It's a Wonderful Night

by Jaimie Admans

He lets out a burst of laughter. ‘Of course not. Obviously the Mickey Mouse you meet at Disneyland is a completely real giant talking mouse. No, I was just going to tell you that Hawthorne Toys had a couple of snow machines. They used to turn them on in Santa’s grotto so it was always snowing in there, but some days, after the schools had broken up for Christmas, they’d stick them in an upstairs window and make it snow onto the street below. I mean, it was only foam and it didn’t reach far past the shop, but as you walked in the front door, you’d often get fake snow on your head.’

  ‘You know all the secrets of this street, don’t you?’

  He shrugs. ‘Well, none of their fancy machines did Hawthorne’s any good in the end, did they? Even though they were the biggest toy shop in this part of the country and people used to travel from miles away to get their Christmas presents there. We’re remembering them as children, and to me stepping into that shop was like stepping into a magical Aladdin’s cave, a treasure trove of everything I never knew I’d dreamed about, but with the cynicism of an adult, I can look back and see that they were overpriced and old fashioned.’

  ‘But that was part of their charm. The wooden trains and bears with moveable limbs and rag dolls. They were toys that would never go out of fashion. The atmosphere in that place was something I’ve never felt anywhere else. It was magical.’

  ‘Until Woolworths came along selling Barbie dolls for three quid. And then Amazon, and that was like the death knell. The street hasn’t been the same since they went out of business.’

  ‘Them and the Christmas craft market,’ I say. ‘Since that didn’t come back a couple of years ago.’

  ‘That market was amazing,’ he says. ‘Literally thousands of people came to Oakbarrow on Saturday and Sunday mornings. They kept me in business for the first year. Even if trade was slow in the week, I’d more than make up for it on the weekends.’

  ‘Yeah, us too. It was like those tiny little harbour towns that are quiet, and then once a fortnight, a cruise liner pulls into the docks and lets three thousand people off to go shopping.’ I realize I’ve slipped up again and have to cover quickly. ‘I mean, they all used to come into the bank to check their balances and pay their bills. Do you know why they left?’

  ‘Priced out, I think. Same as every other business around here – fewer customers and higher fees.’

  ‘People used to talk about that market all year. I know the regular market was there every week but that one craft weekend in early December was on the calendar from July. People waited to start present shopping because they knew they’d get pretty little handmade gifts there. There were free bus trips to it and everything. Everyone wrote their Christmas cards by that date because they knew they’d see all their friends there.’

  ‘And then they used to wander down the street and stop in a coffee shop for lunch,’ he says. ‘But those days are gone. The only people still here are the ones like you and me, still trying to resuscitate a dying duck that should’ve been put out of its misery long ago.’

  His fingers curl around the windowsill in frustration, so close to where mine are resting that I can feel the tiny hairs on his hands. I fight the urge to move my pinky just a millimetre so it would be touching his. I look down at our hands; his big and chaffed and mine small with unshaped nails and hints of white paint, and tell myself all the reasons it would be a bad idea.

  I needn’t have worried because his hand shifts minutely and his little finger accidentally touches mine anyway, and it makes me jump because of how cold his skin is.

  ‘God, you’re freezing.’ Without even thinking, I lift his hand and wrap both of mine around it, trying to warm him up.

  ‘Sorry, I hadn’t noticed.’

  I press his fingers into his palm and rub my hands over the fist he makes, and when I hold a hand out, wordlessly asking for his other hand, he surprises me by slipping it into mine without hesitation. I rub them until they start to feel a bit warmer from the friction, and even then, I don’t let go, because I’m quite happy to sit here holding Leo’s hands. Warming him up is just a handy excuse.

  ‘We’re not the only ones who still care.’ I shake myself and look out the window again. Instead of focusing on the warmth coming from our joined hands, I think about my regular customers in the shop. People who come down once or twice a week just to have a browse and see what new things we’ve put out. People who remember how incredible this street was twenty years ago. People who still come here and wander along the high street even though there’s very little left to look at.

  ‘The only reason anyone walks down this street is because it’s a shortcut to somewhere better,’ he mutters. ‘Believe me, no one cares.’

  ‘Believe me, they do,’ I say with conviction. ‘People looked at your window today.’

  ‘Yeah, about three people.’

  ‘Three people today. It’ll be more tomorrow.’

  ‘Do you wake up this full of positivity or is there some kind of potion you take?’

  ‘Says the guy with the brightest, sunniest smile in all of Oakbarrow.’

  The smile he gives me this time is muted and sad. ‘Not tonight.’

  ‘I know, I caught you without your mask on.’ I nudge my shoulder into his gently. ‘But you’re giving up on people too easily. We were doing pedestrian counts last month and there are still people here … they just have no reason to stay.’

  ‘Footfall surveys?’ His forehead screws up in confusion. ‘In the bank? What difference could a pedestrian count possibly make to a bank? It’s not like you’re selling products that need to catch people’s eyes …’

  ‘We’re selling financial products,’ I say swiftly, glad of all the times I’ve listened to Casey complaining about her day. ‘You want people to see your adverts and decide that you’re the bank for them. Our windows have to work just as hard as any retail establishment.’

  He looks sceptical.

  ‘Never mind that. People need an incentive to stay on Oakbarrow High Street, not just hurry past and glance at a pretty window. You have to give them a reason to actually come into the shop.’

  ‘It smells nice and it sells coffee and cake?’ he offers, sounding like he’s politely trying to figure out how to tell me I’ve lost the plot. ‘Coffee and cake are generally good incentives to do anything in my opinion.’

  ‘Agreed.’ I grin as an idea forms in my head. ‘People talked about your window today. People were interested. What if it’s not just your window?’

  He starts disentangling our hands and gives me a look that says he wants to edge away slowly.

  ‘I could go and paint something on other shop windows every night and you could offer a free candy cane to anyone who spots it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes!’ I punch the air in victory. ‘This is it, Leo! I can go and paint something, some little festive picture on the other shop windows every night, and you put up a sign saying there’s a free candy cane for anyone who spots it. I saw your wholesaler’s box of candy canes in the hallway. It’s cheap, it’s festive, it’ll use up some of your stock, and quite a few parents still walk their kids to school this way, so kids could get involved.’

  ‘Yeah. That’s really going to endear me to parents, isn’t it? Let’s get their kids all hopped up on sugar and encourage their addiction to rotting their teeth.’

  ‘You serve caffeine for a living. We all know it’s bad for us but we drink it anyway. You have no leg to stand on when it comes to pushing unhealthy things. Going out and painting a picture on a shop window at night means nothing. It’s just more graffiti. If people, particularly kids but maybe adults too – who doesn’t love a candy cane after all – have an incentive, then it’ll be worth looking for. If kids get involved and drag their parents in here for their free candy cane, maybe Mum or Dad’ll be tired, overworked, stressed out, and maybe they’ll see your specials on the wall and think “ooh, a caramel pecan latte sounds like just the ticket.”’

  ‘That’s exploitation.
’

  ‘All selling is exploitation. All sellers exploit what people think they need. We need to get people through the door. I’m not talking about the hard sell. I’m not saying that if someone pokes their head in, you grab them by the ear and don’t let go until they buy three coffees. You offer a free thing that people choose to come in and get. You make sure that box of candy canes is out the back so they have a few precious seconds to stare at the cakes while they wait for you to go and get one, and if they don’t want to buy anything then they don’t have to.’

  ‘You are wasted working in a bank. You’re a cutthroat marketing genius.’

  ‘Oh, come on. It’s basic business. You have coffee to sell and no one’s buying it. Give people a fun, free, seasonal incentive to come in and you improve the chances of selling at least some of it.’

  ‘A free candy cane isn’t very exciting, is it? You can buy a box of twelve for a quid in the supermarket. We need something more.’

  I smile at him getting involved, at his use of ‘we’, at the brightness that suddenly lights up his eyes. ‘How about a raffle?’

  ‘A raffle?’ he snorts. ‘That’s a word I haven’t heard in a few years.’

  ‘People love a good raffle. Everywhere seemed to have raffles when I was young but no one does them anymore. It’s perfect, Leo. A candy cane and a raffle ticket – something for kids, something for adults.’

  ‘For what though?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I shrug. ‘A hamper? Hampers are big at this time of year because they’re a bit of something for everyone. We could get a hamper online and use it as a raffle prize. It’ll cost something upfront but hopefully you’ll sell enough coffees to cover it.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. As far as I’m concerned, the business is going under in January. I have nothing to lose by investing in a decent raffle prize. A couple of hundred quid for a hamper will make no difference to how much trouble I’m in.’

  ‘Okay, well, not exactly the most positive outlook but as long as you’re with me. What do you think?’

  He’s quiet for a long while, lost in thought, and I’m almost bouncing on the spot with excitement. Now I really do look like a toddler who needs the loo. I think we’re onto something here. It’s why One Light hasn’t shut our branch yet. Why our windows have to be absolutely cracking. Why they insist on them being done overnight so they magically appear to passersby the next morning, rather than customers seeing us clambering around trying to preserve the dignity of naked mannequins. We rely on the donations we display in the window to pull people in; those are our selling points. You can’t really make coffee more attractive than it already is so Leo needs something else to draw people in to It’s A Wonderful Latte.

  ‘I’m not as bouncy as you, but I see where you’re coming from,’ he says eventually, pressing his toe and heel alternately against the skirting board behind us. ‘But George … all this rests on you.’ He inclines his head towards the window. ‘I can’t paint like that. Are you really telling me that you’re going to come out and paint something like this on shop windows every night?’

  ‘Sure, why not? It has to be at night to maintain the magic. These windows have to just appear as far as anyone else is concerned. It loses the magic if kids see me on a ladder painting as they walk home from school. Remember what you just said about the tree being decorated? All the kids in my class knew that my dad decorated it while we were in school, but there was still a part of everyone that wanted to believe Santa’s elves had done it while our backs were turned.’

  He lets out a breath and closes his eyes, letting his head drop.

  ‘I’d miss you if you were gone, Leo,’ I whisper, nudging my knee against his, hoping he knows I mean him and not just the shop.

  He looks up and gives me a smile. ‘I’d miss you if I was gone too.’

  My chest flutters at his smile because it feels completely real for once. It doesn’t feel like the masked bright smiles he gives me each morning, and it’s unlike the tight, sarcastic ones I’ve seen tonight. It feels like Leo’s real smile, the one you only see if you know him well enough.

  ‘So do I have permission to carry on graffiti-ing your window?’ I ask after a long silence. ‘Because I know exactly how to kick this off and it starts here…’

  Chapter 8

  A quarter of an hour later, Leo’s disappeared upstairs and I’m in the street, trying to envision the picture from outside and setting up lines of masking tape as markers for when I paint it inside.

  ‘Hey,’ I say when Leo comes back out with a cup of tea in each hand. ‘What are you doing? Why are you dressed?’

  The dressing gown and plaid pyjamas are gone and he’s wearing light jeans and a black parka jacket over a dark top. He shouldn’t look this sexy. I’m used to seeing him in his work uniform of a blue coffee apron and black T-shirt, which, although it has a certain charm, doesn’t exactly ooze sexiness. It hadn’t occurred to me that he might look even better in normal clothes.

  He still has that unguarded softness he had earlier as he leans against the wall and holds one of the teas out to me. ‘Just wanted to see if I could help.’

  ‘You got any raffle tickets?’ I ask as I gratefully take the mug from him. It really is freezing tonight.

  ‘What do you think?’ He gives me a look so incredulous that it nearly makes me burst out laughing. ‘Doesn’t everyone keep a book of raffle tickets on their person at all times in case of raffle emergencies? Of which, there are many?’

  ‘That old stationery shop down one of the side streets will be open tomorrow morning,’ I say, ignoring his sarcasm. ‘They’ll do books of raffle tickets. I’ll pick a couple up on my way in.’

  ‘A couple? You’re really optimistic about this, huh?’

  ‘People looked at your window today, so tomorrow, we give them something to do. Picture this …’

  I put my mug down on the narrow ledge and spread my hands out, indicating some of the masking tape guidelines I’ve already put up. ‘You know that scene at the end of It’s a Wonderful Life, where George is running through the street shouting “Merry Christmas” to all the buildings?’

  He gets up and comes to stand next to me, obviously trying to imagine it, and I’m still not sure if he thinks this is a good idea or that I’m a bit barmy and he’s biding his time until he can get rid of me. ‘You want to paint that on the window?’

  I nod.

  ‘Well, I can’t think of a more fitting scene given your name and the name of the shop.’

  ‘Right?’ I say with a grin. ‘Picture this scene. There’s loads of snow on the ground and it’s still falling. There are a couple of big trees in the middle of the road, here.’ I use my finger to indicate where they will be. ‘There’s this figure running through the snow, buildings on either side …’

  ‘Like the Building and Loan and the bank,’ he says, stepping forward and tracing his finger along the window. ‘The movie house, the emporium …’

  ‘Yes! And the sign that says “You are now in Bedford Falls”, right? Except we leave out the Bedford Falls bit, and you offer a candy cane and a raffle ticket to anyone who comes in and tells you where it is.’

  ‘And we could add a couple of extra clues too, like a bell and some angel wings?’

  ‘Yes! Brilliant!’

  ‘It’s one of the most famous movie scenes in existence. It’s not exactly the puzzle of the century, is it? I doubt Mensa will start getting worried about their members failing it.’

  ‘It doesn’t need to be. This is just a start. As it’ll be on the inside of your window, it can stay and you can put one of your pretty chalkboards up with the instructions and the prize, and tomorrow night, we’ll do something else. We can make it like the Elf on the Shelf thing, a scavenger hunt for kids to find each day’s picture and drag their parents in for a free candy cane. What do you think?’

  ‘I think it must be fate that my shop is called It’s A Wonderful Latte and Georgia Bailey has come to save the
day with Bedford Falls.’ He cocks his head to the side as he looks at me. ‘If I say I love it, will you stop bouncing like that? I’m not sure if you’re excited or if you’re about to wet yourself.’

  I grin at him, loving the ease in his humour compared to how downtrodden he sounded earlier.

  ‘I love it,’ he adds before I get a chance to respond. ‘If anything can make it feel like Christmas around here, it’s It’s a Wonderful Life. It really makes you realize how precious life is … and how important friends are.’ His cheeks turn red and he rushes off like he’s said something wrong. ‘I’ll just go and grab that chalkboard.’

  ‘Did you know It’s a Wonderful Life was the film that invented fake snow?’ Leo asks when he comes back with a square chalkboard and a box of chalk. ‘Before that, they just used cornflakes painted white.’

  ‘I did not.’ I watch him as he perches on the windowsill and starts drawing green holly leaves at the corners of his board. ‘I’m going inside to start painting in a minute. You don’t have to stay, you can go back to bed.’

  He looks over with one eyebrow up and one down. ‘Are you kidding? You’re doing this for me. I’m not going to abandon you halfway through. Going to walk you home afterwards too.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that. I work late all the time, I always manage to get home safely. I dragged you out of bed earlier, you should go back and try to get some sleep. I can manage.’

  ‘I know, but it’s nearly 2 a.m. and if you think I’m going to let a lady wander the streets on her own at this time of night, you’re mistaken.’

  ‘Leo …’ I say, feeling myself melting. I feel guilty because he’s obviously knackered, but I love that he’s such a gentleman. From the way he opens doors to the fact he walked me to work in the rain the other day. Casey is always regaling me with tales of men she’s met, and they’re usually a far cry from the chivalrous type. She thinks the most gentlemanly thing a guy can do is ask permission before he shoves his hand up your top.

  ‘How often do you work late?’ he says, having a sip of tea. ‘I’ve been here for a while now, I’ve never seen the lights on in the bank after hours. I would’ve thought it was a security risk.’