It's a Wonderful Night

by Jaimie Admans

  I gulp. ‘Oh, they’re fine about it. It’s not like a big city bank with vaults of gold bars and safes full of valuables, is it? It’s just a local bank. No one would bother robbing it.’

  ‘There’s still money in it though. I would’ve thought allowing someone back after closing was an invitation to robbers. I thought banks were majorly strict with security.’

  Blinking heck, I’m sure he’s got a point. Casey works nine to five-thirty and that’s it. She can never understand why I often stay late at the shop, or go home to sort out Dad’s tea and then go back. ‘They’re easygoing,’ I lie, hating myself for lying to him. He’s so sincere, like he’s genuinely concerned about the bank’s security, and I’m an idiot for trying to convince him I work there. ‘And you don’t have to walk me home. I don’t usually work this late and I’m much more likely to run into muggers earlier in the night. It’ll be safe now.’

  ‘I don’t think criminals have a bedtime, you know,’ he says, making me laugh. ‘I’m not going to let you walk the streets on your own at this time of night and that’s all there is to it. The least I can do is make sure you get home safely.’

  ‘Well, who’s going to make sure you get home safely? If you’re going to be like that, I’m going to have to walk you back here afterwards. I can’t let you wander around the streets of Oakbarrow alone at night, Leo, you might run into a mugger.’

  He smiles even though he looks like he’s trying not to. ‘At which point, I would have to walk you home again, and we’re basically just going to be walking back and forth together until opening time.’

  Which, admittedly, is not the worst way I could imagine spending a night. I give up on arguing with him. The idea of spending more time with Leo, even the fifteen-minute walk back home, is absolutely fine by me.

  * * *

  ‘So how does an artist end up working in a bank?’ he asks as we walk side by side through the empty town. ‘It doesn’t strike me as the most creative of places to work.’

  ‘I’m not an artist.’ I feel my cheeks flush. I wanted to be once and it’s been a long time since anyone thought I was. ‘I mainly use stencils and masking tape. Anyone could do it.’

  ‘You freehanded that whole window tonight,’ he says. ‘Don’t try to make me believe you’re any less talented than you are. I had no idea you could paint.’

  ‘It’s really just slapping a brush around or spraying a big area and then using a finger to remove paint from key places to make the image. It’s easier than proper painting.’

  ‘It looked insanely difficult to me.’

  ‘It’s really nothing. Just another element of visual merchandising. In this day and age, you have to use every possible thing you can to make your windows stand out.’

  He glances behind us as we get further away from the shop and I know what he’s getting at – the bank windows don’t stand out at all.

  ‘Well, mine looks amazing. Thank you,’ he says instead of mentioning the bank again.

  ‘Hopefully you won’t be the only one who thinks so,’ I say, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. It’s well past 3 a.m. and I was out late last night too. Now I’ve stopped painting, a wave of tiredness is threatening to pull me under and it only gets heavier as I think about having to get up in four hours and we’re not even home yet.

  ‘You’re knackered.’

  ‘Nah, I’m fine,’ I say around another yawn. ‘What’s the highest number of espresso shots you’ve ever put in a coffee before? Because I think we’re going to beat that record in the morning.’

  ‘Five,’ he says with a laugh. ‘There’s a point where it goes from coffee to fuel for a jumbo jet, and that’s not a line you want to cross. I did once and I was jittery for a week.’

  I look up at him with a smile and he smiles back. His gloved hands are so near as we walk, our sleeves brushing against each other, making me feel warm and tingly with every step, and if I reached my little finger out just a titch, I could curl it around his. It’s so tempting, to take his hand and give it a squeeze, and he’s walking so close, and I don’t get the impression that he’d pull away … but I feel like I’d be taking advantage. I know he’s struggling at the moment, I know he’s vulnerable, and the worst part is that he doesn’t know how much I know. He needs a supportive friend, not a lovesick puppy with a crush on him. Taking his hand and clinging onto it, telling him I don’t know what I’d do without him … it wouldn’t help.

  ‘Don’t you get lonely living in the shop?’ I blurt out instead.

  ‘Lonely?’ He thinks for a moment. ‘That’s an odd choice of words. Why lonely?’

  ‘It just seems like a very lonely place to live. It’s so quiet at night. I know it’s quiet during the day too, but there’s just …’

  ‘A blanket of silence so loud it’s deafening?’

  ‘Exactly.’ I smile at his way with words, and look up and meet his eyes, trying to convey that I understand.

  He smiles back. ‘Yeah, I get lonely, but no lonelier than I’d get in a house. It’s funny how things turn out, isn’t it? When I was little, I always thought it would be the coolest thing in the world to stay in a shop overnight.’

  ‘In Hawthorne’s, right?’

  ‘Oh, of course.’

  ‘Me too. My mum and I were sometimes there at closing time and I always used to wonder if I could sneak back in and hide somewhere. It wasn’t worth the certain death from my mum for worrying her though. Even recently, I tried to persuade my best friend to do that bookshop sleepover experience but she was having none of it.’

  ‘A coffee shop might not be quite the same, but I can tell you it’s not nearly as much fun as an adult.’

  ‘Do you go back to your mum’s often?’

  ‘Sometimes.’ He glances at me. ‘Not as often as I used to. Things have been a bit awkward with my sister lately so I tend to stay away if she’s going to be there. My mum’s great though. She brings me in Tupperware containers of everything she cooks. I’ll never go hungry with her around.’

  ‘What happened with your sister?’ I ask. I’m being too forward and I fully expect him to tell me to mind my own business, but I give him what I hope is an encouraging nod. ‘She didn’t try one of your mince pie coffees, did she?’

  ‘Hah.’ He laughs and seems to relax a bit. ‘Very funny. Nah. Becky’s just … although she completely agreed that we should use the money Dad left to buy the coffee shop, she’s never set foot in the place. I think it’s a memories thing, you know? Whereas I like being there because of how much he loved it, I like remembering him there, I don’t think she can cope with it. My niece was doing a Saturday job at the shop for the experience and a bit of extra cash, and in recent months, I’ve had to end it. I’ve got no work for her to do and no money to pay her with, and my sister doesn’t believe that trade is as bad as it is and she thinks I’ve done it out of spite or something.’ He sighs. ‘It’s really just a big mess.’

  ‘Have you tried talking to her?’

  ‘’Til I was blue in the face. Didn’t help. The best thing I can do is stay out of the way. They’re better off without me.’

  ‘No one’s better off without you,’ I say forcefully. ‘Don’t say that. And cut yourself some slack. Things aren’t easy at the moment. It’ll come right in the end.’

  I hate that he honestly thinks anyone might be better off without him. This is another thing he didn’t tell me on the phone the other night and I’m suddenly desperate to know what else he’s keeping bottled up, because I’m still certain that keeping everything inside is what led him to that bridge.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sure you didn’t want to know any of that.’

  I nudge his arm, ostensibly to steer him around a corner and onto my road, but really just to have an excuse to touch him. ‘Of course I did. We’re friends, right? Friends share their problems.’

  ‘After today, I think you’re the best friend I’ve got.’

  I grin. ‘I am absolutely okay with that.’


  ‘Do you know what that entitles you to?’

  Oh, I could think of a few privileges. Most of them involve running my fingers through your hair.

  ‘Free coffee for the rest of ever,’ he finishes before my mind can run off in all sorts of directions.

  I laugh. ‘I’m not taking free anything from you. You need to sell every coffee you can at the moment. If you’re going to stop me paying for coffee, then I’m going to stop coming in.’

  ‘You wouldn’t,’ he says with a grin. ‘I know you better than that. You have a caffeine addiction to feed. I give it until lunchtime before you’re banging on the door begging for a fix.’

  I poke my tongue out at him because we both know he’s right. Nothing could stop me going into It’s A Wonderful Latte every morning and it has very little to do with the coffee.

  ‘Well, unfortunately this is me,’ I say as we reach my house. I’m in half a mind to keep going, walk around the block and say I got lost in the dark just for an extra few minutes with him, but it’s not worth being caught out when he inevitably sees right through me.

  The little tabby cat that hides in the hedgerow slinks out and wraps herself around our legs in turn, meowing all the while.

  ‘Aww, puddy tats.’ Leo crouches down to stroke her, being insanely adorable in a way that someone who uses the word ‘puddy tats’ has no right to be.

  A black cat jumps up on the fence and I reach up and give him a head rub. If they’re expecting Kitekat at this time of night, they’ve got another thing coming.

  ‘I see you’ve got a dead mouse.’

  My dad’s left the outside light on and it’s lighting up the corpse of a mouse on the doormat in front of the door. ‘Oh, joy. Just what you want at four in the morning.’

  He laughs and then slaps a hand over his mouth for being too loud. ‘Sorry,’ he says in a whisper this time. ‘It’s a mark of affection. They only do it because they like you and don’t want you to starve to death and they think you’re too pathetic to hunt for yourself.’

  ‘“Don’t want you to starve to death” is about the highest endorsement you can get from a cat, isn’t it?’ I mutter, wondering where I left the dustpan to clear up the mouse.

  Another cat jumps down from the roof of our neighbour’s house and sits on the fence, flipping his sleek tail and waiting for food.

  ‘Crikey, you’ve got loads,’ Leo says.

  ‘I haven’t got any. They’re all strays.’

  ‘Strays?’ He looks up and down the road with a doubtful look on his face. ‘This doesn’t look like a typical stray cat area.’

  ‘All right, they’re probably greedy overfed house cats like my best friend keeps saying and I’m being taken for a mug, but look at their little faces. If they meowed at you for food, you’d give in too.’

  He bends over to stroke the tabby who’s still rubbing herself around his ankles and she doesn’t dart away like she does usually. ‘That I would.’

  ‘So …’ he says as he stands back up. ‘God, George, I don’t know where to start …’

  ‘We’ve got a sofa,’ I blurt out.

  He looks at me quizzically.

  ‘If you wanted to stay. It’s comfortable and warm, my dad wouldn’t mind at all, and there’s plenty of food in the fridge and hot water if you want a shower, and –’

  ‘No, thank you,’ he says, so abruptly that I wonder if I’ve offended him by offering.

  Instead, his breath hitches and when he speaks, his voice is wobbly. ‘But I can’t believe you’d offer. You don’t even know me.’

  ‘Ah, we’ve talked every day for, what, two years? I think we know each other pretty well by now,’ I say, even though the exact opposite is true. Anything I think I know about him is just the superficial meaningless stuff he shares with customers. Until tonight, all I knew about the real Leo is what he shared with a stranger that he doesn’t know is me. ‘I hate the idea of you sleeping there. It’s cold and you’re obviously aching from the floor.’

  ‘You don’t know that. I could’ve gone mountaineering up Kilimanjaro at the weekend and be aching from that.’

  ‘You could have,’ I say with a tone that implies he’s more likely to have wrestled a shark while wearing Lady Gaga’s meat dress. Him or the shark.

  He raises both eyebrows with a smirk and I sigh. ‘The offer’s there, always. I’d sleep better knowing you were warm and comfortable.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he whispers, and I try not to watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs down his throat as he swallows. ‘But you’re not going to sleep at all if I hold you up for much longer. I should …’ he waves a hand vaguely over his shoulder.

  I’m enjoying his company and I don’t want him to go yet, even though it’s nearly four and sleep is going to be a thing of myth tonight at this rate. ‘I don’t know how I’d have fought off all those muggers without you.’

  He pushes a hand through his hair and gives me a shy smile, and I get the feeling that muggers were just an excuse to walk me home, and I feel a little bubble of excitement that he wanted to and that he thought he needed an excuse. ‘I’m sorry I’ve talked so much tonight, you must be sick of the sound of my voice.’

  ‘Not at all.’ What I really want to say is that I love his voice; he’s got a typical Gloucestershire accent and a warm tone that makes you feel comfortable when he talks.

  ‘There’s something about you that makes it impossible for me to shut up. I feel, like, a familiarity, like we’re old friends or something.’

  ‘Thank you for letting me see behind the mask,’ I say. ‘I knew you couldn’t be that smiley all the time.’

  ‘Just 99.99 percent of the time?’

  I smile even though it’s not particularly funny.

  ‘I used to be,’ he says quietly. ‘But … well …’

  ‘Life?’ I offer.

  ‘Yeah.’ His lips quirk up at one side. ‘Damn life, always getting in the way.’

  ‘It has some good points too.’

  ‘I know.’ He looks at me so unwaveringly that my breath catches for a long moment.

  You can almost feel the snap in the atmosphere as he suddenly looks down, shuffling in place and sending the timid cat running back into the hedge. ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done tonight. Honestly, George, the words sound so insignificant for how much it means that you want to help, that you’d go to so much trouble for … me.’

  I don’t get a chance to worry about how sad it makes me feel that he genuinely thinks he’s not worth helping because he suddenly wraps his arms around me. I’m too surprised to move for a moment, and then I realize what he’s doing and snuggle into his embrace. I slide my arms around his waist and squeeze him tighter, trying not to think about the citrusy spice of his shampoo that takes over my senses, or the strength in the arms around my waist, or the tingle of my skin as his stubble brushes my neck.

  ‘Thank you for a wonderful night,’ he whispers, the low vibration of his voice so close to my skin making me shiver.

  ‘You’re freezing,’ I say as the shell of his ear presses against the side of my face and it would feel warmer if someone had put an ice cube there. ‘Your ears must be numb.’

  ‘What ears?’

  ‘Ha ha,’ I mutter.

  Neither of us makes any attempt to end the hug, and it’s gone on a bit longer than normal now, but I’m warm where my body is pressed against his, and I let my fingers trail up the back of his coat and, as much as I want to run them through his hair, I end up awkwardly stroking his shoulder instead. My mind whirrs as I stand there. Am I holding him too tight? Is he desperate to pull away but doesn’t want to hurt my feelings? Does he actually want to hug me? Or is he just embarrassed that he’s opened up so much tonight?

  The problem is solved when there’s a loud meow behind us, and we jump apart in surprise to see the black cat sitting on the gatepost, looking as annoyed as only a cat can.

  ‘I think that was a distinctive “Goodnight, Leo” in cat language,’ he says
with a nervous giggle.

  ‘You don’t have to go.’

  ‘Yeah, I do.’ He glances at his watch. ‘I’ve seen you just after eight for the past few mornings, so you must have to get up at seven or earlier. That’s three hours away.’

  I sigh. I have an overwhelming urge to bundle him into the house, wrap a blanket around him, make him something warm to eat, sit him on the sofa and stroke his hair until he falls asleep. ‘Thanks for all the cups of tea and coming out to help. It was fun talking to someone who gets my love of It’s a Wonderful Life.’

  ‘Same. So many people don’t get the connection. I always get customers coming in and saying the name is too presumptuous and shouldn’t they be the judge of whether it’s a wonderful latte or not.’

  I roll my eyes. ‘There’s no helping some people.’

  ‘Maybe more will get it once they see your depiction of Bedford Falls in the window. It’s got me thinking that I should get some more memorabilia made up. I could get a framed film poster and an “every time a bell rings” wall quote, couldn’t I?’

  ‘You haven’t lost all hope then? Earlier on, I thought you’d completely given up?’

  ‘It’s hard to be anything but positive with you around.’ He blushes as he says it. Even in the low light from the streetlamps, I can see his face reddening.

  He still doesn’t make any attempt to leave and I get the feeling he’s delaying it as much as I am. I don’t want him to go but it’s 4 a.m. and it seems a bit stupid to just stand in the street looking at him until daylight.

  I stay by the front gate and watch as he walks away. I can’t ignore the little thrill when he stops at the end of my street and turns back. He smiles and waves before he disappears around the corner and out of sight. If my heart is beating faster as I creep indoors and pad up the stairs, it’s because he opened up a bit tonight. He actually became my friend. I became someone he can trust, someone he can talk to, and that makes all the lies worth it. As long as he never finds out.