It’s a Wonderful Night. Jaimie Admans

I know how difficult it is to get people through the door. Every day, I expect a phone call from Head Office saying they’ve decided to shut our branch down.

      ‘Well, it’s nearly Christmas,’ I say. ‘People are out shopping in the big towns at this time of year. Maybe things will pick up in January?’

      ‘There’s a new retail park on the roundabout outside of town. It’s easy to get to, there’s plenty of free parking, and it’s got every kind of shop you could imagine. No one needs to come to high streets anymore, no matter the time of year.’

      ‘Yeah, but the retail park is a bit … soulless, isn’t it? These business parks are all the same – if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. I’d rather go to a little high street full of independent shops that actually mean something to the people who own them. That comes across to shoppers, you know?’

      ‘Well, you must be one of about ten people left in the country who think that way.’

      I suddenly feel incredibly sad because he’s so right about the high street. I’ve lived in Oakbarrow all my life. This high street used to be the centre of the universe, especially at this time of year. I remember going Christmas shopping with my mum when I was little and being amazed by it; the sights, the sounds, the smells. The giant tree they put up in front of the churchyard, always at least ten-foot high, lush green branches weighed down with twinkling lights and ornaments that local school children had made. It was magical back then. Shopkeepers would stay open late, decorations of reindeer pulling Santa’s sleigh ran across the road above our heads, snowflakes twinkled on hangers outside every shop, lampposts were wrapped with tinsel and bows and had bright bulbs that still worked.

      I look out the window again. The shop across the road is empty, its windows painted white from inside, the shop next to that has a ‘for sale’ sign nailed to its front though the ‘s’ has worn off, and the one on the opposite side has had ‘closing down sale’ notices in its bare windows for the past three years.

      Just about the only shops still in business are the charity shop and the bank next door, a coffee shop, a tanning shop, a lingerie shop, and a television repair shop at the upper end of the high street. Even the only pub, that used to be the heart of all village gatherings, has closed in recent years. It used to be called The Blue Drum but some clever vandal has removed the middle five letters, so now it’s just The B um. I hear a lot of regular customers talking about wishing The Bum was still open so they could go up it.

      It feels like every one of us is only here to await the death knell. Even the mini supermarket that put the independent greengrocer out of business and contributed to the market closure has shut up shop and run for the hills. Or, more specifically, run for the retail park to be with all the other convenient and cheap shops that make high streets everywhere irrelevant.

      ‘I wish there was something I could say to make you feel better, but there’s no denying what a state high streets everywhere are in.’

      ‘At least you’re honest. Somehow, even hearing that makes me feel better.’

      Well, I want to make him feel better but I’m not sure commiserating over the state of things was quite what I had in mind. ‘How are you feeling now?’

      ‘Cold. Wet.’ I can hear his teeth chattering. ‘Stupid for being up here. Stupid for thinking this was the answer. Pathetic for crying down the phone to a stranger.’

      ‘Hey, that’s not pathetic.’ I wonder if we are strangers. If he works around here, I might know him in passing. I’ve had this job for four years now; you get to know people who work nearby, and his voice does sound familiar. ‘When you need help, the bravest thing you can do is reach out and ask for it.’

      ‘Or phone a stranger and talk about naked mannequin wrestling.’

      The laugh takes me by surprise. ‘Or make them choke on a Crunchie.’

      ‘Or that.’ His laugh turns into a sob. ‘I shouldn’t be up here. I feel like I’ve let everyone down. My family would be devastated if they knew it had come to this.’

      ‘You haven’t let anyone down because you’re still here. The only thing your family would care about is you being all right. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. I promise you, there’s nothing in the world worse than that. Any business that’s failing is just a business, a building, a job. Losing that can be recovered from. You are irreplaceable.’

      ‘Thank you.’ His voice breaks and I can hear the thickness of tears welling up again. My heart constricts in my chest and I want nothing more than to hug this man I don’t even know.

      ‘None of us know how much we matter until it’s too late. No matter how bad you feel, you’re so important to so many people. One person’s life touches so many others.’

      ‘Do you know It’s a Wonderful Life?’

      I feel myself sitting up a bit straighter because he obviously recognized the quote. It’s a Wonderful Life is not just a film to me. It was my mum’s favourite, so much so that she named me Georgia Bailey after it. ‘I would be seriously concerned for anyone who didn’t know It’s a Wonderful Life. It’s an amazing film.’

      He makes a noise of agreement.

      ‘It’s kind of life-affirming,’ I say pointedly. ‘It really shows the importance of every life. No matter how insignificant we think we are, our little lives still make a big difference.’

      He considers it for a moment. ‘You have no idea how much I needed to hear that tonight.’

      We sit there in silence for a while, neither of us speaking, and I realize I’m holding the phone handset so tightly that the plastic must be in danger of cracking by now. It feels like a lifeline to him and I could sit here all night just listening to him breathe. His breath has got that shuddery hitch you get after a long cry, and I have never wanted to hug someone so badly in all my life.

      At the end of the high street, the church bell dongs for midnight.

      ‘Every time a bell rings,’ he murmurs. ‘Did you hear that?’

      It makes my heart pound harder. It’s what I say every time I hear a bell ring too because they make me think of my mum. I love that he knows the film so well because it means so much to me and not many people get that.

      ‘I heard something,’ I say, because I don’t know whether he’s asking if I heard it through the phone or if he realizes I’m just down the road.

      ‘That was the Oakbarrow church telling us all it’s officially December.’

      ‘Christmas month,’ I say.

      ‘Don’t remind me. I can’t deal with Christmas this year.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘It makes me realize that another year has gone by and I’ve done nothing with my life. You’re supposed to be all happy happy, joy joy at Christmas and I’ve got nothing left in me to give.’

      ‘I wouldn’t mind betting that the only reason you’ve got nothing left is because you’re so busy looking after everyone else that you forget to take care of yourself,’ I say, because so many men are the same. He’s probably a guy who’s grown up thinking men must always be strong and never let their feelings show. It’s a toxic masculinity that’s dangerous to men’s mental health. It’s why suicide is the biggest killer of men under fifty. Men bottle things up inside and don’t let it out until it’s too late. I don’t know the exact figures off the top of my head, but I do know that a majority of One Light’s callers are male because of this exact reason.

      ‘My mum always says that.’

      ‘Mums are always right,’ I murmur, wishing mine was still here.

      ‘Sometimes I feel like I’m frightened of being alive.’

      My breath catches in my throat. ‘Me too.’

      ‘Really?’