The Little Christmas Shop on Nutcracker Lane

by Jaimie Admans

  His bluntness makes me laugh again. ‘So what are you doing here? Were you serious when you said exposure therapy yesterday?’

  ‘No. Yes. I don’t know.’ He sighs. ‘I’ve been getting really stressed at work. More than my usual amount of work stress. I’ve known this would be my father’s last year for a while now and I’ve buried my head in the sand and convinced myself it wouldn’t happen, and the closer it gets, the more stressed I get and the less I know what to do about it. The accident last week was just one in a long line of things that wouldn’t have happened if everything wasn’t getting on top of me.’

  His head presses a bit harder against my shoulder like he’s trying to get my attention. ‘I could do without the excruciating pain of fireworks going off in my chest, but this feels like the first time I’ve breathed in months, so thank you.’

  I can’t help the little fizzle of warmth it sends through me. I don’t even know him, but I can tell he’s the kind of person who doesn’t stop unless they’re forced to. ‘You make it sound like you’re spending Christmas on the frontlines.’

  ‘Exactly. I thought I’d spend this season on the ground, so to speak. I thought if I could spend Christmas in the heart of it, surrounded by people who love Christmas, somewhere that I can’t hide in my office and ignore it, it might make me see what other people see. If I can understand why people love it, maybe it’ll help me understand why the business is so important to my parents, because right now I don’t. Christmas is a tough time of year for a lot of people. It’s not all candy canes and snowflakes.’

  ‘No one says it is,’ I say gently, wondering if he’s speaking from personal experience. ‘I know it’s the worst time of year for many.’ I sort of press my cheek against his hair in a weird attempt to let him know it’s okay if he’s talking about himself. ‘But it can also be the most magical. There’s something special about Christmas and those who love it should be allowed to enjoy it, and those who don’t should be allowed to ignore it in peace.’

  ‘And no one should be Grinched at by me, right?’

  ‘That’s the first time I’ve heard Grinch used as a verb,’ I say, trying not to laugh out loud.

  ‘Or maybe I’m just trying to grow my heart. That was the Grinch, right?’ He moves his head until he can tilt it upwards and catch my eyes. ‘His heart was two sizes too small?’

  ‘You know something Christmassy!’ I do a victory fist with the hand closest to him. ‘You’re not a complete lost cause after all!’

  He laughs as he swallows the last of his tea and does an excellent job of disguising the shudder. ‘Go on then.’ He reaches across to put the empty mug down on his opposite side. ‘Now you know more about me than most people who have been in my life for years, how about you? What’s your story?’

  ‘I don’t have one … I’ve been coming to Nutcracker Lane every year since I was born. My grandma always used to tell me about pushing my pram up here when I was only a few months old and how much I liked looking up at the lights. I’ve wanted to work here forever, but this is the first year my application got accepted … and will probably be the last if Scrooge has his way.’

  ‘From what I’ve seen so far, he seems to be the only sensible one around here.’ His voice is jokey and I know he’s only trying to wind me up, but I still hold my palm out like I’m going to smack his leg. ‘If you weren’t already hurt, I’d hit you for that. No one praises that awful man in my presence.’

  He laughs and I can feel his face heating up through my jumper. ‘What do you do the rest of the year?’

  ‘As many part-time jobs as will have me. Until last month, I was doing the night shift stacking shelves in the supermarket, but I handed in my notice when I got confirmation of having a shop here. For the past few weeks, Stacey and I have been working on our stock and setting the shop up.’

  ‘Wait, so you’ve actually quit your job to work here?’

  I nod gently so he’ll feel it.

  ‘What happens in January?’

  ‘Blind panic. Followed by jobhunting. Me and Stace go to craft fairs up and down the country. We’ve got a van between us that we load up and go halves on petrol to get wherever we need to be, usually at weekends but sometimes we can get a spot for two or three days during the week as well. She’s lucky because she’s got a husband to support her, but I don’t earn enough from making decorations so I have to do whatever I can to support myself in the meantime. A full-time job would be the end of my craft work, so I do whatever job I can for a few days a week to pay the bills and spend the rest of my time working on my business.’

  ‘But … you’d …’ He shakes his head against my shoulder. ‘You’d actually give up a job, security in this unstable economy, solely to work here?’

  Does he have to sound quite so incredulous? ‘I love this place. I love making Christmas decorations in my shed at home and I want to do that as much as I can. I don’t love stacking shelves, doing temp work, waitressing, or working at the drive thru of fast food restaurants, but I’ll do anything that allows me the time to do what I really love. And this is special. Nutcracker Lane is where I’ve dreamed about working my whole life. I’d have given up anything to get here this year. The last time I made a wish on the magical nutcracker it was that I’d get to work here one day.’

  ‘Hah!’ He laughs so hard that it turns into a groan and his right hand shoots up to hold his ribs again. ‘Why am I not surprised that you believe in wishes on the non-magical nutcracker?’

  ‘Serves you right,’ I mutter as he lets out a shaky breath. I leave out the fact that technically the last wish I made on the nutcracker was for Prince Charming. There’s no way someone who laughs that hard at the suggestion of magic is really him. I was so mistaken on that line of thinking. Magical nutcrackers are more realistic than the idea that someone so grouchy and dismissive could be the answer to my wish.

  ‘You do know it’s not magical, right?’

  ‘No, I had no idea. I also think flying reindeer are a good choice of transport and that Santa pops down the chimney of every house in the world on Christmas Eve and eats eight billion mince pies without putting on a single pound in weight.’ I roll my eyes and lift my head from his to rest it back against the wall. What is it with people who hate Christmas being so keen to decry others for their love of it? ‘Look, we’re both adults. We both know that the nutcracker doesn’t really grant wishes and that when wishes were granted on Nutcracker Lane, it was by a team of wish-granters who were paid to listen in and go above and beyond to make them come true, but don’t you think it’s nice for people to believe there’s a little bit of magic in the world?’

  ‘Not really, because there isn’t.’

  ‘Well, anyone who thinks that will never find it, will they?’ I snap. ‘How can you not believe in magic?’

  ‘Because I’m a sane, adult human?’

  ‘That’s not being an adult – that’s just sad. What’s the harm in a Christmas wish? Where’s the harm in allowing people to believe in the possibility of magic? In letting children grow up believing in Santa and the idea that Christmas wishes can come true?’

  ‘The real world? Life? Disappointment? You can make wishes until you’re blue in the face, and they won’t come true. I learnt that very early on in my life.’

  ‘But making a wish gives us something to dream about. Something to work towards. Something to look forward to – the possibility of it happening one day. It’s not all about magical nutcrackers and witches stirring cauldrons and wizards waving wands. Magic is all around us. Don’t you ever look up at the stars twinkling on a cold winter’s night, or watch an autumn sun set across a blazing pink sky, or blow away the seeds of a dandelion clock, or make a wish when you see the time turn to 11.11, or salute a full moon, or stand outside when it snows, or get so completely lost in a good book that you emerge feeling like you’ve time-travelled and lived a different life for a few hours? That’s real magic.’ I sound like I’m about to burst into a rousing rendition
of “Colours of the Wind” and stop myself quickly.

  ‘I don’t have time for that. And I’ve got into enough trouble lately for not looking where I’m going, so I won’t be looking up at the stars anytime soon. The stars will still be there without me looking at them.’

  I sigh, but it hits me right in the gut. ‘No wonder you’re such a Grinch.’

  He laughs and does what is probably meant to be a shrug without moving his torso.

  ‘One of the best things about Christmastime is believing that anything can happen. Magic always feels just a little bit closer to the surface at this time of year.’ I wonder if I’m going a bit far. Usually when I meet a new person, I make an effort to hold back my weird side for a while, but here I am talking about Christmas magic to a guy who acts like he’s due to have three ghosts turn up in his bedroom anytime now.

  His hand flops down from holding his ribs and lands on his thigh right next to mine. My brain sputters to a halt and all I can think about is the weight of it resting against my leg. ‘What would your wish be?’

  He laughs again. ‘I don’t have one.’

  ‘Seriously.’ I prod his thigh gently. ‘Everyone should have a Christmas wish. Imagine for just one moment that you were a person who believed in magic and you went to crack a nut in the magical nutcracker’s mouth … What would you wish for?’

  ‘Someone to love me,’ he says instantly and then hesitates. He’s quiet for so long that I think he’s going to leave it there and not elaborate. ‘Last week I sat in the A&E department of the hospital for five hours, in pain, a good deal of the way into shock, scared, and completely alone. I couldn’t stop shaking, and all I wanted was someone to hold my hand and tell me it was going to be okay. Sorry if that makes me sound unmanly and unmacho, but that’s the truth. How alone I was hit me harder than the car had. I wanted someone to care about me. I wanted someone to worry about me. To notice I hadn’t come home. More than anything, I wanted someone to love me.’

  ‘Your parents?’

  ‘They’ve got their own problems.’

  ‘Friends?’

  ‘My friends are lads, y’know? Great to go out for a beer with, not so much for handholding through emotional trauma. And I’ve … kind of pulled back this year. I’ve been busy with work and there’s stuff I don’t want to share with them and when they’ve invited me out, I’ve refused because I’ve been crap company for the past few months … There’s no one I could phone out of the blue and ask to come and sit with me.’

  His voice has gone quiet and shaky, and it’s clear that he’s nowhere near as blasé about the accident as he seemed earlier. Something like that shakes a person up, no matter how determined he is to appear unaffected, and I’m surprised he’s shared this with me because I get the feeling he isn’t someone who admits vulnerability easily. His hand is open on his thigh, palm up, and I don’t know what makes me do it, but I reach over and slip my fingers between his and squeeze tightly. ‘Next time you can call me.’

  ‘I’m going to endeavour not to get hit by any more cars, but I’ll keep that in mind.’ I expect him to recoil in horror at me holding his hand, but his fingers curl around mine and he squeezes back tighter than I expected. ‘Thank you.’ He turns inwards and sort of rubs his cheek against my shoulder. ‘And just so you know, I’m going to blame this entire conversation on the painkillers tomorrow. If I was thinking clearly, I’m pretty sure I would never have admitted that out loud.’

  ‘Your secret’s safe with me,’ I murmur against his hair.

  I feel his face shift into a smile again, and he doesn’t let go of my hand.

  What the heck am I doing? Sitting in the storeroom holding hands with a guy I barely know. I don’t do this sort of thing.

  ‘What would yours be?’

  This proximity and his cologne are making me feel fuzzy too. ‘What?’

  ‘Your Christmas wish. What would it be?’

  I’m not telling him about the whole Prince Charming thing the other night. I might’ve let my guard down a bit, but not that much. ‘For someone to care about Nutcracker Lane.’

  ‘No one cares about it?’ He sounds confused.

  ‘No one who matters. No one in management. No one who can actually help. It feels like everyone’s waiting for it to die forever. It used to be special, and now it’s just a shell, consigned to the memories of the people who loved it. I wish there was someone who cared about it as much as the shopkeepers do, someone who’d realise it’s worth saving and with a bit of time and investment, could be restored to its former glory. It doesn’t matter to anyone anymore. No one will listen.’

  ‘I’ll listen.’ His fingers tighten around mine. ‘I mean, I don’t think I can do anything to help, but you’re clearly passionate about this place and passion is inspiring. Tell me about it.’

  I didn’t expect him to say that. I’m sure he’s not even vaguely interested in our little outlet village dedicated to the thing he hates most, but it’s sweet of him to offer.

  ‘Our Santa used to be the jolliest for miles. Not the bum-scratching grumpy thin bloke we’ve got now, and there used to be such an emphasis on helping others. Nowadays, all the advertising is about sales and deals in the shops, but it used to be about donating toys for children who wouldn’t have any on Christmas morning and the free Christmas dinner that Nutcracker Lane used to host for the homeless, and how they used to drive out and collect elderly people who would be alone for Christmas and bring them here and put on bingo games and raffles and then take them home where they’d all totter tipsily off the bus with new friends and hampers under their arms.

  ‘The wish-granters would only ever grant the wishes that meant something to people. It was never about material things – the children who asked Santa for a long list of expensive toys were rarely given even one. The wishes granted were for those who wished for something that would help the people around them or make their lives better in some way …’

  ‘An iPad could make many people’s lives exponentially better …’

  ‘This was the Nineties – thankfully we didn’t have iPads then.’

  ‘Exactly. Don’t you think it’s failing because it’s old-fashioned in this day and age? Walking into this place is like stepping back in time.’

  ‘Exactly,’ I repeat. ‘People need that now more than ever given the state of the world. Is there anyone who doesn’t love a bit of nostalgia and would love to step back into the past for a little while?’

  ‘Yes!’ He sounds so incredulous that it makes me laugh. ‘I can’t think of anything worse.’

  ‘This is exactly the kind of place everyone needs. Modern Christmases are all about stress and expensive presents that none of us can really afford, but what Christmas is really about is time with family and friends and appreciating what you have rather than making lists of stuff you want. Nutcracker Lane is a remnant of times gone by, with the paving slabs and the Victorian lampposts and the old-fashioned carollers singing traditional Christmas songs rather than, I don’t know, that bloke from The Royle Family singing “Christmas, My Arse”.’

  ‘There’s not seriously a Christmas song called that, is there?’

  I nod.

  ‘If I could move enough to get my phone out of my pocket, I’d look that up right now. I think we both know what the soundtrack in my shop is going to be tomorrow. Forget Tchaikovsky, “Christmas, My Arse” is my new favourite song and I haven’t even heard it yet.’

  I know he’s deliberately winding me up again, but there’s something so good-natured about it that I don’t mind.

  ‘Did you know they used to do free-of-charge day trips here for people with terminal illnesses? People spent their last ever Christmas on Nutcracker Lane. That’s something special – something that shouldn’t be forgotten.’

  He shakes his head. ‘Yeah, but … I’m not so heartless that I can find an argument against that, but people stopped coming. If Nutcracker Lane was as important as you say it was, why isn’t it still?’
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  ‘People stopped coming because the budget keeps being cut. The more stuff that’s taken away, the fewer reasons there are for people to visit.’

  ‘If it was earning enough money, the budget wouldn’t have been cut in the first place.’

  I hate that he’s got a point there. Am I putting more value on it than there actually was? Just because it was special to me, was it really so special to other people too? Or did they just come here for whatever free stuff they could get out of the magical nutcracker’s wish-granting abilities, and when the wish-granters left, so did the visitors?

  ‘It was an escape for me. My dad died when I was young, and my granddad died not long after, and my grandma and I kind of connected through our grief. We used to come here almost every day during the Christmas season and it was a little haven. Inside these doors, you could forget about everything outside for a while and lose yourself in festive magic.’

  ‘That sounds nice,’ he murmurs.

  ‘After my granddad died, my grandma let me have all his tools, and I’ve been making Christmas decorations since I was old enough to use them. She always said I’d have a shop here one day and I feel like it’s my little way of honouring both of them now. I don’t want to lose it.’

  His elbow presses into the line where our thighs are touching as he lifts our joined hands and twists his wrist, turning them over and sort of examining them, his fingers tightening and then gently rubbing the back of my hand. He seems lost in thought for a curiously long time. ‘We could help each other, you know …’

  ‘We could?’

  ‘I have to take over my father’s business next year and I don’t know what to do with it. I need to find some Christmas spirit. That’s what I came here for, and I can’t think of anyone more full of Christmas spirit than someone with your taste in jumpers. I don’t “get” Christmas, Nia. I don’t understand why so many people love it. And you do. I need someone like you in my life.’