It's a Wonderful Night

by Jaimie Admans

  I slide my hand out from under his and step away, but not quick enough to miss the look of disappointment on his face. ‘What other ideas have you got then?’

  ‘Plenty. Santa feeling some melons in the old greengrocer’s. Getting a round in for the reindeer up The Bum. Buying flowers for Mrs Claus on the ex-florist’s window with a note that reads, “Sorry, I cheated on you with a randy snowman.”’

  ‘You do realize our primary audience are kids walking to school, right?’

  ‘An overly friendly snowman?’ he offers, and I try to give him a stern look between bouts of laughter.

  ‘Sorry, I appear to have the brain of a teenage boy when it comes to Santa pictures. I’ll behave, although I should warn you that things tend to go wrong when I try to behave. It’s such a rare occurrence that it tips the world off its axis or something.’ He waggles his eyebrows and his gaze locks on mine and something inside me flutters.

  He’s always been a little bit flirty in the coffee shop but it feels like it’s gone up a level lately.

  ‘You can misbehave all you want,’ I grin at him, ‘but we’re not painting naughty pictures on these windows. We’re trying to spread Christmas cheer – something that stands out from the rest of the ugly graffiti around here. One picture per day, fun not naughty, like Santa reading his newspaper on what was once the newsagents.’

  ‘Santa getting pick ‘n’ mix at the old Woolworths?’

  ‘Yes!’ The image appears instantly in my head. ‘That’s brilliant, Leo! We’ll start there tonight. It’s a huge window with blackout shutters inside so the paint will show up well, it’s in a great position right at the top of the high street so anyone coming down towards the school will have already seen it before they reach here, and it was a popular shop that everyone loved. It’s the epitome of everything that’s gone wrong with this town, from loud, bright, busy Woolworths to a manky old building with graffiti up the sides warring for space with pigeon poo. It’s perfect!’

  ‘I only usually see you this excited when I get my new coffee flavours in, but now I see that you get equally excited about pigeon poo.’ He grins. ‘I’ll get my coat before you hit me with that paintbrush.’

  * * *

  ‘You didn’t have to do that,’ I say as we step out from the alleyway and onto the main street. It’s earlier than it was last night, only 10 p.m. because it had to be dark and relatively safe from being caught, but I can’t manage another 4 a.m. finish. He’s made us a cup of tea each in takeout cups to retain the heat, and now he’s insisting on carrying my bag of paints.

  ‘You don’t have to do all this for my sake. The least I can do is make a hot cuppa. Don’t forget, I know what time you went to bed last night.’ There’s a cheeky glint in his eyes as he waggles his eyebrows, leaving me in no doubt that the innuendo was intended.

  ‘My best friend would die on the spot if she heard you saying things like that out of context.’

  ‘Desperate for you to “find someone nice, settle down and get married?”’ he asks, putting on a high voice.

  ‘Something like that,’ I mutter, trying not to laugh at the thought of Casey using quite that turn of phrase. She prefers things like shag and snog, and she’d probably disown me if I got married. ‘Your mum?’

  ‘Yeah. Barely a day goes by when I don’t get some variation of, “I ran into so-and-so at the bingo, and do you know, her daughter’s just got divorced. I told her to stop by for a coffee sometime.”’

  ‘Well, that’s nice,’ I say, feeling irrationally jealous. It’s been so long since I was interested in a man, I’ve forgotten the more unwelcome feelings that come with it.

  ‘Not really. My life is too much of a mess at the moment. I couldn’t drag all this baggage into a relationship. Who would want me anyway? I’m not far off 40 and I’m going to be declaring bankruptcy in a month.’

  How is it possible to want to hug someone this much? He’s one of the loveliest people I’ve ever met, how can he have such low self-esteem? ‘There are women out there who would think you’re the perfect age for them and that your bank details are completely irrelevant.’

  ‘I don’t think those women are in Oakbarrow,’ he says with a shrug. ‘What’s the point anyway? I’ve never had a relationship work out. On the rare occasions I’ve tried one, they always get to the point where I’ve just started to give my heart away and then … bam. She realizes she wants something different, or someone different, or someplace different. I’m in Oakbarrow for the foreseeable future and it’s not really somewhere you meet a lot of people, is it?’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ I say. ‘I was with someone for five years in my twenties; thought it was the real thing until he got a job in New York and couldn’t get away from Oakbarrow quick enough.’

  ‘You didn’t want to go?’

  ‘It was tempting, but I couldn’t leave my father, and something had always stopped me from taking any sort of plunge with him even though I told myself he was the one. He left with lots of promises of going long distance and coming back to visit, and about three days later, he was tagged in a Facebook photo of him in a New York nightclub with his hand down a New York woman’s bra and his tongue down a different New York woman’s throat.’

  ‘Yikes.’ He winces. ‘At the same time? Was he a contortionist?’

  I burst out laughing. ‘Thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed about that before.’

  ‘No one since?’

  ‘Despite Casey’s best efforts, no. Like you said, you don’t exactly meet a lot of people around here, and I’d rather be alone than with someone who couldn’t wait to get out of Oakbarrow and would expect me to leave my family or my job.’

  ‘Same. I’ve stopped even thinking about relationships in recent years. My father dying changed a lot for me because it was so unexpected. You’d think it would make me want to grab life by the horns but it was kind of the opposite?’ He asks it as a question and I nod to show my understanding. ‘It made me … I don’t know … afraid, I guess. Afraid of taking any risks. Afraid of everything. I’m already too old to be waiting for my life to start …’

  ‘And too young to be so jaded?’ I offer. I want to slap my hand over my mouth as soon as I’ve said it. It’s exactly what we said on the phone the other night.

  He looks at me and I’m sure he knows.

  I swallow and imagine all the ways this might play out. Will he be angry? Will he wrap me up in his arms like a long-lost friend?

  But all he does is give me a soft smile and shake his head. ‘Exactly. I love that you understand that. I’ve always thought it was just me. It’s like I’ve been in freefall since he died, watching life move on around me and waiting for something to happen to make me move on with it, but too afraid to actually do anything about it. I’m definitely not in a place for a relationship at the moment.’

  ‘Anyone would be lucky to have you,’ I say, glad the darkness covers my blush.

  ‘You too. There are no words to describe how much of an idiot your ex was.’

  I laugh. ‘Casey’s found many ways to describe him, none of them repeatable in polite company.’

  ‘Oh, go on, tell me. I’m most definitely not polite company.’

  I giggle. ‘Well, most of them involve testicles and the removal of them with an increasingly painful array of objects. She also Googled testicle recipes and considered adopting some piranhas.’

  He laughs too. ‘I’d best be careful not to get on the wrong side of her then. Can she be bribed with coffee?’

  ‘No, and if she asks you to put your hand in a tank of water, don’t do it.’

  ‘Believe me, it’s not my hand I’m worried about!’

  Our footsteps echoing against the damp pavement is the only sound as we walk through the quiet street, up past Hawthorne Toys, the florist with a battered old sign that says ‘established in 1902’ but has been shut for a year now, various clothing boutiques that have come and gone, and what was once a busy card shop. We pass a bakery with
green awning ripped and hanging off in places, and a hairdresser’s that used to be open all the time and now only operates one afternoon a week.

  It’s easy to walk past these places and ignore them. They’re part of the furniture on Oakbarrow High Street now, and after an initial jolt of sadness when you first hear that yet another shop has closed its doors, they just sink into the background, and I pass their empty fronts every day without noticing them.

  We get to the old Woolworths; a beacon at the northern end of the high street. It’s set back from the road, with trees planted in diamond-shaped flowerbeds outside. The trees are just dead twigs now, but even in the summer, they’re not exactly bursting with life, and the only flowers that surround them are empty lager cans and cigarette butts. There used to be a couple of benches popular with men waiting for their wives, but they’ve long since been stolen – just splintery chunks of wood left on their concrete bases where thieves have chopped them off with an axe.

  ‘God, I loved this place when I was little.’ Leo puts my bag down on the pavement and steps back, looking up at the empty building in the darkness. ‘Woolworths had everything, didn’t they? Toys, sweets, clothes, stationery, tools, bits and bobs for the house. My mum bought an umbrella for a quid there and it lasted for about fifteen years. It’s just one of the many amazing shops that Oakbarrow used to have. Now it’s just a hell hole but even hell holes have more good points than this.’

  ‘Hell holes don’t have It’s A Wonderful Latte. That’s one thing going for Oakbarrow.’

  ‘I love your positivity, George, but It’s A Wonderful Latte is going from Oakbarrow in a few weeks unless magic happens.’

  ‘Christmas is a time for magic.’ I crouch down and unzip my holdall and start pondering what I need and how best to do it. I put up a couple of masking tape markers and Leo goes across the road to get an idea of how it will look from a distance. I’ve barely got the outline of a pick ‘n’ mix stand painted before we hear the familiar flap of a loose sole against concrete.

  ‘I was hoping I’d find you both tonight,’ Bernard says, coming down the road towards us. ‘And together too. What a treat.’

  I can’t help smiling as we both say hello to him. He never fails to appear.

  ‘So you’ve left your own windows and started on others?’

  ‘It’s like a little festive scavenger hunt.’ Leo explains the whole plan to him. ‘It’s all George’s idea.’

  ‘And Leo’s disturbing cross-dressing Santa fantasies that make it all come together,’ I add.

  He catches my eyes and raises both eyebrows and I grin at him, holding his gaze for a bit too long.

  ‘Maybe he’s onto something, you know. Maybe Mrs Claus doesn’t exist. Maybe Mrs Claus has been Santa in disguise all along,’ Bernard says, making us both laugh. ‘And people are all for gender neutrality these days, aren’t they? Why can’t Santa wear a nice dress if he fancies? Well, other than being a bit draughty for all that nipping up and down chimneys.’

  Bernard stays for a while, reminiscing about penny mix sweets while I paint their names into little signs in the pick ‘n’ mix counter with a tiny brush and some dark paint.

  Leo gives him a tenner and tells him we found it in the road and I tell him I’ve overestimated a midnight snack again and Leo making us both a drink meant I didn’t need my flask. He doesn’t buy either lie, but he’s smiling as he walks back towards the churchyard. ‘Thanks, Leo! Thanks, Clarence!’

  ‘Does he ever sleep?’ I glance at Leo, who’s sipping his tea as he watches Bernard disappear down the street. ‘I’ve seen him every night I’ve been out to do this, and he’s around every night I work late too. I always pack a sandwich and a flask for him because he’s always there.’

  ‘If he knows you’re working late, he’s probably protecting you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s been attacked a few times. And you can’t tell him I told you that because he doesn’t want any sympathy. I think that’s why he generally wanders all night and you can always find him asleep on his bench during the day. He feels safer sleeping in daylight hours.’

  ‘Attacked how? Why would anyone attack Bernard? He’s the friendliest, most harmless bloke there is.’

  ‘Attacked for being homeless. I think people mostly just kick him or spit at him as they walk past, but there was one time that he was really hurt. He was asleep and three drunken teenagers jumped on him and kicked his head in. It’s how I met him. I was here late and he somehow managed to stagger up the road, saw my light on and knocked for help.’

  ‘I had no idea.’ I shake my head sadly.

  ‘He was in such a state, bless him. Bruised and battered, with a massive head wound. I was never sure if he had concussion or was just in shock because he wasn’t quite “there”, you know what I mean? He wouldn’t let me call an ambulance but he let me clean him up and make him a cup of tea. I tried to get him to stay but he wouldn’t. The next morning I took him a coffee and a pastry and went to see how he was …’

  ‘And you’ve been doing the same thing every day since,’ I finish for him.

  Leo shrugs and looks at the pavement, and I smile at his bashfulness as he continues. ‘He’s become a bit of a father figure to me now. I go down and see him every morning and just after closing time at night. I beg him to come in for a coffee and to keep warm but he won’t. He’s worried that he smells and sitting near a homeless man would put other customers off.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘I know. I feel like I’m failing him too. I couldn’t save my father but I swore I would make Bernard’s life better and I haven’t even got that right. If the shop was busier …’

  ‘What happened to –’

  ‘Why does he call you Clarence though?’ Leo says hurriedly, clearly not going to let me ask about his father. ‘It’s weird. Have you corrected him?’

  ‘Of course. I think he just forgets,’ I say, hoping Bernard won’t be offended that I’m implying he’s going senile.

  ‘But he knows your real name, and I know he knows the plot of It’s a Wonderful Life because we’ve talked about it before.’

  ‘He lives in a churchyard. I doubt Christmas films are top of his priority list.’

  ‘It’s a Wonderful Life is so much more than just a Christmas film. It’s life affirming.’

  I remember saying the same thing to him on the phone. ‘You really have a wonderful life. You can’t throw it away because things have gone wrong. Nothing is so big that it can’t be overcome with a bit of support and a good friend or two.’ I cough. ‘I mean, that’s the plot of the film. Nothing else, obviously.’

  I focus so hard on painting that the window glass squeaks under the pressure from the brush. I’m sure Leo’s eyes are boring into the back of my head and I can’t bring myself to turn around and check. I’m going to give myself away if I don’t start keeping my trap shut.

  ‘You have made Bernard’s life better,’ I say to the window instead. ‘He talks about you like a proud father. You care about him. That’s what really makes a difference.’

  ‘I could say the same about you. You care about saving my shop when even I’ve given up.’

  ‘I don’t think you’ve given up,’ I say, thinking about his enthusiasm tonight and constant stream of ideas for pictures fitting each shop on the street. ‘I think you just needed a reminder that no one is a failure if they have people who care about them.’

  ‘You really love that film, don’t you? I thought I loved it but you know it even better than me.’

  ‘It was my mum’s favourite,’ I say as I fill in Santa’s beard with white paint. ‘She used to make a point of watching it every time it was on TV at Christmas. I despised it growing up; I thought it was long and boring and I hated being named after it, but after she died I watched it and it reminded me of her, and I grew to understand why she loved it so much.’

  ‘When did she die?’ he asks with a soft tone in his voice that lets me know I could
ignore the question and he wouldn’t push it.

  ‘A long while ago. Fourteen years ago, when I was twenty. Cancer.’

  ‘Does it ever get any easier?’

  I look over my shoulder at him. He’s resting his nose on the plastic lid of his cup but he looks like he’s hiding his face rather than drinking. I could lie and give him the usual ‘time heals’ spiel, it’d probably make him feel better, but I’ve already told Leo enough lies. ‘No.’

  ‘So I gathered,’ he murmurs.

  It would be so easy to put my brush down and hug him. From up here on the second step of my portable stepladder, he looks small and cold with both hands wrapped around his cardboard cup that can’t be giving out much residual heat now. There’s a vulnerability about Leo when we’re alone that he’s never showed in the shop, and now I know there’s obviously more to his father’s death than I’d thought, it goes some way towards explaining why he’s struggling so much.

  I’m so focused on him that I’m not paying attention to where my feet are and I wobble on the ladder. He instantly puts his cup down and comes over, one hand stabilising the ladder and one hand on my lower back to steady me. The heat that rises up my spine has nothing to do with the wobbly ladder, and I wonder if he realizes that his sudden closeness is making me even wobblier, in a not altogether bad way.

  Chapter 10

  It’s earlier when he walks me home tonight and we’re walking slowly to admire some of the Christmas lights still on in people’s houses. The smell of woodsmoke puffing out of chimneys and fairy lights twinkling in windows and along garden hedges makes the world feel magical in a way that it doesn’t for the rest of the year. On Oakbarrow High Street, it’s easy to forget that it’s Christmas when the most festive thing we’ve got is the Santa-red lace with white fur trim basque in Aubergine’s window. It’s nice to walk through the residential streets and realize that the residents still know it’s Christmas.