know. He’s the one bright spot on a dull winter day. He’s the reason I buy a coffee every morning on the way to work. His smile makes every overpriced cup worthwhile. He’s the brightest, happiest, smiliest, most cheerful guy in town.
No way in a million years would he be considering taking his own life.
No way was the guy on the other end of that phone Leo.
‘Puss puss puss puss,’ I call, standing in the front garden and shaking a box of cat biscuits.
A black cat immediately appears on the gatepost and starts rubbing around my hand, a tabby cat peers cautiously out of the hedge, a ginger cat jumps onto the fence from the other side, and there’s a meow from up the street.
‘Good morning, kitties.’ I pour cat biscuits into a row of dishes and stroke the cats brave enough to come over. I put a handful of biscuits down in the hedgerow for the little tabby cat who’s too scared to come out.
‘Morning, George!’
My dad makes me jump, peering around the side of the house from the top of a ladder and giving me a wave. I thought he was still in bed. He deserved a lie in after he waited up for me to come home last night. When I eventually got in, he had dropped off in front of the TV with a blanket over him and a cold cup of tea beside him. A cold cup of tea is enough to ruin anyone’s night.
‘What are you doing up there? You’re nearly eighty!’ I try not to cringe at the sight of him up the ladder, merrily waving with one hand while stapling his Christmas lights up with the other. He’s not even holding on. ‘Please will you get down? I can do that after work!’
‘It’ll be dark by then and you won’t be able to see what you’re doing. Besides, I like doing it, and I’m being careful. Reminds me of being a young lad again and you wouldn’t deny an old man the pleasure of remembering his youth, would you?’
‘You’re not young anymore,’ I mumble to myself. I often feel like I’m the only one who notices my dad’s age. He’s had a couple of scares with his heart, and some nights his arthritis means he needs help getting out of his chair, and then other days, he’ll be outside washing the car, painting the shed, and stapling Christmas lights up from the top of a very high ladder. Possibly all three at the same time. You never know with my dad.
He’s retired now but he used to work for the council. He was solely responsible for the Oakbarrow Christmas tree that stood outside the churchyard every December. He’s fearless when it comes to decorating. The other workers used to stand back and let him get on with it. I remember many an enchanting walk to school with my mum when we’d stop for a few minutes and watch him putting the first decorations up, and then we’d be late so we’d have to rush, but it wouldn’t matter because everyone who walked to school down the high street would’ve stopped to watch too. And then, like magic, on the way home, we’d stop and admire the newly decorated tree. His retirement was the beginning of the end for the Oakbarrow Christmas tree. No one else on the council cared about it as much as he did. Now the only thing he decorates is our house, and he manages to put the same amount of magic into it as he always used to with the Christmas tree.
I give the ladder a wary glance, trying to assess it for rickety-ness, and Dad gives me another reassuring grin from the top of it, like he can tell exactly what I’m doing. I could try to argue with him about getting down, but I know that even if he gets down to appease me, he’ll be back up there as soon as I’ve turned the corner at the end of the street when I leave for work.
After the phone call last night, I tried to go back to doing our first Christmas window of the season –
showcasing our brightest, sparkliest eveningwear ready for Christmas party season – but I couldn’t concentrate on a thing, and it was about half past one when I finally gave up and went home, leaving the windows unfinished. If Head Office pop down for a surprise spot check today, I will be in serious trouble. Thankfully surprise spot checks are few and far between now. Things have been so quiet that there’s not much to spot check on.
I grab my bag from beside the door and tell Dad again to be careful as I go out the gate in the bright December sunshine. It’s a beautiful morning, surprising after the downpour of last night, and I’m earlier than usual because Head Office consider it unprofessional to dress windows when customers are around, so I need to get them finished before we open at nine.
There’s something niggling me about Leo from It’s A Wonderful Latte too. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him all night. All right, he’s so gorgeous that I tend to think about him quite a bit anyway, but there’s definitely been an abnormal amount of thinking about him since that ‘lovely’ last night. It couldn’t have been him on the phone, and yet the thought won’t leave my head.
My pace quickens as I walk through the residential streets towards the upper end of the high street. I don’t even know why I’m going so fast. I tell myself it’s just because I really shouldn’t have left naked mannequins on display in the window and sequinned backing paper only halfway up, and I’ve actually got quite a lot to do before the shop opens – not least because if Head Office do find out about the windows and question why they aren’t done, I will be in huge trouble. Taking that phone call last night goes against every rule the charity has. It was a call meant for the trained counsellors on the helpline. By taking it, I could have been responsible for making the situation worse. I should have immediately redirected him to the correct number, and the fact that I didn’t is probably a firing offence. If anyone notices the windows, it will open a can of worms about why I clocked a few hours of overtime last night but apparently didn’t get anything done.
My chest is tight and I’m walking so fast that sweat is beading on my forehead even though the morning air is so chilly. I pause outside what used to be a toy shop next door to It’s A Wonderful Latte and try to mop it up with my sleeve and calm my heart rate. I take a deep breath, count to five, and carry on, glad all the surrounding shops are shut so there are no shopkeepers to watch me trying to remember how to breathe outside the old Hawthorne Toys building. Even I don’t understand what I’m getting so worked up about. I love coming here every morning. Leo’s mum works in the kitchen, baking sweet treats to tempt customers, and Leo makes the best coffee I’ve ever had. The shop has a real homely, family feel, with a big open fire in one corner surrounded by cosy sofas, mismatched tables and chairs that make it easy for customers to take a liking to and always sit in the same place. There are lots of natural wood fittings and fixtures, the lighting is soft and warm rather than blindingly bright, and it always smells of roasting coffee and cakes baking.
‘Ah, my favourite Georgia.’ Leo looks up and gives me a wide smile when the bell above the door tinkles as I go in. His curly hair flops across his forehead and he shakes it back. ‘You’re early today. Morning, lovely.’
And I just know. No one says ‘lovely’ in quite the same way he does. No wonder I thought his voice sounded familiar. I speak to him every day.
My mind is suddenly reeling. How can he have been the person on the other end of that phone? How can he have been thinking of taking his own life? How can things be so bad for him underneath the happy face he shows to customers?
‘Yeah. Er, couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d get an early start,’ I stutter. I’d be less shocked if I’d just walked smack bang into the back end of a hippopotamus. It’s like I’m having an out of body experience. My brain can’t comprehend that the man on the phone was Leo. That he’s the
