It’s a Wonderful Night. Jaimie Admans

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СКАЧАТЬ late, aren’t you? When are you ever late, George? This Leo must be someone really special.’

      I shake my head, knowing Casey will be like a dog with a bone on this. ‘Just a guy I got chatting to. Makes good coffee. There’s nothing else to it.’

      ‘Well, it’s nice to see you chatting to a man your own age and not old ladies and homeless men.’

      ‘I work with old ladies. And I chat to one homeless guy because he’s a nice, interesting guy; being homeless doesn’t come into it.’

      ‘Oh look, speaking of old ladies, two of yours are standing in the car park and they don’t look happy about being out in this downpour.’

      ‘Morning Georgia.’ As we walk down the corridor connecting the back offices, Jerry, Casey’s boss, comes downstairs with a mug of tea in his hand. I prepare myself for a bollocking but he doesn’t even look surprised to see me. ‘Locked yourself out, eh?’

      ‘Er, something like that.’

      ‘She’s trying to impress a guy,’ Casey says for me. ‘He thinks she works here.’

      ‘Oooh, tell me more.’ Jerry clutches both hands around his mug and looks uncharacte‌ristically excited. ‘People can be funny about charity shops, can’t they? Fancies a banker type, does he?’

      ‘It’s really not like that –’

      ‘Feel free to use the bank as much as you want. I’ll let everyone know to stick with the story.’

      ‘You really don’t have to. This is already getting way out of hand –’

      ‘No trouble at all. My wife’s favourite ever gift is still that Royal Doulton vase you kept for me. I still get rewarded handsomely for that every time she catches sight of it on the mantelpiece. This is the least I can do. Come in whenever you want. Now, who are we looking out for?’

      I think about it. On one hand, this is a huge lie, but on the other hand, what else am I going to tell Leo? I’ve already made the mistake of telling him I work here; I can’t exactly go back on it now, can I? And the problem still stands. I cannot tell him I work for One Light because he’ll realize who I am. The bank is really convenient because it’s next door to One Light and we share a car park at the back with the other buildings in this part of the street. Our back doors are literally one step away from each other. It wouldn’t be too difficult to come in here if he happens to be watching like this morning, and walk through and out the back into the charity shop. And I’m determined to help Leo in some way. I’m going to become his friend whether he likes it or not. This doesn’t end at him walking me to work in a downpour …

      ‘The bloke from It’s A Wonderful Latte,’ Casey says when she’s decided I’m not answering fast enough.

      ‘Oh, good going, Georgia!’ He holds his hand up for a high five. ‘Leo Summers. I know him. His father used to bank here. Lovely lad.’

      I reluctantly slap his hand, feeling like this conversation has happened without me.

      ‘Consider the bank at your disposal. Use us whenever you like. I’d love to be part of a good love story. It’s like something you see in the movies, isn’t it? Like your It’s a Wonderful Life. My wife keeps saying it’s on the telly but we never find time to sit down and watch it.’

      ‘You definitely should. It’s timeless and so heartwarming, especially at this time of year.’

      ‘I know because she’s made me watch it with her seventy thousand times over the years. Anyone would think she was named after the main character or something,’ Casey says.

      ‘It’s a good film,’ I say, glancing out the back window at Mary and one of the volunteers standing under their umbrellas, undoubtedly talking about how late I am, and I’m standing here discussing films.

      ‘I don’t like films that make me cry,’ Casey says.

      ‘My wife loves a good weepie. I’ll make it a mission to watch it this Christmas.’ Jerry leans over and unlocks the back door for me. ‘Don’t forget, come in any time you need to for your love story.’

      ‘It’s not a love story,’ I protest.

      ‘It’s a coffee story,’ Casey says. ‘Apparently we’re all having a coffee with lunch today. Georgia’s paying.’

      ‘Fine, but yours will be an apple pie latte,’ I say, knowing full well that Casey thinks festive-flavoured coffees are an affront to humanity. ‘It’s not about money. It’s about making Leo feel like his hard work is worth it.’

      Even as I think it, I know it’s pointless. Leo doesn’t need to sell an extra coffee or two and another batch of muffins. He needs a massive increase in customers. Like every other business on this street has needed for years. Like One Light needs to sell more than a couple of Christmas party dresses and hideous old suits as Halloween costumes to stay afloat. A whole round of coffees for the bank might help for a day but it won’t do anything in the long run.

      I can’t stop thinking about it as I go to rescue Mary and the volunteer from the sopping car park. My mind is elsewhere as I listen to Mary worriedly ignoring her own wet coat and soaking grey hair to make sure I’m not late for reasons of ill health, ask if everything’s okay with my dad, and why I look so distracted.

      I don’t tell her I’m distracted because seeing Leo makes my day better every morning, and I’ve never realized how much truth there is in the saying that the saddest people always try the hardest to make others happy.

      I know above all things that I want to help him. And not just because I fancy him, but because I’ve been handed a unique opportunity. He doesn’t know that he’s shared this with me. Or, at least, he doesn’t know that I’m who he’s shared this with. This is fate. He found a leaflet on the bridge that I put there. He owns a shop called It’s A Wonderful Latte, named after my mum’s favourite Christmas film. She didn’t name me Georgia Bailey for nothing. This is fate telling me to be like Clarence, the guardian angel who stopped my namesake jumping off a bridge in the film. This doesn’t just happen, does it? Leo needs help. And I’m going to help him.

      I’m just not sure how yet.

      * * *

      It’s while I’m in the window getting the mannequins dressed in our best evening wear and standing them around in groups like they’re nattering at a Christmas party, setting up tables full of empty glasses and a sparkling tree in one corner of the display that an idea comes to me. I keep going outside to see how the window looks, and every time I do, I back up just a little bit more than needed so I can see around the corner and up towards It’s A Wonderful Latte.

      A woman is peering in the window, but her eyes fall on the gingerbread house and she turns away rather than going in. There are a couple of people around, but not one of them so much as glances at Leo’s window.

      ‘The windows look wonderful,’ Mary says, having made no comment about them being left unfinished last night even though she must have noticed. ‘Just as wonderful now as they did when you went out to check them the first sixty times.’

      She knows something is going on. I can feel her eyes on me because I never go outside to see how the windows look from a customer’s perspective this often.

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