It’s a Wonderful Night. Jaimie Admans

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 guy I felt such a connection with. That his bright smile is hiding so much pain.

      Maybe I’m wrong. I must be wrong, and at the same time, I know I’m not. I have absolutely no doubt that it was him. Everything suddenly adds up. Leo named his shop after It’s a Wonderful Life, so he obviously knows the film we talked about last night. He’s definitely in his late thirties. The man on the phone even said his mum works with him and Leo’s mum does. Leo often talks about funny words and the man last night said that honking was a good one. Which it undeniably is. And I get the feeling it’s one Leo would appreciate too.

      ‘Me too, on both fronts,’ he says. ‘What can I get you? You’re just in time for the start of the Christmas menu. The festive coffees I’ve been teasing you with for weeks are finally available if you want to try something different?’

      His smile doesn’t falter and the expression on his face doesn’t change. He looks at me exactly the same way he looks at me every other morning. He doesn’t realize it was me.

      And I can’t tell him.

      How can I say that the ‘stranger’ he opened up to is someone he sees every morning? I can’t tell him that I work on the same street, that if I walk to the bend in the road just past the bank, I can see the duck-egg-blue and mocha-brown frontage of his coffee shop. I can’t tell him that he’s the sole reason for my caffeine addiction, or that seeing his smile brightens my day, or that he shared his deepest feelings, something he obviously works hard to keep hidden, with someone he actually knows. He’ll be embarrassed. He might be scared that I’m going to tell someone. People can be more open with a stranger. They can tell them things they wouldn’t tell a friend. Not that I’m exactly a friend of Leo’s, but we share two minutes of conversation every day. He wouldn’t have said half the things he said last night if he knew I’d be buying a coffee from him in the morning.

      It was a private conversation between two strangers. It was a magical connection on a wonderful night. It’s not my place to drag it into the real world. It will change everything, and it would certainly breach even more anonymity rules than I’ve already broken. If he’d phoned the helpline like he intended to, if I’d given him the right number and made him phone there like I should have done, we wouldn’t be in this situation.

      If he doesn’t know, which he clearly doesn’t, I can’t tell him.

      ‘Go on then, what have you got?’ I suddenly realize that if I recognized his voice then he could recognize mine. He did say he thought I sounded familiar too. I clear my throat and put on a lower voice to disguise my own. I’m going for low and sultry but probably sound more along the lines of flu-ridden moose. ‘I still think you could’ve given me an early preview. You’ve had that countdown to Christmas coffees on the counter since mid-October, and everyone knows your Christmas coffees are the best thing about this time of year,’ I say, referring to a joke we’ve had every morning lately. He’s had a hand-drawn chalkboard by the till counting down the days to Christmas coffees for weeks, and knowing I love all things festive, he’s been teasing me about them every morning.

      It’s a shred of normality in what has otherwise been a completely abnormal morning.

      I search his face for some hint of what happened last night, but I don’t know what I expect to find. He’s wearing his usual plain black T-shirt and baby blue apron with ‘It’s A Wonderful Latte’ embroidered on the chest in brown thread. There’s no hint of how cold he got. His denim-blue eyes aren’t bloodshot from crying, his face isn’t red or puffy, and his mop of curly hair is styled and quiffed at the front. If I think the man in the shop this morning will show some hint of the truth revealed by the man on the phone last night, then I’m sorely mistaken. His mask is firmly back in place.

      ‘So …’ he says, sounding like he’s waiting for an answer.

      ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I was miles away. Can you tell me again?’ My face flushes bright red. I must’ve been staring at him without listening to a word he was saying.

      ‘You okay?’ he asks in such a genuine way that it makes me feel like I really could tell him if I wasn’t.

      ‘Absolutely fine, thanks. Sorry, the early start clearly doesn’t agree with me. Better add an extra shot of espresso to today’s drink. What have you got again?’

      ‘I was saying my Christmas coffee syrups are out today because it’s the first of December. I was thinking about you when I put them out this morning because I know you’ve been waiting. I’ve got warm apple pie, caramel pecan, chestnut praline, gingerbread biscotti, peppermint, orange and cranberry, mince pie, and unlike the big coffee chains, my pumpkin spice will stay available until January.’

      ‘Mince pie flavoured coffee?’ I pull a face involuntarily. ‘Yuck.’

      He grins. ‘I knew you’d say that. It’s really nice though, trust me.’

      I’m sure he knows as well as I do that I’ll try one flavour a day until I’ve decided on a favourite. I love seasonal coffee and he always has the best selection. ‘How am I supposed to choose out of all those? They all sound delicious. I’ll try the –’