‘At least I now understand the constant running next door. If he sees you in here, he’ll know who he spoke to, won’t he?’
I nod, feeling ashamed that I didn’t have the forethought to realize how wrong this would go.
‘And you’ve been helping him ever since because you know what he told you on the phone and he doesn’t know you know.’
‘If that wasn’t the most confusing sentence ever it would be about right.’
‘Georgia, if Head Office find out …’
‘You’re not going to tell them, are you?’ My heart suddenly starts pumping harder.
‘Of course I’m not. You’re like the daughter I never had, George, I’m not going to tell anyone something that’s going to get you fired from a job you love and you’re brilliant at. But you do know that they’d fire you instantly, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘And if your subsequent involvement with him gets out … it doesn’t look good. In terms of the actual law, I think that’s at least one privacy law you’ve broken and can be prosecuted for –’
‘What if it was your son?’ I say quietly. ‘What if your son was having a breakdown on a bridge because he’d gone to jump from it and couldn’t go through with it? What if he was at absolutely rock bottom and he reached out to someone for help, and that person told him, “Nope, sorry, can’t help you, go away”?’
Mary shakes her head sadly. ‘You don’t have to defend yourself to me. I would’ve done the same thing. But now all the stuff with the windows … You’ve worked your way into his life with information that he doesn’t know he told you. That’s invasion of privacy, George.’
‘Then I just have to make sure no one ever finds out.’ I slap at the fitted sheet in frustration because the rounded corners make it impossible to fold neatly, grunting as it unfurls into a tangled mess rather than lying flat.
Mary puts her coffee cup down and comes over to take one side from me. ‘They won’t find out from me.’
I take it for what it is – Mary’s own particular brand of acceptance, shown through helping me fold household goods. I know she doesn’t approve of what I’ve done, but she’s going to stick by me anyway.
‘I can’t believe he’s suicidal.’ Mary says when the household rail is back in order and the shop floor is still empty. ‘He always seems so happy. It took me ages to work out what he was talking about when he was in earlier.’
‘I don’t think he is now,’ I say, already worried that I’ve revealed too much of Leo’s private business to Mary. I trust her infinitely, but it still feels like something that was meant to remain confidential. ‘But something like that doesn’t just go away. He needs support and he’s still the guy supporting the rest of his family. He won’t open up to them. I want him to know he’s got someone to support him too. I know I haven’t handled it in the best way, but I would rather break the law and lose my job than see him end up on that bridge again.’
‘You’re a good girl, George, and he’s a lovely man. He’s always so friendly and he never stops smiling. It just goes to show that none of us know what people are going through on the inside.’
I give her a sad smile. ‘Sometimes the people who smile the widest are the ones who are suffering the most.’
Chapter 12
The bell jingles as I walk into It’s A Wonderful Latte a couple of mornings later and stop in surprise. Leo grins at me from behind the counter and I can’t help smiling as I covertly point towards a woman sitting at a table. ‘A customer,’ I mouth to him.
He holds up three fingers. ‘My third today,’ he whispers, leaning across the counter so I can hear him.
‘And Christmas decorations.’ I take in the bare tree by the fire that he hasn’t got around to decorating yet, coiled garlands beneath the window ledge waiting to go up, hanging icicles around the outside of the cake display, and tangled balls of lights on the floor behind the counter.
He smiles. ‘Yeah. Christmas inspiration finally struck and I dragged the boxes up from the basement this morning. I think it was that Santa buying cupcakes I watched you paint on the old bakery last night. Our nights out are inspirational, even though all I do is drink tea and watch you work.’
‘That’s not true, you do all the carrying and washing off the picture from the night before, and your inventiveness when it comes to Santa doing naughty things is unrivalled. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
He blushes at that and I love how easy it is to make him blush.
‘And look.’ He pulls his phone from his pocket and holds it out, and I feel a little spark as our fingers touch when I go to pull it closer. ‘We’ve got two hundred likes on last night’s photo and I only put it up an hour ago. Not bad considering only seventeen people like our page, and even that’s gone up, it was thirteen last week.’
‘Onwards and upwards,’ I say with a smile. I hadn’t realized until now that even I didn’t expect the windows to help much. I’d hoped that it might pique the interest of people who walk past every day and maybe attract a few extra customers, but it was mainly a way of staying a part of Leo’s life.
‘There have been people outside taking pictures and Googling on their phones to find out where the picture is. I nearly didn’t serve them on principle because it should be a crime not to recognize one of the most recognizable scenes in cinematic history.’ He winks at me. ‘But seriously, it’s a candy cane and a raffle ticket. It’s not worth the trouble.’
‘I think it’s more about having something to get involved in. Don’t forget, everyone who walks down this street regularly has watched it gradually die. This is the most interesting thing that’s happened on Oakbarrow High Street for years. It’s not about getting a candy cane, it’s about getting involved in something.’
‘And it’s all down to you.’
‘No, it’s not. It’s down to you not giving up.’
‘George …’ He slides his hand across mine where it’s resting on the counter and both our gazes are drawn there as he squeezes my fingers. He goes to say something else but Maggie pops her head round the kitchen door.
‘Is that Georgia? I told you to send her in as soon as you saw her.’
I don’t miss the curious look she gives our joined hands and Leo pulls his away and fiddles with the ties of his apron instead.
‘Mum’s made you some of her finest mince pies and you’ve run out of other flavours to try so I’m making you a mince pie flavour coffee whether you like it or not.’ He slides the kitchen door open and gestures for me to come through.
‘I knew you were going to get me eventually.’
He lowers his mouth to whisper in my ear as I squeeze past him, and I get the feeling he could move if he wanted, he’s just choosing not to. ‘If it’s that bad, I give you permission to pour it down my neck.’
I raise an eyebrow, staying pressed against him in the doorway for just a bit longer than necessary, enjoying the closeness and the heat from his body, and the cheeky smile on his face that says he knows exactly what he’s doing and he’s enjoying it too. ‘That’s an impressive confidence in your products.’
‘Yes, it is.’ He looks me in the eyes and a grin spreads across his face. ‘I also have a change of clothes upstairs, just in case.’
I’m still smiling at him when Maggie pulls me into a bear hug. ‘Thanks for all you’re doing for the shop. Has Leo told you how many people are “liking” your work online?’
‘He was just saying …’ I start, because I hadn’t even thought of it like that. Other than a few stencilled snowflakes on One Light’s window, this is the first time I’ve handpainted something that’s being seen by anyone apart from the times my dad ventures down to the shed where I keep some old canvases. Painting is something I gave up on years ago, after the Paris school palaver and Mum’s death, and now I haven’t done any for years. Painting Bedford Falls and drawing Santas on shop windows with Leo feels so different to how I used to feel when I sat in front of a canv
as that I hadn’t even connected the two things. He’s so excited about it that he makes me feel excited about painting again, the way he scrolls through the photos he’s taken each night as we walk home and shows me the best ones, the way he genuinely seems to love it. I never thought I was much good but he makes me feel like Van Gogh. With both ears.
‘Do you do any other painting? I’d love to commission a proper canvas for the shop after Christmas. Bedford Falls again to remind customers of our Christmas window and fit in with our It’s a Wonderful Life theme?’
‘Er, maybe,’ I stutter, surprised that she’d want one.
Leo reappears before I can process the idea of painting again or give a proper answer. He sets a purple and silver cup down on the table in front of me and steps back, his hand on the collar of his shirt, pulling it away from his neck and showing a bewitching hint of skin that makes me consider pouring the drink down his neck solely in the hopes that he’d have to take his shirt off in front of me.
Instead, I pick it up and take a careful sip and am immediately hit with the familiar tang of coffee combined with the rounded, buttery flavour of sweet pastry and just a hint of winter fruit. It’s the closest thing you can get to Christmas in a cup and the flavours complement each other surprisingly well. It makes me want to go and buy a box of mince pies just to remind myself of why I dislike them, because this is gorgeous.
Leo and Maggie are both watching me expectantly.
‘Bleurgh, disgusting,’ I say, struggling to keep a straight face, and Leo’s smile gradually getting wider is doing nothing to help matters.
‘You’re a terrible liar,’ he says, his eyes twinkling. ‘I know it and you know it.’
I really hope there’s no hidden meaning to that.
‘Go on, there’s a sentence in the English language that goes like this, “Thank you, Leo. You were right and I was wrong.” You can try it if you like.’
My face is aching from how much he’s making me smile. ‘All right, I’ll give you this one. It’s the best of your winter flavours by a long shot.’
‘Boom.’ Leo mimes his head expanding. ‘And you won’t doubt me again, and when I get my spring syrups in, you’ll trust me on which is the best? Because I’ve heard rumours of a hot cross bun flavour for Easter …’
‘Anything you say, Coffee Master,’ I say, not sure if I’m grinning because of how sexily smug he looks or because this is one of the first times Leo’s said anything positive about It’s A Wonderful Latte still being here after January.
The bell above the door jingles and Leo backs out of the kitchen doorway to serve whoever’s come in, leaving me alone with Maggie.
‘And these are for you.’ She hands me a white cardboard cake box with a red ribbon on top. ‘I made them this morning. I promised I’d make you a batch, didn’t I? I can’t let you go around saying you don’t like mince pies without at least trying one of mine.’
I put the box down on the kitchen unit and start undoing the twine tying it, but she stops me. ‘I won’t embarrass you by making you eat one now and having to pretend to enjoy it if you don’t. Take them with you and tell me you enjoyed them tomorrow. I’ll never know if you pop them in the nearest bin.’
‘I’d love one actually. I missed breakfast and Leo’s coffee has convinced me to give mince pies a chance,’ I say, both of which are true. The late nights have meant quite a few mornings when I’ve overslept and had to skip breakfast to get out of the house on time, and this coffee is delicious.
The pie I get out of the box is sprinkled with crystallized sugar and has a cutout of a holly leaf on the top. The pastry is flaky and buttery, and the foil case is still warm in my hand.
She watches me as I bite into it carefully, the top cracking and sending pastry flakes fluttering into the empty case.
‘Mmm,’ I say before I’ve even tasted it, trying to do a thumbs up with both hands full.
God, this is gorgeous. The fruity, spicy filling with just a hint of cognac, the creamy all-butter pastry and sweetness of the sugar. It’s different to the mince pies you buy in the supermarket, and she’s right – even if you hated those, you’d enjoy this.
I swallow a mouthful and have a sip of coffee. ‘This is amazing,’ I say, trying to paw stray pastry flakes away from my face, convinced I’ve managed to spread crystallized sugar round to my ears. ‘This is the first mince pie I’ve ever enjoyed. Now I see why they’re a British tradition.’
‘Well, we actually sold some in the shop yesterday so hopefully you won’t be the only person to think so.’
‘I won’t. You and Leo do such beautiful things here, you both deserve more people to find out about them.’ I take another mouthful and look away, aware of her watching me.
‘You’re the first girl he’s liked in a really really long time,’ she says eventually, putting such an emphasis on the ‘really’ that I wonder if she’s been getting tips from Casey on how to describe love lives. ‘He talks about you all the time.’
‘We’ve been doing the window stuff together. It’s taken over my life too, I spend all day coming up with ideas and other ways we can promote the shop. It’s pretty much all I think about too.’
‘Not in that way.’
I wish I could believe her, but whatever Leo thinks about me is based on a lie. I look at the kitchen door, willing him to come back just to end this awkward conversation. I wish I could tell her how much I talk about him too, how much of my time is spent thinking about him, wondering where he is, what he’s doing, if he’s okay. I wish I could tell her how much I wish I hadn’t put this thing between us, this lie that will never be overcome.
I swallow hard. ‘He’s a lovely man. You must be very proud.’
‘Evasion by compliment. Very good.’
I go to protest but she holds a wrinkled hand up. ‘Georgia, I’m 77. I’ve seen it all. Trust me when I say he likes you. In that way. What you do with that information is up to you, but –’
‘So, is my confidence in my mum’s baked goods as misplaced as my confidence in my coffee was?’ Leo asks, sliding the kitchen door open and leaning in.
‘If I answer that, your head’s going to be so big that it won’t fit through the door.’
He grins. ‘I’ll take it you’re now a mince pie fan then?’
‘Oh my God, these are like mince pies with superpowers. And that coffee is just too good. I was saying that you both deserve so many more people to know about this place.’
‘You’re very sweet, George, and I’m sure your bank colleagues will appreciate them if you’re just being kind.’
‘Oh, do you work at the bank?’ Maggie asks me before I can tell Leo I meant it.
‘Er… yes?’ I say, wondering what other possible answer there could be. What if she knows I don’t? I look around for the nearest exit, wondering if it’s quicker to run for the side door or vault onto the unit and make a break for the window.
‘Oh, good. What do you think about the forecast from the Bank of England? I’ve got some savings and my friends are always telling me to invest money in stocks and shares rather than just leave it sitting in an account. Do you think the interest rates will go up like they say?’
I breathe a sigh of relief. Oh good, it’s just financial advice.
‘Hmm.’ I pretend to mull it over like it’s a complicated question. Can I get away with asking her to repeat it in English because I didn’t understand a word?
Leo and Maggie are both watching me expectantly and I wonder if I’ve got time to stall them with a quick bathroom trip to text Casey for help.
‘Judging by the FTSE index,’ I say, using a term I’ve heard on the news. It’s something financial even if I haven’t got a clue what it is. ‘And the, er, Wall Street wolves…’ That was a film, right? ‘The deflation isn’t going into administration so there won’t be any negative equity by the end of the tax year …’ There. I must know more financial terms than I think I do. That made perfect sense, right? ‘So, er, probably?’
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br /> Leo’s forehead is screwed up in confusion by the time I’ve finished and Maggie is looking like she wishes she’d asked a walrus instead – it would probably have given her a more coherent answer.
‘Oh, look at the time.’ I glance at an imaginary watch. ‘I’m going to be late again.’
I gather up the box of mince pies and the coffee, nearly dropping both in my rush to get out of there before someone asks me to explain anything I just said. ‘Thanks again for these. They’re both gorgeous!’ I say as cheerily as a budgerigar on a sugar rush.
‘See you tonight,’ I chirp as I squash past Leo in the doorway again. It’s probably best not to linger this time.
‘How about Santa writing a letter on the stationery shop tonight? Can it be –’
‘No, it can’t be to Mrs Claus telling her he’s leaving her for a penguin. Not the animal or the biscuit,’ I say, pre-empting Leo’s next thought.
He pushes his bottom lip out, grinning. ‘Aw, you’re no –’
We’re cut off by the sound of the bell jingling as someone else comes in. Even though I’m rushing, I can’t help nudging Leo in excitement. Another one. That’s five customers and it’s not even … oh, bugger, it is 9 a.m. now. I’m late again.
‘Have you seen this?’ The man who’s just walked in flaps a newspaper towards us as he comes up to the counter.
‘No,’ Leo says, squishing his way out of the doorway as the man lays the paper open on the counter.
I know I should go because Mary will be waiting in the car park again, but I can’t resist the urge to go over and have a peek. Maybe a mince pie will appease Mary?
‘The weirdness of Oakbarrow’s festive pictures that are bringing its high street back to life.’ Leo reads the headline, and I peer over his shoulder to see a huge picture of the front of It’s A Wonderful Latte displaying my Bedford Falls picture in all its glory.
‘Wow,’ I say, looking at the full-page article that’s all about us.
‘Oh my God, we’ve made the local paper,’ Leo says, smiling so wide I’m sure his jaw must be aching.
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