of me talking to a single man my own age seems to obliterate any lingering annoyance at waiting around and being convinced I’d come a cro
pper and drowned in an icy puddle or met my demise in some other way. Mary must spend most of her time thinking up eccentric ways that people might’ve died.

  I nearly do die just before lunchtime as I’m tidying a rail of children’s clothes at the back of the shop after a customer has been rummaging. I catch a flash of purple and silver in hands and curly brown hair and turn around, almost as if the world is in slow motion, to see Leo at the door. I squeak in surprise and send a thank you up to any listening deities that his hands are full so he’s using an elbow and his back to push the door open, giving me a chance to fly up the steps and into the back room, not missing Mary’s look of interest on the way.

  The initial flash of excitement that he’s come to see me is instantaneously replaced with a shot of dread. He hasn’t come to see me – he doesn’t know I work here. So what’s he doing?

  I look around the back room in a panic. What if he’s seen me and follows me out here? What if he asks Mary for the manager and she tells him who I am? What if she sends him through for a chat? I haven’t told her anything about the whole bank debacle yet. I could go upstairs but then I’d lose any chance of eavesdropping on what he wants.

  I spot a dressing gown on a rail next to the clothes steamer and duck underneath it, standing up so it covers my head. If anyone comes in, they’ll just see a bulky dressing gown with a pair of legs, like a really weird ghost who’s a bit late for Halloween and has run out of bedsheets.

  Maybe I’m overthinking it. He had something in his hands … maybe a bag of donations? It’s probably nothing to do with me. He’s just got some old stuff to get rid of. That’ll be it.

  I hear the ding of the till as Mary finishes with the customer she was serving. It must be Leo’s turn next. I shuffle further along the rail inside the dressing gown, the coat hanger doing its best to strangle me, but one of the Fisher Price toys at the back of the shop starts going off and all I can hear is a series of beeps as a child starts banging it.

  Perfect.

  I stand steadfastly still for a few tense moments, barely daring to breathe, my mind racing with questions. Leo’s never come into the shop before and I never expected him to.

  I hear the clatter of the door opening and closing. Was that him or just another customer? I strain my ears to listen to what might be going on out there, but now someone’s talking on a mobile near the entrance to the back room. I’m destined to stay stuck here in the dark.

  I hear Mary calling ‘thanks’ to someone and the sound of the shop door opening and closing again. Was that him leaving? How long do I wait before I dare to show my face again? If I pop my head round the corner and he’s still in there, he’ll see me.

  It’s a good thing I like working in retail because I’m clearly not cut out for a career in espionage.

  Surely Mary will come through to tell me the coast is clear in a minute? But then again, she has no idea who I’m hiding from.

  ‘George!’ Casey yells, and our back door creaks open as she pokes her head round it.

  ‘Oh good, there you are.’ She doesn’t even bat an eyelid when she clocks me hiding inside a dressing gown and I wonder if I should be offended. Is hiding inside dressing gowns really such unsurprising behaviour for me?

  ‘A Leo situation has arisen in the bank. He wants to see you.’

  ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘Nope. He caught Jerry and asked if he could speak to you. He told him you were on your break but Mr Coffee Apron said it was important.’

  ‘Talk about all happening at once,’ I mutter, casting a glance towards the shop floor. Leo must’ve left here and gone straight into the bank next door. Maybe that’s good. It means he couldn’t have talked to Mary for long or asked her too many awkward questions about window paintings.

  ‘How do I look?’ I ask Casey as I follow her out into the car park and through the back door of the bank, smoothing down my trousers and shirt, very aware that my clothes don’t look like I work in a bank.

  ‘Like you just got out of a dressing gown. What were you doing in there?’

  ‘Leo came in … and I … it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Hold still, you’ve got cotton in your hair. And I’ll take this.’ She reaches over to pluck a stray thread from my frizzy ponytail and yanks the tape measure from around my neck with a flourish as we walk down the corridor. ‘The financial service industry doesn’t go around with tape measures on their person. Just FYI if you’re going to continue this madness.’

  I’d totally forgotten that. ‘It’s just because we get asked to measure stuff all the time in the shop. I drape one round my neck and forget it’s there.’

  ‘I know. I’ve removed many a tape measure from your neck when we used to go for a drink in The Bum after work on a Friday night.’

  ‘When you used to hit it off with some local hottie and leave me to walk home on my own?’

  ‘Been a long time since there were hotties around here …’ She sounds wistful as she rolls the tape measure back into a curl.

  Speaking of hotties, I smile at the thought of Leo. Waiting to see me. Wanting to see me. And Casey thinks Oakbarrow is lacking in hotties. Since when do we call them hotties, anyway? What are we, eleven?

  ‘Thanks for coming to get me, Case. You’re a lifesaver.’

  ‘You know, I’m all for going all out to get into a man’s pants, but this is taking the biscuit, even for you.’

  ‘I don’t want to get into his pants.’ I glance through the reinforced glass window in the heavy door that separates the staff area from the customers. Leo’s leaning against the grey wall with his hands in the pockets of his blue apron, his hair looking windswept and like it needs fingers combed through it to set it back right. ‘I want to get into his life.’

  ‘But pants would be a nice bonus, right?’ She shrugs her blazer off and hands it to me. ‘Here, put this on so you don’t look completely out of place as a bank employee.’

  I take the dark blue jacket of her uniform and shove my arms into it quickly as she pulls the door open and pushes me through.

  ‘Hi!’ I squeak in surprise, mild hysteria making my voice so shrill that two customers queuing at the tills look over.

  I stumble to a halt in front of Leo and try to maintain some shred of dignity by shaking my ponytail out and smoothing the blazer down. ‘Casey said you wanted to see me? Everything okay?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He pushes himself off the wall he was leaning against. ‘Can I talk to you? It’ll only take a moment.’

  He inclines his head towards an empty area of the bank, underneath a poster of a woman with an unnaturally white smile advertising mortgages. She wouldn’t look out of place advertising tooth bleaching kits. Leo doesn’t seem upset or agitated, but this is definitely not normal.

  Instead of speaking, he holds his hand out, a clear invitation for me to put mine in his.

  Casey could sense a man offering me a hand from five miles away and I don’t miss her edging closer in my peripheral vision.

  Unsure of what else to do, I slide my hand into his open palm. His hand is warm and his skin is rough against mine, and if I wasn’t so worried about what he’s up to, I’d enjoy the little shiver that goes down my spine.

  His fingers close around mine, his thumb rubbing the top of them as he pulls my hand nearer and holds it up, sort of examining it.

  ‘I know it was you.’

  My heart leaps into my throat and my palms instantly start sweating so much that I’m sure he’ll be able to feel it. So that’s it. The game’s up. He’s obviously just been next door and confirmed it with Mary. He must’ve recognized my voice too. Or suspected because I went in the next day and bought him a coffee. I should’ve played it cool.

  My heart is pounding so hard that I can barely hear myself think. I’m going to have to explain everything. The bridge. The call. Why I didn’t tell him it was me the moment I realized it was him. Why I made it all ten times worse by pretending to work here.

  Maybe it’s a good thing
. Keeping this ruse up is ridiculous. Other than losing my job, it will be better for both of us if the pretence ends. Maybe we can still be friends and it’ll be better without the lie between us. But without my job, I won’t be working here every day, I won’t see him every morning, and I definitely won’t be able to afford a £3.50 coffee every day.

  I swallow hard and decide to feign innocence again. ‘Know what was me?’ I ask in an even squeakier voice that doesn’t sound like my own.

  ‘Oh, come on. You were talking about the gingerbread house yesterday.’

  ‘Oh!’ I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or relieved. ‘You mean the window. Of course you do. I really don’t know where you’ve got this idea from. I couldn’t draw a dot-to-dot puzzle.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you. See, something’s been bothering me since this morning. You said the window looked good in the daylight. Now call me slow and stupid, but all morning I’ve been trying to figure out why the daylight would make a difference, and I realized that it only would if you’d seen it in the dark.’ He waggles the hand that’s still in his. ‘That, and you have white paint under your fingernails.’

  So that’s what he was doing. Not holding my hand but assessing it for the traces of paint that my gloves hid this morning. ‘Tippex! I was using Tippex on a, er, bank statement this morning. Wasn’t I, Case?’

  She looks up uninterestedly. ‘Yeah. Loads of the stuff. Tippex everywhere. Customer’s gonna love getting that in the mail.’

  ‘You don’t use Tippex on bank statements. I don’t work in a bank and even I know that.’

  At least he still thinks I work here. That’s something. ‘Well, aren’t you lucky to have never had a bank statement that needed correcting then?’