‘Georgia, you’re a terrible liar.’ He squeezes my hand gently, repeating what I said to him this morning. ‘I know it was you who did the window. What I don’t know is why you won’t just admit it. You’ll still be my favourite Georgia.’
I feel like I’m at a fork in the road trying to decide which direction to go in. I could just tell him. He knows it was me so what’s the point in lying even more? But it feels like the thread of a jumper that you start to pull and before you know it, you’ve got an unravelled ball of wool at your feet. If I tell him it was me, he’s going to want to know why, and then he’s going to want to know why I care about getting more customers into his shop and reminding him of how much he loves Christmas, and no matter what answers I give, they’re all going to lead back to the phone call. Contrary to my panic just now, he doesn’t seem to suspect that the girl on the phone was me, and I need to keep it that way.
He’s got a notepad and pen in the top pocket of his apron and I pull my hand out of his and pluck it out, trying not to think about the way my fingers accidentally touch his chest. I draw three lines with a triangle roof over them, add a window and a square for the chimney with some squiggly biro lines of smoke coming out. An aardvark could’ve drawn a better picture.
‘There.’ I hand it back to him. ‘That’s the extent of my artistry.’
‘Anyone could’ve done that,’ he says, raising an eyebrow at the drawing although he sounds a little less sure than he was before.
‘Anyone could’ve done your window,’ I fire back, hating the outright lying much more than the roundabout lying I’ve been doing up until now. ‘Is your mum minding the shop? Did she get on okay at the doctor’s?’
‘Yes, and yes,’ he says, narrowing his eyes. He knows I’m redirecting the conversation and he pauses as he decides whether to let me or not. ‘And she absolutely loved the window. She’s been out there taking photographs all morning. She got a customer to post them on Instagram and every two minutes, she’s squealing some variation of, “ooh, we’ve got another like!”.’
‘She’s adorable.’
‘She’d love to know who painted it. She’d probably bake them a batch of mince pies to thank them. She’s over the moon with it.’
‘Well, if I hear anything, I’ll let you know.’ I give him a tight smile. This conversation is the most awkward one I’ve ever had with Leo because he knows it was me, I know he knows, and we both know I should just admit it.
Leo must sense the awkwardness too because he glances between me, Casey, and Jerry who’s awkwardly tidying up some nearby leaflets that didn’t need tidying in the first place. ‘Sorry, I’m obviously keeping you from your work. I didn’t mean to interrupt your break, but I had to come down this end of the street anyway so thought I’d pop in. See you tomorrow, right?’
‘Right,’ I say.
He nods slowly, and I can almost see him deciding he’s not going to get any more information out of me today.
‘Handsome chap,’ Jerry says as the door closes behind Leo, finally looking up from his leaflets that until now have required the concentration of a life-changing exam accidentally translated into Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. ‘He totally bought that you were on your break.’
‘Yeah, thanks Jerry,’ I say, feeling like we’ve all just ran a massive con on Leo. It’s not a good feeling. ‘And thanks for playing along and sending Casey to get me.’
‘Ah, we’re as quiet as every other business on this street these days,’ he says. ‘This was the most interesting thing I’ve seen for weeks. He really seems to like you.’
I snort. ‘Oh, I doubt that, and even if he did, lying about where I work will soon put an end to it.’
‘Key thing when it comes to getting into men’s pants,’ Casey says as I go back through the staff door. ‘Choose a lie and commit to it. Don’t start all this honesty rubbish that you usually bang on about. I often tell guys I’m an air hostess. They really get off on it. You should’ve gone for something like that, it’s much more exotic than banker, but if finance is what turns him on … kinky.’
‘Thanks for the sage advice, Case, I’ll be sure to take it on board.’ I slip out of her jacket and chuck it back to her, determined to keep my mind off turning Leo on.
‘And FYI,’ she calls after me, ‘when it comes to seduction techniques, enquiring after his mum’s recent doctor’s appointment is not generally a turn-on for most men!’
* * *
When I get back into One Light, there’s a tray of purple and silver It’s A Wonderful Latte cups and two bags of muffins on the unit in the back room. The volunteers are upstairs in the kitchen, and Mary’s watching the empty shop from the doorway between the back room and the shop floor with a muffin in one hand and a coffee cup in the other.
‘Where did all these come from?’ I ask in surprise.
‘That chap from the coffee shop up the street,’ Mary says as she swallows a mouthful of muffin. ‘Never seen him in here before and suddenly he appears with all this.’
‘Why? Did someone order it? What did he say?’
‘No, it was a gift. He just put all this down on the counter and said, “You guys do good work here and I bet no one ever tells you that”. I told him he was right – no one ever does – and he shrugged and said, “’tis the season” and left.’
‘That was it?’
She nods.
‘He didn’t ask any other questions? Nothing about, like, who does the painting on our windows or anything like that?’
‘Nope, nothing. He did look around a bit, like he was searching for someone, but he didn’t linger. It’s quite bizarre, isn’t it?’
‘Mm,’ I say noncommittally.
So he doesn’t know I did the window. And I was so sure he’d just been in here and asked, and that Mary would’ve said, ‘Oh, our manager Georgia who, contrary to popular belief, doesn’t work in the bank next door.’ He just suspects because I’m a terrible liar and don’t know when to keep my mouth shut.
‘The volunteers attacked it like starving hyenas and have taken themselves off for a hot chocolate and muffin break upstairs. I’ve never tried one of his coffees before but this is really good.’ She raises her cardboard cup in a toast.
‘Oh, Leo, why’d you have to be so nice?’ I murmur as I look over the array of goodies. He’s brought us a huge takeout tray of coffee cups – four coffees, three teas, and three hot chocolates – and two huge bags of muffins, one pumpkin spice and one chocolate chip. And that’s minus what the volunteers and Mary have already snaffled. I pick up a coffee and take a pumpkin spice muffin, and walk over to peer out at the empty shop with Mary.
‘God knows how many people he thinks work here,’ she says. ‘He brought enough to feed the whole street.’
I smile at the thought – that’s Leo to a tee. I doubt he’s got a clue how many people work here, he was just making sure there was enough variety for everyone to have something they might like. ‘Yeah, well, no wonder his business is failing if he keeps giving stuff away.’
I can almost see her ears prick up. ‘His business is failing?’
‘Er … well …’ I stutter because I’m not supposed to know that. ‘Every business on the high street is failing, isn’t it? I’m sure he’s no worse than any other business around here. But he probably will be if he keeps giving half his stock away to random shops.’
She looks like she can see right through me. ‘Yes, it is a bit random, isn’t it?’
I can’t tell her that it’s not random. I can’t tell her that this is Leo’s little way of thanking One Light for being there the other night. I don’t know if he even realizes it was this branch he phoned, but I saw him look up at our sign when he walked me to the bank the other morning. ‘Maybe he was feeling particularly charitable today.’
She gives me a knowing look and has another slurp of her coffee. ‘And maybe it has something to do with that smile you can’t get off your face and that mysterious man who kept you talking for so long
this morning, and those hot chocolates you turned up with from his shop, hmm?’
‘Of course not,’ I say, feigning innocence again, but she’s right – I can’t get the smile off my face whenever I think about Leo. ‘I just stopped in there as I rushed past on the way to work. After being held up by someone else. A different man.’
‘Has anyone ever told you you’re a terrible liar?’
I don’t bother to try denying it. She’s not the only person to tell me that today.
‘By the way, if he comes in here again,’ I take a deep breath because I know it’s going to make her suspicion go from through the roof to through the earth’s atmosphere, ‘could you not tell him I work here? I mean, if he mentions my name or anything, I work in the bank. And if he asks anything about who does our windows, tell him Head Office hires a freelancer and it’s nothing to do with us.’
She doesn’t look as surprised by the request as I expected. ‘Well, at least that answers why you ran off so quickly just now.’
‘I know you don’t like lying to anyone,’ I start, ready to launch into my pre-prepared speech about certain omissions not exactly being lies as such, the speech that even I don’t believe.
‘George, in all our years of working together, I’ve never seen you get so het up over a bloke who was your own age and didn’t sleep on a park bench. I’ll tell him you’re the Pope and you work on Jupiter if it’ll get you a date. You can’t spend every evening watching TV with your dad, you know.’
‘I don’t spend every –’
‘I know. Some evenings, you work late to change the window displays so the shop doesn’t look a mess when there are customers about. It doesn’t get you any closer to finding a husband though. I was married with two children by the time I was your age …’
I tune out as Mary launches into her often repeated speech about marriage and babies, mainly to avoid the temptation to remind her, again, that I’m only 34 and it’s not exactly as over-the-hill as it was forty years ago. I do want to find love and have a family, I just never imagined I’d be doing it in Oakbarrow, the same tiny town I was born in and haven’t left in thirty-four years. Most of the men around here moved away as soon as they were old enough. Any that stayed, married their high school girlfriends and are settled with families. It’s not an area that attracts new people, so when it comes to single men my own age, the pickings are not just slim, but they’ve probably snogged Casey at least twice. My focus for the past few years hasn’t been on men – it’s been on my dad and his failing health, and work. I was unprepared for the job of charity shop manager when I got it and I’ve spent years trying not to mess it up and make Head Office realize they hired a window decorator who’s terrible at paperwork and saying no to people. Leo’s the only man who’s made butterflies flutter in my belly for many years.
* * *
‘What are you doing out there for the umpteenth time this afternoon?’ Mary demands from the shop doorway, hands on her hips. Even in the dark, I can see her foot tapping against the pavement.
‘Pedestrian count,’ I lie.
‘We did that last month.’
‘They’re increasing them due to the dire amount of pedestrians left to count.’ I make an excuse out of the completely inaccurate method Head Office insist we use to gauge how successful our window displays: by counting the number of people walking past against the number of people who come into the shop.
The truth is, I’m standing in the road at the corner by the bank trying to figure out if my window mural has brought Leo any extra customers today. Mary’s a bit too observant in noticing that it’s not the first time I’ve been out to see if anyone’s stopping to look at it. When I look back again, she’s disappeared and closed the door behind her, turning the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed’ because it’s five o’clock. It makes me realize how little work I’ve done today. If I haven’t been out in the road staring at It’s A Wonderful Latte, I’ve been eating the muffins Leo brought us.
‘So, how many people have gone in?’ Mary asks a few minutes later, making me jump as she appears next to me and nudges a cup of tea into my hand.
‘Two. And a couple of others stopped to look but didn’t go in.’ I suddenly realize who I’m talking to and do a double take. ‘I mean, er, into our shop. Obviously. For the pedestrian count.’
‘Even though you’re facing the wrong way and our shop’s been closed for the last ten minutes?’ She lets out a little giggle of laughter. ‘You’ve been painting our windows for the past few years. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t recognize your handiwork?’
I’ve been caught out and I know it. ‘If you do, he could.’
‘Why is it a problem if he does?’
‘Well, he’s not exactly happy about it. He was talking about washing it off this morning.’
‘But he hasn’t. Maybe he’s got used to it now. Maybe he’s been too busy with all the extra customers it’s pulled in.’
‘Wishful thinking,’ I mumble.
‘What were you trying to achieve?’
‘I don’t know.’ I sigh and take a sip of my tea. ‘I was just trying to do something nice. To cheer him up. To make his shop look as festive as it usually does. I wanted him to know that someone out there cares about him; I just didn’t want him to know it was me.’
‘How are you going to get a date with him if he doesn’t know it’s you?’
I raise an eyebrow at her. ‘This is not about dating him. It’s about … Leo needs … I just wanted to show him that someone would miss him … his shop … if he … it … was gone.’
‘Are you going to do it again?’
‘What, tonight? I could do …’ I say as an idea sparks in my mind. I could do it again tonight, couldn’t I? It would create a bit more interest. A few people stopped to look at it today, wouldn’t they stop to look at it again tomorrow if it had mysteriously changed overnight? ‘I only have access to the outside, not like in here where window paintings are safe unless a wayward child clambers into the display. Leo’s is going to wash off as soon as we have a heavy shower. And I’ve already seen one kid trying to lick it. It’s going to look pretty damaged soon. A quick refresh wouldn’t be a bad idea, would it?’
‘Oh, I don’t think it’s up to me to judge your ideas, George,’ she says, leaving me with no doubt about how dreadful she thinks this one is. ‘Are you going to tell me what you’re not telling me? What was that all about with him bringing us muffins and coffee this morning? He’s been there for years, he’s never done that before.’
‘Well, like he told you, ‘tis the season.’
‘It’s been the season a few times since he took over that old café. Never once have we got muffins from him before, and today, you’re running around in the night painting his windows, you’re late for the first time in four years and you refuse to tell us who held you up, but you turn up with suspiciously purple and silver cups. The plot thickens like a donated book with half the pages missing.’
‘Just trying to spread a bit of Christmas cheer.’ I give her my brightest please-stop-questioning-me smile. I don’t want to lie to her, but I’m doing enough damage to One Light’s privacy rules as it is, I can’t tell her the truth too. She’s a good, honest, straight-down-the-line woman who tells it like it is. I can’t share Leo’s private turmoil with her, any more than I can expect her to know I took a phone call I shouldn’t have taken and not tell Head Office about it.
‘Okay,’ she says in a tone that says she knows there’s more to it. ‘For what it’s worth, I overheard a couple of customers talking about how clever it was this morning. If you’re going to do another one tonight, you should use the gingerbread house again. It looks fantastic. You’re wasted in retail.’
‘It’s just stencils and spray paint. A mouse could’ve done it,’ I say, even though I’m blushing furiously. I love it when customers comment on how good our windows look in One Light. I’ve always dreamed of people seeing something I’ve painted and liking it. I just n
ever imagined it would be on the window of a coffee shop on Oakbarrow High Street.
Chapter 7
That night, I tuck my dad into bed and put food out for the cats before I leave at midnight. I spent the rest of the evening sketching out designs at a perspective angle that will incorporate the gingerbread house in Leo’s window, and I’ve settled on painting a garden path up to the house with a fence made of sweets at the front and a garden full of holly at the back. The added colour pop of some red berries with everything else in white should be eye-catching.
The dark sky is cloudy instead of clear tonight so we probably won’t get nature’s added effect of frost making the design sparkle in the morning, but that’s okay as long as it doesn’t rain. The effort of lugging a bucket of water and a cloth with me to wash last night’s design off and start again is keeping me warm enough that I don’t even notice how cold the night air is.
The streets are as silent as they are every night. Yesterday’s paint comes off easily with warm water and a gentle scrub and the glass squeaks as I rub it dry, ready for a new design. I stick up a row of circular stencils along the bottom and spray them, creating a fence made of doughnuts and a snow-covered garden behind. I’m just using my finger to draw a line through the snow to begin the path when I hear the telltale flap of Bernard’s loose sole slapping against the pavement as he comes down the road.
‘What a surprise to see you here again,’ he whispers.
‘Hi Bernard,’ I whisper back, finding the whispering quite strange. We could talk in normal voices, it’s not like there’s anyone around to hear us.
‘I overheard a few mentions of your window today,’ he says with his usual beaming smile.
‘It’s Leo’s window, I’m just … playing with it. I thought if I changed it again overnight, it might get a few more tongues wagging.’
‘God knows there’s nothing else to get excited about round here,’ he mutters. ‘Leo strongly suspects it was you, you know?’
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