‘Tell ’em to say you sent them and I’ll chuck in a mince pie for free,’ Leo says. ‘We’re always open, even on Sundays now.’
‘You’re not open today?’ I say in surprise.
‘Well, I opened the doors for that customer this morning and then another one followed, and another. I doubt we’ll be very busy but it’s not worth missing out on trade. I think people have come to see the lights. I took a picture last night and scanned in Hawthorne’s old print and posted them side by side on Facebook, and the response was insane.’
‘Oh, you don’t have to come with me then –’
‘Yes, he does,’ Dad interjects.
He’s clearly been taking lessons from Casey.
‘But that means your mum’s running the place on her own.’
‘George, don’t worry about it, I hesitated this morning and my mum physically pushed me out the door. My niece has come in to help for the day, and they’re both under strict instructions to call me if they need to.’
‘I might pop down myself later for another one of these.’ Dad raises his cup and slurps from it again. ‘I bet your mum remembers the old tree lighting ceremonies; it would be good to have a natter and see if she remembers anything I’m forgetting.’
‘I was telling her all about what you’d said and she got so excited, said it had been years since anyone had known what she was talking about when she mentioned the old tree and the ceremony that went into lighting it up. She’d love to talk to you.’
‘There we go, that’ll get me out of the house for a bit. Now you can stop worrying that I’ll be here on my own all day, George.’
‘Be careful. There might be ice patches. And wrap up warm.’
‘Only if you stop fussing over me, take this gorgeous man and be gone before we’re all still sitting here next April.’
Leo’s cheeks have turned so adorably red that I don’t even give my dad the reminder of his age that he usually gets when he tells me to stop fussing over him as he shoos us out the door.
‘You worry about him too much, you know that, don’t you?’ Leo asks as we get in the car.
‘Says you who worries yourself sick about your mum still working at her age.’
His forehead creases in confusion. ‘When have I told you that?’
‘Subtext,’ I say quickly, focusing on starting up and pulling out of the street with the same concentration I’d need if a driving examiner was sitting next to me.
‘You’re not wrong.’ He gives a slow nod of acceptance. ‘Isn’t your dad usually on his own all day when you’re at work?’
‘He has a carer come in for a couple of hours every weekday, and I run home at lunchtime to check on him. And a bus comes twice a week to take him to the community centre where he sits drinking tea with his elderly friends. They call it the Old Codgers Club and they talk about who’s died this week.’
‘I didn’t realize he was that unwell. He seemed fine the other night.’
‘It’s easy to seem fine on the surface when you’re suffering underneath.’
‘I know that,’ Leo says, developing a sudden interest in his cuticles.
‘Maybe it’s more …’ I glance at Leo and then quickly back at the road, glad I’ve got driving as an excuse. I force myself to be brave and say it. ‘He’s had a few scares with his heart. And I think they’ve scared me more than they’ve scared him.’
‘I get it, believe me.’ He reaches over and brushes the back of his fingers against my arm until my muscles, taut on the steering wheel, relax a bit. ‘Losing my dad made me afraid of everything, and now I’m scared of being so scared that I forget to live my own life.’
Just like he did on the phone that night, he puts thoughts I’ve always been too scared to voice into words, and it’s probably a good thing that driving is preventing me from dragging him into a hug and confessing everything, because I’ve never known anyone who understands me like he does, and he deserves better than this lie.
I swallow hard. ‘I’ve always regretted not going to Paris. I pretend that I don’t, but I do. And I could go there any time, I could get a couple of weeks off work and it’s only a train ride or a short flight away, but I’ve never done it.’
‘Why?’
It’s such a simple question, but one that no one has ever asked me before. I don’t think I know how to answer him but the words come out of my mouth before I’ve even thought about them. ‘Because it’s scarier than staying here. Everything’s safe here. I know what to expect. I’d love to go to so many places but I’m not brave enough.’
I expect him to tell me to stop being so stupid, like anyone else would, but he reaches over and touches my arm again. ‘I’m scared of losing the coffee shop because I don’t know what I’d do afterwards. Like I said, I’ve never had a career, I’ve just moved from job to job doing whatever I could. I’m 37, I should have my life sorted by now. My sister’s a hairdresser, her husband’s a solicitor who’s worked his way up since he started and now he will become a partner in the firm before he’s 50. I feel like I’m still seventeen and figuring out what I want to do with my life. The coffee shop’s been a convenient distraction but coming close to losing it has made me realize that everyone else seems to know what they’re doing and have their lives completely together, and I just … don’t.’
‘You don’t need to compare yourself to other people. To me, you’re doing pretty damn well.’ I glance at him and he ducks his head. ‘You didn’t give up, Leo. Many people would have.’
‘See, that’s the thing. You didn’t give up. I did. I nearly …’ he trails off, shaking his head.
Was he about to tell me about that night on the bridge? What the heck am I going to do if he does? Pretend that I don’t know?
‘And then you came along and brought me back to life,’ he says instead of whatever he started to say. ‘You’re the one who didn’t give up on the coffee shop. You’re the one who pushed me into doing something rather than just sitting back and waiting for the county court judgements and the bailiffs to come. And I know that it’s not safe yet. This level of custom is great, but after Christmas, it’s going to tail off, and who knows if the other shops will disappear again, especially when they get a look at their new business rates, and Oakbarrow High Street will be back to square one, and …’
‘There are things we can do. Other marketing gimmicks, more social media, we’ve got Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, and Easter not far off, and there’s a way to fight the council if there are enough traders objecting to the business rates, and with more people back in the area …’
I look over at him when he doesn’t respond. ‘What?’
‘Can we talk about something else? We’re going to get a Christmas tree and I feel like I’m sucking all the joy out of Christmas. It should be more fun than this.’
It would be too sappy to say I’m just enjoying his company, right? I give myself a shake. ‘Are you seriously playing cupid between your mum and my dad?’
‘No! Well, maybe friendship cupid. My mum’s still too attached to my father for anything like that, but they’re the same generation, why shouldn’t they be friends?’ He puts on a baby voice. ‘And if our parents are fwiends then you can come over to my house for tea and we can have playdates and sleepovers together.’
‘Ha ha,’ I say, thinking a sleepover with Leo shouldn’t sound so appealing. It’s probably wrong for something so innocent to bring to mind such steamy thoughts.
‘I’m just embarrassing myself now, aren’t I? There’s only one thing for this.’ He fumbles around in the pocket of his coat and eventually pulls out a CD, waving it around victoriously. ‘Christmas music!’
I grin at his excitement. Leo loves Christmas music. He’s got it playing in the shop from early November and usually starts some sort of countdown mid-October until the Christmas songs are back.
‘I know you love it because I always see you singing along under your breath when you walk in.’
‘I do.’
I blush because he wasn’t supposed to notice that. ‘One of my favourite memories is being in the supermarket once and “A Wombling Merry Christmas” came on, and I was singing under my breath and there was an elderly woman looking at the marmalade and she was singing along under her breath and we both looked at each other and had a jolly good sing along to The Wombles in the jam aisle. What other time of year would that be acceptable?’
‘See? This is why I love Christmas.’ He wiggles an antler with his fingers and the bells on the tip jingle. ‘Christmas makes everything cool. Flashing neon lights? Cool in December. Glitter on everything? Cool in December. Tinsel recreations of animal body parts attached to your person? Cool in December.’
‘I’m starting to wish I’d put my snowflake earrings and snowman deeley boppers on now.’
‘You can borrow my antlers if you want?’ I go to answer but he starts giggling. ‘See, only in December is that a perfectly normal question. You’d probably be arrested for asking someone if they wanted to borrow your antlers the rest of the year. You’d at least get some weird looks.’
‘You can keep your antlers. I’ve got my own collection of Christmas earrings.’
‘I know, I always notice you wearing them to work near Christmas. I like the Christmas trees with the flashing star on top best.’
I blush, surprised that he pays that much attention to my festive jewellery choices. I’ve always thought I was just another customer to Leo, another face in the crowd of people he makes conversation with every day, but somehow he remembers a pair of earrings that I haven’t worn since last year.
‘You want to know an embarrassing secret? I’ve got a Christmas tie too. It’s got Santa and some ho ho ho’s on it, and when you press the bottom ho it starts flashing and playing Jingle Bells.’
‘And there was me thinking that tinsel reindeer antlers were the height of your sophistication.’
He grins as he fiddles with the CD player and it whirrs into life, the first piano notes of ‘Fairytale of New York’ ping through the car, and Leo turns it up and immediately starts singing along with Shane MacGowan.
I clutch the steering wheel tighter because it’s just wrong for a grown man in sparkly reindeer antlers to be so adorable and I’m smiling so widely at him that it’s starting to hurt.
‘Nearly time for your bit,’ Leo shouts when there’s a break in the music.
‘I’m not singing! I have the voice of a dying hyena, that’s why I only sing under my breath in supermarkets!’
‘I sound like a reindeer with a flatulence problem, as you can tell!’ he shouts back over the music. ‘But Christmas songs are made to be sung along to and this is a duet! You can’t leave me hanging!’
‘The only time I sing aloud is when I’m hoovering and Dad’s taken his hearing aids out!’
‘You can’t sound worse than me. Quick, your bit’s starting!’
‘Argh!’ I shout because his grin is so big and he looks so carefree that I can’t say no. As Kirsty MacColl starts singing, I throw caution to the wind and join in, crooning about rivers of gold.
Leo lets out a whoop and victory punches the roof of the car as we both shout along at the tops of our voices, probably scaring a few other drivers on the road. Our caterwauling is definitely loud enough to be heard from the International Space Station.
‘Fairytale of New York’ is one of those Christmas songs that you love but can’t help getting a bit fed up with after you’ve heard it approximately six thousand times in the first three days of December, but singing it – if you could call it that – with Leo has made it suddenly become my favourite Christmas song.
‘I can’t believe I found someone with a voice as bad as mine,’ he says, sounding hoarse when the song ends.
‘I can’t believe you got me to sing in front of you!’
‘It only makes me like you more. If you had the voice of an opera singer, I’d feel all inadequate and rubbish, but I’m not embarrassed to be myself around you now. We can sing together in harmony.’
‘I don’t think the noise we were making could ever be classified as harmony. Or singing.’
‘Merry Christmas Everybody’ by Slade starts up and I groan.
‘I hate this song,’ I shout at him over Noddy Holder’s wailing. ‘This is my most hated Christmas song!’
‘Mine too!’ he shouts back. ‘That’s what makes it so great! Everyone hates it but we play it every year constantly. I think all DJs are on some kind of mission to systematically make more people despise it every year.’
Despite that, we both start singing loudly when the chorus comes on. Maybe that’s part of the joy of Christmas songs. We hear too much of them every year, but there’s enough of a gap between one year and the next that we never get completely sick of them.
‘Well, a couple of weeks ago, I wasn’t feeling the Christmas spirit at all,’ Leo says when the next song comes on. ‘But it doesn’t get much more festive than this – going to get a tree with Paul McCartney warbling about war in the background.’
‘Oi! This is “Pipes of Peace”, it’s one of the most underrated Christmas songs.’
He holds his hands up. ‘If you like it, that’s good enough for me.’
He hums along and I sing, not even caring that we’re not duetting this time, this is the kind of song you can’t help but sing along to.
Gladly, Shakin’ Stevens comes on next and we both go back to singing at the tops of our voices. Shaky’s followed by Mariah Carey and we even tackle the warbling bits of the ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’ duet she sang with her mum. We’re both giggling as we look at each other, despite the fact that it’ll be a miracle if the windscreen glass doesn’t start to split from the screechiness. Never mind sounding like strangled cats, if there were any cats around to hear us, they’d have started strangling themselves just to get away from our attempt at singing.
I bite my bottom lip as I look over at him because my mum always used to say that if you can attempt Mariah’s warbling with someone, you know you’ve found a keeper.
We’re both in fits of giggles by the time we turn off the motorway, and I’ve got tears of laughter blurring the road as we drive alongside fields of greenery, standing out in the countryside because everything else is brown at this time of year. It’s the first time in forever that I’ve let myself go in front of someone. I used to sing while I painted if no one was home, but I can’t remember the last time I did. I glance at Leo and he’s looking unreservedly happy, smiling wide. Usually you can tell that he’s self-conscious of his teeth, but I suppose you can’t really be self-conscious of anything once you’ve attempted to reach Mariah Carey’s high notes with someone.
‘I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy,’ Leo says, once again putting into words exactly what I’m thinking.
‘Me neither,’ I say. He deserves that bit of honesty at least. I’ve never really thought about how happy or unhappy I am, but since I started spending time with Leo, I realize I’ve been happy. Happier than I can ever remember being before.
‘We make a good team, don’t we?’
I nod as the satnav directs us to take the next right, thinking about the pictures we’ve painted on windows and how creative he is with his ideas. I couldn’t have done any of it without him. ‘I think we do,’ I say as the handpainted sign for a Christmas tree farm comes into view and satnav tells us we’ve reached our destination.
* * *
‘I had no idea this place was here,’ Leo says, as we stand in a yard area near the car park, waiting for a man to come back with our tree. Apparently my dad called ahead to tell them we were coming and exactly what type of tree we’d need, and they remembered him from his days of collecting the Oakbarrow Christmas tree, so were all too happy to find us the perfect one.
The smell of pine needles fills the air and the ground underfoot is damp and covered in soggy leaves leftover from autumn. It’s peaceful here, despite the fact we’re not far from the main road. The fields of trees su
rrounding us dull the sound of passing cars, and all we can hear is birds chirping and a radio playing ‘Little Drummer Boy’ coming from a trailer selling hot drinks and roasted chestnuts.
‘Ooh, hot chocolate.’ Leo grabs my hand and drags me towards the kiosk, which is stacked with paper cups and emanating the most gorgeous smell as well as Bing and Bowie’s peaceful duet.
We’re both wearing gloves and I wish we weren’t. His fleece-covered fingers stay curled around mine until he orders two hot chocolates and fishes his wallet out to pay.
There’s a display of Christmas hats next to the hot chocolate stand, from plain Santa hats, headbands with Christmas trees on top, to striped elf hats with ears and those ones with mistletoe dangling from the tip. Leo wanders over and examines them while we wait for our drinks. He holds up another pair of reindeer antlers, these ones with poinsettias along the headband and colourful bells hanging from every tip.
The woman at the stand pushes two hot chocolates towards me and when I turn back around, Leo is buying those antlers too.
‘You’ve got a real thing for festive headwear, haven’t you?’ I say, waiting for him with a cup of hot chocolate in each hand.
He holds the bag out to me. ‘For you.’
‘Me? Why?’
He leans down so one of his own reindeer antlers taps against my hair, the bells on the tip jingling as he moves. ‘So I’m not the only one who looks like an idiot in public.’
I grin. ‘You don’t look like an idiot.’
‘I know. I look like a complete idiot, right?’
‘In the best way possible,’ I say, smiling wide so he knows I’m joking. I absolutely love that he’s not afraid to throw himself into the season wholeheartedly. Casey wouldn’t be caught dead wearing anything festive, and even Mary moans on Christmas jumper day, but Leo embraces it, just like me.
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