I hear my name as I step out of the door and look up to see Mary hurrying towards me, a glass of mulled wine in one hand, the greengrocer in the other. I look pointedly at where her arm is hooked through his, but she ignores me. ‘Have you seen this place? Doesn’t it look incredible?’
‘Just like it used to,’ I say, bending down for a quick hug. ‘You two look like you’re having fun.’
‘Patrick’s just making sure I stay on my feet,’ Mary says, despite the fact she watched Bernard up and down with the road salt this afternoon and is wearing sensible flats so doesn’t even have the excuse Casey has got with her stilettos.
‘How’s trade going now you’re back?’ I ask Patrick.
‘Brilliant,’ he says. ‘I can’t believe it took me until now to try it again. I plan on seeing how January goes and then expanding my stock in February. Without that mini-supermarket stealing my customers, things are selling even faster than they used to.’
‘Fantastic.’
‘Not as fantastic as you folks have made this street look. It was like this in its heyday, although I never remember it being this busy. And that picture –’ he nods towards the coffee shop’s window, ‘I’ve never seen It’s a Wonderful Life, and even I recognize it.’
‘I’ll fix his movie choices before the weekend is out,’ Mary says, well-versed in my usual response to anyone who’s never seen It’s a Wonderful Life.
‘You’ve got the DVD, maybe you could get together and watch it,’ I say, grinning at the thought. ‘It is Christmas after all, it’ll be a bit late if you don’t get on it soon.’
‘George!’ Mary says, blushing.
Patrick doesn’t look like he objects to the idea.
‘Oh, I meant to tell you,’ Mary says as I go to walk away. ‘Head Office phoned earlier wanting to know why we’d had such a sudden spike in sales. I told them there’d been a bit of a street makeover, but you will be careful they don’t find out you’re involved, won’t you?’ She nods at the coffee shop. ‘He’s got more customers than we have. If Head Office discover that you’ve put all this effort into helping him, they’re not going to be happy. They’re going to be wondering why you didn’t paint Bedford Falls on our window and offer a raffle prize at One Light.’
‘I don’t think it matters too much. Bringing people back to the street is what’s important. If they come to one place, we all benefit.’
‘But he’s got young Instagrammy people taking those selfie thingys with the window. Not the sort of people who shop in charity shops. Head Office won’t see that it benefits us – they’ll see it as their manager helping a competitor.’
‘We’ve seen an increase in customers. Our shelves are looking emptier and our donations have gone up. Our take-offs have been much less than they were because people have bought things. Charity shops suffer at this time of year anyway because people are buying presents and want new things, not second-hand. We have no possible competition with Leo, he sells coffee, we’re a charity shop. Don’t worry so much,’ I say, worrying. ‘Enjoy the night. It’s not long until the light switch on now.’
I watch as Mary and Patrick wander up the street arm in arm, knowing she’s got a point, and wondering how much Leo would laugh at the irony of me telling someone not to worry.
* * *
If possible, it’s even busier down by the Christmas tree. Bernard is there in full Santa costume, sitting in the sleigh we rescued from Hawthorne’s basement, while children sit next to him and tell him their Christmas wishes. I stand back and watch for a moment, trying to work out who looks happier – Bernard or the children who are going up to meet him. Bernard was so touched when we asked him to play Santa that he actually got emotional, something I’ve never seen Bernard do before, no matter how hard times have been for him.
My dad is still supervising the last of the Christmas lights, standing and directing one of Bernard’s friends on where to put the finishing touches. He seems younger than he has for years, buoyed up doing something he loves again.
It’s cold and crisp tonight, and the Salvation Army band that Bernard organized are tuning up with a brass version of ‘Wonderful Christmastime’.
‘Paul McCartney, good choice,’ I say, sidling over to where Leo’s standing in the little clearing in front of the tree.
He seems to be supervising in general, directing kids into a line to meet Santa-Bernard, answering questions, directing people towards the coffee shop or The Bum, even giving one woman the time despite the fact there’s a clock on the church tower above our heads.
He tips a reindeer antler towards me and his grin doesn’t fade. ‘I had some solid advice on the merits of Macca at the weekend.’
I look over at my dad again, currently waxing lyrical about the tautness needed to get the perfect drape of tinsel, and Leo follows my gaze. ‘I’m keeping an eye on him.’
‘I know,’ I say, realizing I do know. I trust Leo. He knows I worry and I know without even asking that Leo’s watching him out of the corner of his eye. ‘Thanks.’
He smiles.
‘Nice jumper. I was expecting your Christmas tie but this is a real step up.’
‘I thought you’d like it. I was getting dressed earlier and as I pulled this over my head, my first thought was that you’d think I’m the epitome of cool sophistication. I’m one step away from the London catwalks, right?’ He strikes a pose and throws me his best blue steel smoulder.
The jumper is the deepest maroon colour with a white Fair Isle pattern and a bright green Christmas tree on the front, starting from the trunk at the waistband and covering the whole front until the star at the top which fits nicely in the dip of his collarbone, complete with 3D baubles and actual fairy lights that flash. Although, thoughts of Leo getting dressed lead to thoughts of Leo undressed, and my face heats up as I imagine that awful jumper sliding over smooth naked skin …
‘Oh, definitely.’ I couldn’t stop myself giggling even if I wanted to because I love that he’s not afraid to really get behind Christmas. I love this time of year and all the sparkly, tacky goodness that goes with it, but no one should be able to look that good wearing a Christmas jumper. It’s quite unfair, actually. Most people wearing that would look like they’d just failed an elf audition. How can he still be sexy?
‘Well, it’s only once a year. If you can’t fully embrace looking like a prat at Christmas, when can you? Nice earrings and antlers.’ He beams at me and then looks worried. ‘And I’ve just realized the juxtaposition of those sentences made that sound like an insult. Sorry. I meant that I look like a prat, not you. You look gorgeous.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, loving how nervous and rambly he gets sometimes. ‘I’m utterly sure I do look like a prat, but at least we can be prats together. You’re making me wish I’d worn a Christmas jumper now but Casey would’ve disowned me.’
He smiles as he helps another child out of the sleigh, hands them a candy cane and thanks them for coming.
‘You’re good at this.’ I watch Leo direct the next child in the queue to sit next to Bernard in the sleigh but she’s too busy already babbling at him to hear.
He shrugs. ‘I grew up around Santa’s grotto. I often donned an elf hat and stood in for the store elves when they ran out to do their Christmas shopping. Until I realized how desperately uncool it was and all my friends made fun of me.’
‘And then you carried on anyway because you love Christmas?’
‘Pretty much.’ He leans closer and whispers, antlers jingling. ‘It might surprise you but I have no problem looking like an idiot in public.’
‘You don’t look like an idiot,’ I say, fighting the urge to kiss his cheek. His skin is so near, his face reddened from the cold, and he smells completely delicious. He’s got a different aftershave on and he smells of dark pine, burning wood, and clove. I force myself to take a step back and put on a jovial tone. ‘Just a bit of a wally.’
He laughs. ‘I am fully accepting of that fact.’
‘If you
r mum has a picture from when you were younger, I’m going to make her dig it out.’
‘I’m going to make sure Santa leaves coal in your stocking if you do. And my mum has many pictures of me looking desperately uncool at Christmastime. I’m surprised she hasn’t had them made into cards and distributed them to the whole town by now.’
‘Speaking of family, I’ve just met your sister …’
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I didn’t expect to see her. Apparently Izzy really wanted to see Oakbarrow like this and between her and my mum’s … let’s call it gentle persuasion as opposed to persistent battering … Becky decided to come. She said she’s been having grief counselling and that’s been helping her to enjoy the happy memories rather than try to avoid them. It’s good, I think.’
‘She seemed to be loving it in the shop.’
‘She always did love it there.’ he nods. ‘Hopefully this’ll be a turning point for her. I’ve got enough customers that Izzy can come back to her Saturday job, especially with the craft market reopening, so I’m hoping Becky will start dropping her off and picking her up, and maybe start to see that It’s A Wonderful Latte is a way of honouring our father rather than a painful reminder of what we’ve lost.’
‘Spoken with expertise by a man who’s spent the past two years brushing his own grief under the carpet and pretending to be fine when he’s not?’
I realize that was maybe a bit too harsh when he winces. ‘I’m okay, George. You’ve made me face the things I hadn’t dealt with. There’s no getting over it, there’s only accepting life as it is now and learning to carry on because there’s no other option. I’m not going to end up where I did before.’
What does that mean? As me, I’m not supposed to know where he ended up before. Is he trying to tell me something?
I don’t have a chance to push it because the church bell rings seven times to mark seven o’clock. The crowd gathered around the tree has gradually grown and people are filling the road, more people than I ever thought I’d see on Oakbarrow High Street again, even more than I remember from the busiest times in days gone by. Everyone has It’s A Wonderful Latte cups or beakers of mulled wine from The Bum in their hands, there are Christmas jumpers as far as the eye can see, and the decorations lighting the street are amplified by hundreds of flashing Christmas earrings, headbands, ties, and otherwise. It’s amazing to see people getting into the Christmas spirit.
Leo and I have got a spot at the front and I’m hyperaware of him next to me, slightly behind and to the side, his shoulder and arm pressed against my back. Casey’s somewhere in the crowd with a newly-single guy she had a crush on in school. Maggie, Becky, and Izzy are outside It’s A Wonderful Latte, which has closed its doors for the big switch-on. Mary and Patrick are on the sidelines near the tree too, and my dad has finally sat down in a chair Leo got for him.
Bernard stands up in the sleigh after the church bell has finished chiming, the switch my dad has wired up to the tree lights in his hand. ‘Thank you all for coming,’ he starts, addressing the crowd. ‘I can’t tell you how much joy it brings me to see Oakbarrow High Street so busy after all these years. I want to dedicate this tree, this street, and the community spirit that’s abundant tonight to a man who is no longer with us. A man who I’m sure we all remember in our own special way, whether as the Santa we used to visit at Hawthorne’s toy shop when we were little, or the man who was an almost permanent fixture in the corner of the café up the road there.’
Leo sucks in a breath beside me and I reach back until I find his hand and slot my fingers through his.
‘To Derek Summers.’
The crowd echoes Bernard’s words, clinking cups with the people standing next to them, and I squeeze Leo’s hand tighter.
I think Bernard is done but he carries on. ‘Derek may no longer be with us, but his son is continuing his legacy. Derek’s son is partially responsible for everything you see around you tonight, along with help from a little guardian angel I like to call Clarence. It is their dedication, their love of Oakbarrow, their creativity, and their belief in Christmas magic that has made this quiet little street come back to life in the past few weeks.’
His eyes are on me and Leo now, ignoring the rest of the crowd, like he’s speaking only to us. ‘Derek’s son doesn’t know that I was one of his father’s best friends, that Derek and I actually built this very sleigh by hand in my garage when you were too young to remember.’ He bends down and pats the smooth side of the red wooden prop.
When I look up at Leo, he’s focused completely on Bernard, but there are silent tears sliding down his face. I reach up and brush them away, and let my hand linger, tucking his hair back and sliding down to wrap around his arm and hold him against me.
‘And I can speak here with his voice. Your father would be exceptionally proud of you, Leo. You, your family, and the shop he loved so much are a credit to him and this town. Don’t ever forget that, even when times are hard. If a man has friends, he truly has a wonderful life.’
Even Bernard is getting choked up and he stops to compose himself.
I had no idea Bernard knew Leo’s father, and by the complete surprise clear on Leo’s face, he didn’t either.
Bernard clears his throat and picks up a coffee cup, raising it in a toast.
‘To Leo and Clarence, who would’ve made an old Santa very proud on this wonderful night.’
I blush as every pair of eyes in the crowd swivels to us and Leo edges minutely closer, clutching my hand almost hard enough to hurt.
Thankfully, Bernard chooses that moment to start the countdown and the tree bursts into light, drawing the attention away from us.
The lights ping into life row by row from bottom to top, lines of twinkling fairy lights spiralling around the tree until the star on top lights with a burst of orange.
It’s a much smaller tree than the ones Oakbarrow used to have and some of the sets of lights we found had given up the ghost after so much time, but it looks stunning. The tree might not be a giant but it’s over nine foot and it’s the best tree anyone’s seen in Oakbarrow for many years. A hush falls across the crowd as everyone just stands there admiring it.
I can feel Leo breathing, each breath slow and considered, a short inhale and long exhale, like he’s focusing intently on it. There are tremors running through him, where his body is pressed against mine, and my fingers tighten automatically around his hands.
He puts an arm around my chest and leans against me, his chin on my shoulder, his head resting against mine, and although I’m desperate to turn around and pull him into a hug, I get the feeling he just needs to be still and quiet for a few moments.
The Salvation Army band strikes up again with ‘Fairytale of New York’, and Leo’s arms slide down to my waist and tighten around me, pulling me closer against him.
People start to stir, chatting to their neighbours again, wandering away from the clearing around the tree, the kids who were queuing to see Santa swarm back towards the line they were in, but Leo doesn’t move.
‘Thank you,’ he murmurs in my ear, his voice rough and muffled.
‘That was all Bernard. I didn’t know what he was going to say.’
‘I don’t mean for that. I mean for everything. You brought me back to life, George.’
My hands are still covering his where they’re around me and I flex them, letting my fingers rub across the back of his hands.
‘I don’t want this to end,’ he says, even quieter than before. ‘You, me, this. Christmas. I don’t want you to go back to being just a customer. I don’t want you to go back to being just a friend. For the first time, I like living here. I’m excited about what the new year is going to bring for Oakbarrow and I want to share that with you.’
His hands are clasped together on my stomach and I have to prise them apart with my fingers before I can turn around, almost like he doesn’t want me to move in case it breaks the spell.
Everything feels a bit more twinkly and magical ton
ight than it does usually, like anything could happen, and when I do manage to pull back and turn around in his arms, his face is pure nervousness, like he’s said something so wrong that he’s honestly expecting me to slap him, and my whole insides melt at how he could possibly be that nervous. Doesn’t he realize that I’m head-over-flipping-heels in love with him?
I go to speak but my voice comes out cracked and I have to wet my lips and try again. ‘I’d like that,’ I say, barely above a whisper.
His face slowly spreads into the widest smile I’ve ever seen, and I am powerless not to smile in return.
He looks happy, and a few weeks ago, I never thought I’d see him happy again. No matter what happens now, if he’s happy, it’s all been worth it.
His eyes are dark with desire, centred on my lips, and I know he’s going to kiss me. My eyes close and my fingers automatically find their way into his hair and I nearly do a squeal of joy at finally getting to wind my fingers in his mass of curls because I’ve wanted to do it since the first time I saw him.
But squeals of joy in the middle of kissing would be undignified. Instead our tinsel reindeer antlers clash in midair and my flashing Christmas tree earrings get caught on his flashing Christmas tree jumper.
So not undignified at all, obviously.
I melt as Leo’s lips touch mine. It’s only a peck at first, soft and sweet, and everything Leo is wrapped up into one simple touch. He breathes a sigh of contentment against my mouth and it sets something in me on fire. My fingers tighten in his hair and pull him closer, and the kiss turns more intense for a few moments, his fingers clutching my jacket, my hair, anything, like he can’t pull me close enough, and I can’t breathe because I’ve imagined kissing Leo more times than is probably normal but the reality is so much better than my imagination.
His sigh of contentment turns into a moan of need and we both suddenly realize where we are.
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