‘Don’t forget to put that picture on your social media in the morning. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. And if you can get your mum to pose with it and run the accounts, even better. People would probably love the story of your little old mum getting into Facebook for the first time.’
‘She’ll be thrilled. She’s loving it. I’m a bit scared she’s going to get into Tinder next.’
I giggle at the thought and try not to be entranced as Leo pushes his curls up underneath the thick-knit red bobble hat he’s put on and pulls it down over his ears. ‘You really think social media will make any difference? People “liking” us from miles away doesn’t mean that anyone’s actually going to come and buy a coffee. It’s easy to click a thumbs up button as you scroll through a timeline, it doesn’t translate into actual visitors.’
‘Maybe not, but it can’t hurt. You have nothing to lose by posting the pictures online, and if your mum’s enjoying it, then even better.’
‘So, leaf of dandelion, a frog’s toenail, actual rays of sunshine, and fragments of stars?’
‘What?’ I ask in confusion.
‘Your positivity potion. What was the recipe again?’
‘Oh, ha ha. Excuse me while I collapse from amusement.’ I whack his arm even though it does make me want to laugh, and he laughs too, his shoulder bumping against mine with the movement.
There’s the wintery skeleton of a magnolia tree in someone’s front yard that’s been strung with twinkling white fairy lights and we stop on the pavement underneath it and look up. When I walk past in the spring, the owner is always out here sweeping up fallen magnolia blossoms that are spreading across the road and dropping into his neighbours’ gardens. My dad always says the tree is more trouble than it’s worth, but it looks incredible tonight.
‘You ever want to just keep walking?’ Leo says as we set off again.
‘Walking’s a form of exercise so I generally like to stop doing it as soon as possible.’ I was hoping he’d laugh but he doesn’t. ‘Walking where?’
‘I don’t know. Anywhere away from here. Sometimes I dream about following one of these roads and just keeping on until I’m somewhere else and Oakbarrow and everything in it is a distant memory.’ He glances at me and something in his eyes makes warmth pool in my belly. ‘Apart from you.’
I blush, even though I get the feeling it’s more of a metaphor than an actual possibility. ‘I quite like Oakbarrow. I’d love to travel but I can’t imagine anywhere else ever being home.’ I nudge his arm with my elbow. ‘There are good people here.’
He glances over at me and smiles, igniting that familiar flutter in my stomach along with the warmth.
‘Are you really that unhappy here?’ I ask, wishing I had the right to link my arm through his and pull him closer.
‘I don’t know.’ He tugs his hat down further even though it didn’t need the adjustment. ‘This wasn’t what I had planned for my life. I left for uni and I was never going to come back, but I was out of my depth there and couldn’t hack it so I ended up back on my parents’ doorstep before the first term was over. I wanted to travel but didn’t have the money, so Dad got one of his friends to give me a job, which I hated, but couldn’t afford to throw back in his face. I saved up and I was about to go off for a few months to eastern Europe, Poland, Hungary, places like that because they’re cheaper than other parts of Europe, but then my mum had a car accident. She recovered well and you’d never know it now, but at the time, it knocked the family for six. I couldn’t go off and leave everyone in the middle of that. Couple of years after that, my sister got pregnant and the father wasn’t interested. She was terrified and had loads of health problems during the pregnancy, and Mum and Dad were big on supporting her as a family. I couldn’t leave, and then there was a baby that she didn’t cope well with, and Uncle Leo couldn’t leave then either. And then Mum and Dad were desperate for me to put down roots here and offered to match what I had in savings and buy a house, and I … didn’t know how to say no. It was immature and ridiculous to blow so much money on a trip abroad that would ultimately be nothing but a good experience, when the alternative was to do something sensible and get on the property ladder. So I did. And now I’m not, and you know the rest.’
‘Just like George,’ I say. ‘He always wanted to leave Bedford Falls but kept putting aside his own dreams for the sake of the family.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t put it quite like that. I wanted to see a bit of the world, but it was my decision to stay here. I could’ve told everyone else to go stuff themselves and gone anyway.’
I think about the Leo I know, how much he cares about people and looks after them. Bernard, his mum, the effort he puts into something as simple as a hot drink, the care he takes to put my name in fancy writing on each coffee cup, and to remember exactly how I like my coffee. No matter how much he wanted it, leaving would never have been an option.
‘Sorry, I’m rambling again,’ he says. ‘Ignore me, I didn’t mean to tell you my life story.’
‘I like hearing it,’ I say, loving the pink flush to his cheeks as he ducks his head and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. I get the feeling he’s not going to say any more unless I do a bit of wheedling. ‘What did you do before the coffee shop?’
‘Everything. My father always told me my problem was that I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. When I was young, I always thought there’d be this magical click and you’d suddenly know the job that was meant for you, but it just doesn’t happen in real life. I was never good at anything in school. I never particularly liked any one thing more than any other. I chose college courses based on exam results, uni courses because it was what you were supposed to do. I’ve floated between different jobs, everything from packing in a factory, answering phones in a call centre, loading goods into cars at a DIY store, supermarket checkouts, you name it. My one chance to do something meaningful with my life was to use Dad’s legacy and make It’s A Wonderful Latte something he would’ve been proud of, and you know how well that’s going.’ He groans and tugs his hat down even further like he’s trying to hide inside it. ‘God, you must want to throttle me for prattling on. Why aren’t you telling me to put a sock in it? You don’t want to know all this stuff.’
‘Sure I do. We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends talk to each other. Besides, it’s far too cold to take your socks off and put them anywhere so keep talking.’
He laughs. ‘You’re a good listener. Has anyone ever told you that?’
‘Not really,’ I say with a shrug, wondering how he’d feel if he knew the girl who listened to him the other night has spent the following week getting herself entwined in his life. He wouldn’t think I was such a good listener then.
‘Well, I’m going to force myself to shut up before you hack your own ears off with this holly leaf.’ He plucks one from someone’s hedge as we pass their garden and starts tearing it into shreds, heedless of the thorns. ‘How about you? Oakbarrow born and raised?’
‘Yeah. Lived in the same house all my life. I always thought I’d get married and come back to settle down here one day, but I had planned on leaving first. It’s not something that’s on the cards anytime soon though.’
‘Why not?’
I do a slow shrug. ‘My dad is old and frail. I couldn’t leave him on his own. And I love my job, it would be stupid to give up that security. And I’d miss my best friend, and all those cats rely on me for food, and –’
‘Where would you go,’ he looks over at me, ‘if you didn’t have that long list of excuses?’
‘They’re not…’ I sigh, giving up on bothering to protest.
‘Justifications then. Believe me, I have a long list of them too. They seemed like reasons at first but the older I get, the more they feel like excuses. Sound familiar?’
‘No,’ I mutter, looking away. He’s hit a nail that I don’t want to deal with on its ugly bulging head. It’s easier to just get on with the life you have than to dream about something
you’ll never have the courage to do.
‘Mine would be Scandinavia,’ he says. ‘I love that area of the world. My dream trip would be to tour Norway, Denmark, Sweden, and Finland. They’re said to be the happiest places in the world. I’d love to spend some time there and find out what they know that we don’t.’
‘Paris,’ I say before I realize I’m going to answer him. My voice catches and comes out in a hoarse rumble.
‘The City of Light built over one of the largest mass graves in history. That would be my next choice of places to visit. Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, Sacré-Cœur, the Louvre. Do you know there’s a bookshop there where you can live in exchange for working in the shop?’
‘I know. I always wanted to do that.’ I look up at him and he looks so interested, and like he’d understand, that I want to tell him something no one but my mum and dad have ever known. ‘I got into a school there once. An art college when I was seventeen.’
‘In Paris? Wow.’ He nods approvingly but the expression on his face changes as he considers it. ‘But?’
I think for a long moment. ‘But the world seemed too big.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘My parents didn’t want me to go. They thought I was too young and it was too big a move. I’d never lived away from home before and they were worried sick about me suddenly moving to a different country where I didn’t speak the language. I’d applied thinking I’d never get in, gone for an interview thinking I didn’t have a hope in hell; it was such a surprise to get accepted that I just kind of went along with it in shock. I didn’t really think about the practicalities.’
‘Did you want to go?’
‘Yeah, at first, but the more my mum and dad worried, the more worried I got, and suddenly it seemed terrifying rather than exciting.’
‘So you dropped out?’
‘Right before the first term began.’
‘Regret it?’
‘Well, I found a job here and started earning money and gained some independence, and –’
‘That means yes.’
I frown at him. ‘What would I have got out of it? Painting’s just a hobby. It’s not a viable career. You have to do something else as well and if you’re really lucky, you might sell a canvas or two for a tiny price that’s got nothing on the amount of hours you put in, but if you try to charge a decent price then no one buys. I did the sensible thing and got a job at a clothes shop in Gloucester and that was far enough.’
He knocks his arm against mine again. ‘As one person who’s never escaped Oakbarrow to another, I get it.’
I nod, feeling abnormally tearful. I want to grab his arm, slot mine through it, pull him close and rest my head on his shoulder as we walk. I’ve never talked about this with anyone before. It’s impossible to tell people you live with, work with, and see every day that you’d rather be somewhere else. It would make them feel like a burden, and I’d never want that. The only time I’ve ever mentioned it is after a glass of wine too many with Casey and her equally tipsy response was, ‘do you want a lift to the train station?’ like it’s that simple. Leo understands that it isn’t.
‘It didn’t matter anyway. Within a couple of months, my mum had been diagnosed with cancer. I would never have stayed there while she was ill, so looking back, it was probably better that I never started at all.’
He suddenly steps nearer and swings an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer and tucking me into his side, his head dropping to rest against mine for a moment. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmurs. ‘Sometimes life is crap and there’s nothing you can do about it but that doesn’t make it any less crap.’
The simple truth of the statement makes me smile. He says I’m full of positivity, but hearing someone say such an unflinchingly honest, simple fact does actually make it seem better. ‘Talking to someone who understands is nice though.’
‘Oh God, don’t I know that? You’re so easy to talk to, George. You remind me of someone I spoke to the other night –’
‘Oh look, here’s my street!’ I say a bit too enthusiastically. He might not even mean me but I’m not sure I want to find out. ‘I wonder what cats are around tonight? They really took a liking to you last night, you’ll have to come and say hello and see who’s meowing for food.’
If he notices my whiplash-inducing subject change, he’s too polite to mention it.
Pussycats are few and far between tonight; even the tabby who doesn’t usually venture outside the hedge has gone mousing – or back to her own warm home with her own family of generous foodgivers, as Casey would say – and Leo looks disappointed as he pulls his arm away from my shoulders.
‘Well, thank you for another wonderful night, Miss Bailey.’ He steps away and the cold night air seeps through my coat like his arm has been around me for ages, not mere minutes.
‘Thank you,’ I say, forcing a smile. ‘And thank you for listening. I’ve never …’ I watch like an out of body experience as my nose burns and my eyes fill up, unaware until that moment of how much it meant to share the feelings I bury inside with someone who understands them.
In the blink of an eye, Leo’s wrapped me up in his arms and pulled me into a bear hug, his warmth enveloping me, the familiar sweet but sharp scent of his tangerine shower gel surrounding me.
‘Believe me, I know,’ he whispers against my hair. ‘Didn’t you notice how choked up I was in the shop the other day? Talking to someone who understands is…’ he pauses for a moment and moves his head around like he’s looking for the right word, ‘a lifesaver.’
I reach up and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to think of something happy, like puppies and rainbows. Maybe that only works when you’ve got a long journey ahead and you need a wee before you leave the house so you force yourself to sit on the loo and think of waterfalls. I wasn’t supposed to unload onto Leo. I was supposed to be trying to get him to unload onto me.
Although the hug is a nice side effect. I sniffle and wrap my arms around him too, holding him tight, wondering if he’d mind if we stood here until 4 a.m. again just hugging. It would be worth another day of utter exhaustion to not have him pull away yet.
When he does pull away, the atmosphere between us is suddenly different. The campfire that’s been ticking over in my belly is suddenly a roaring blaze and Leo’s eyes have gone from sympathetic to lustful. Instead of moving away, he rests his forehead against mine and tucks a frizzy bit of brown hair that’s escaped my ponytail back behind my ear. ‘God, George, you make me want to live again,’ he whispers, his breath warm against my cheek. ‘It’s been so long since I felt anything …’
His mouth lowers and I push myself up on my tiptoes, working on autopilot. My brain has turned to mush and is probably filled with little people rushing around screeching ‘Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee’ at the thought of kissing Leo, if they haven’t all died of embarrassment at the amount of times I’ve fantasized about this very moment. He’s so close that everything else has faded away; there’s nothing but him, the scent of citrus, and the leftover spicy tang of the loose tea he was making earlier. My knees threaten to buckle as his warm upper lip brushes against mine, barely a touch, but it’s enough to give us both a shock and Leo jumps back, leaving me floundering towards the hedge for support.
‘God, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened there.’
I touch a finger to my lips at the spot where his touched mine, a burning mark that I’m sure must be visibly on fire. ‘It’s fine, Leo. I wanted …’
This time he pulls the hat off his head, stretches it out and pulls it back on so hard that it nearly covers his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, George. I wanted … I mean, I’ve been feeling … for you … and you obviously don’t … the same …’
He turns around and looks up the street, clearly annoyed with himself. I’m desperate to go over there, slide my hand onto his shoulder, turn him back around to look at me and tell him I think I might be head-over-flipping-heels in love with him.
But it’
s so, so wrong. I’ve wheedled my way into his life on a lie, and if he knew the truth, he wouldn’t want to kiss me. And letting it happen now would be … a million words fill my mind. False pretences. Entrapment. Taking advantage. Even though I want to tell him that I’d rather kiss him than win the lottery.
‘I’m sorry, George, I shouldn’t have done that,’ he says, not looking me in the eye. ‘There’s someone else. No. Wait. There’s not someone else. I was talking to someone the other night and I thought … I mean, she saved my life, and I … I don’t know what I thought. I met someone. No. I didn’t meet her. I thought I felt something. There’s just …’ he sighs, looking completely at a loss for what to say.
I’ve never been very good at hiding my feelings and it’s a hard-fought battle to stop the sting of disappointment showing on my face. I had no idea he was involved with someone.
‘I keep looking for her but I think I’ve got the wrong place. You don’t know anyone working next door to you, do you?’
I shake my head … Wait. She saved my life. I didn’t meet her. Next door to me because he thinks I work in the bank. He couldn’t mean me, could he?
‘I don’t know the first thing about her. I only spoke to her on the phone once. She could be married. She could be a very young-sounding 90-year-old. I don’t even know her name. I just thought I felt something and I can’t kiss someone else while I’m still this messed up.’
This time, never mind showing disappointment, I struggle not to do star jumps on the spot. I did feel something during that phone call, and more importantly, he felt it too. It’s not just the gargantuan crush I’ve had on him for the past two years. He felt that connection between us on that one wonderful night too. He just doesn’t know that I’m me.
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