‘You’re worse than Hubert. He’s always coming in here, pretending to be friendly, “accidentally” knocking over my display unit and damaging my stock. Underhanded tactics, I tell you.’
‘Hubert did that?’ I say in surprise. Hubert is the most lovable bumbling buffoon you could ever meet, like a cross between Santa and Mr Bean. He’s unnaturally clumsy and spends most of his days chasing dropped humbugs across his sweetshop floor.
‘He said it was an accident but things are never an accident when you’re in direct competition. It’s me or him, Nia.’
‘I thought you liked him. You always used to have samples of each other’s treats to inspire shared custom. You’re always together. You like each other.’
‘I’m going to lose my shop if he earns more money than me! There is no room for liking people on Nutcracker Lane now!’
To my horror, her voice breaks and tears form in her eyes. ‘It’s oka—’ I try to comfort her, but she turns away.
‘Get out!’ she yells at the wall behind her. ‘Both of you, get out now!’
James’s hand slots around mine, the bag containing his advent calendar dangling between us as he pulls me out of the shop.
‘Well, that was horrible,’ I say, feeling close to tears myself. ‘I’ve never seen Carmen without a smile on her face before. I didn’t mean to make her cry.’
James looks shaken too as I extract my hand from his.
‘This is so wrong. How could that rotten accountant do this to us? Pitting friends against friends and turning everyone against each other? And I know poor old Hubert – there’s no way he did that on purpose. There’s always been rumours of a secret couple on Nutcracker Lane and I would’ve put money on it being those two. And now look at them. She’s obviously hurting and he’s probably devastated at making her think he’d do that.’
He twists his fingers around the handle of the paper bag, looking like he’d be wringing his hands together if he had both available. ‘I suspect it was something that sounded better on paper, but if your Scrooge saw the actual impact of his actions, he’d probably reconsider.’
‘I don’t think the heartless wanker would give a monkey’s.’ I practically spit the words out. ‘Has the merciless skunk ever even set foot in the place? Or does he just sit behind his fancy desk juggling his money? Even on paper, no one could think this was a good idea.’
‘On the plus side, at least Carmen wasn’t unscrupulous enough to take your money. That was honourable, wanting to be fair and all that.’
‘Yeah, but she used to be a friend. She was watching us like we were a pair of shoplifters. The shopkeepers here have always supported each other, and now I can’t even buy something from one of the others. The best part about getting a shop here this year was finally getting to work with people I’ve called friends for years. I send Carmen a Christmas card every year and she could barely look at me.’
I’m stomping down the honey-coloured paving stones like they’ve come loose and I’m trying to stamp them back into place, and he reaches out and catches hold of my hand and pulls me back, wrapping his good arm around me and pulling me into his side.
‘I’m sorry, Nee,’ he murmurs, his lips so close to my forehead that I can feel every word.
His arm around me, and knowing he’s probably hurting and holding an angry woman at this proximity to broken ribs and God knows how much bruising, is enough to make the fight drain out of me.
The advent calendar in the bag bangs against my arm as his fingers curl around my shoulder and he pulls me just a little bit tighter. I rest my head against the good side of his chest and reach up to give his left shoulder another gentle pat as I let out a long breath, trying not to think about how much I love that he trusts me not to hurt him.
When I’ve lingered in his embrace for longer than strictly reasonable, I reluctantly pull away and mouth a ‘thank you’ at him.
‘We have to do something,’ I say. ‘We have to fight this. Nutcracker Lane can’t end this way. And it can’t be impossible. Even the real Scrooge changed his ways by the end of A Christmas Carol.’
‘Do you know a few ghosts?’ James gives me a wink.
It makes me smile, but it also makes me start thinking. The ghosts showed Scrooge that things hadn’t always been the way they were and there was still time to change. If we could show our version that Nutcracker Lane is worth saving, maybe it would help. Maybe if he saw the place and met the people here, he’d realise that his “on paper” idea is terrible in practice. I just need to find him. His letters give no clue about an address for the office, and the contact number is still ringing out unanswered according to Hubert who’s been trying it daily.
James follows me into Starlight Rainbows, waving a fiver at Stacey who’s behind the counter having just served a woman buying one of my red-and-white striped North Pole signposts who ducks out as we enter. ‘Four quid of your finest Christmas gear, please.’
‘Take your pick.’ I gesture to the shop, unable to take my eyes off him as he starts wandering around.
‘I like what you did with the windows.’ He nods towards the living-room scene in one and the nutcracker Christmas party in the other that Stacey and I finished this morning.
‘Thanks for the advice. They’re much better.’
Instead of looking at our products, he points upwards. ‘What wattage are your lightbulbs?’
‘They’re not for sale.’ Stacey’s clearly confused by the question.
He laughs. ‘I was trying to say they’re not bright enough.’
‘Are you buying something or appraising us?’ I ask.
‘I’m not being horrible.’ He comes over to stand next to me. ‘I said I’d help with your shop and I am. It’s too dark in here.’
‘We have Christmas lights.’
‘Exactly. It looks pretty but you can’t actually see anything.’ He points out a customer who has picked up a sparkly wrapped present necklace and stepped back to tilt it under one of the main lights.
I meet Stacey’s eyes and we both make the same face. He’s got a point. Maybe we have gone a bit far in the “cosy Christmas evening” direction.
‘We’ll bear that in mind,’ I say, unwilling to admit I’m going to dash down to the storeroom when he leaves and find brighter bulbs. ‘Anything catch your eye yet?’
‘Will you choose something for me? I’d prefer it if it came from you. Your choice of whatever Christmassy thing I desperately need in my life.’
I grin as I start wandering around the shop, trailing my hand over the festive fabric tablecloths covering our display tables. My eyes fall on the perfect thing. Stacey sells gorgeous, dainty, pretty festive jewellery, but we also have a few novelty bits, because Christmas is a time for garish, light-flashing, chunky plastic pieces that you can see coming halfway down the street. I hold it up so Stacey can see what I’ve bought and she rings it up on the till and gives James his change.
I tear the packet open and pull the tab out of the battery box and unwind it in my hands as I approach him.
‘What is that? Why do you look so … gleeful? That look can only mean one thing – that you’re about to do something horrible to me.’
‘You’ve got a six-foot-tall Santa doing the Macarena all day, every day. You deserve everything you get,’ Stacey tells him.
I hold up the necklace at full width ready to slip over his head. It’s a string of plastic candle-shaped bulbs in red, green, blue, and yellow, that flash in different patterns. Exactly the thing someone who hates Christmas would be overjoyed to wear.
‘That’s not a necklace, those are the lights that are wound round your garden fence.’
‘In wearable form.’ I gesture for him to lower his head, and am quite surprised when he does. I push myself up on tiptoes and slip it over his head, my fingers accidentally catching his strokable dark hair before I step back to admire my work.
‘I hate you.’
‘I know you do.’ I give him my most self-satisfied gri
n.
‘Until now, I’ve thought you were the loveliest person I’ve ever met, but my opinion has done a total one-eighty-degree turn – you know that, don’t you?’ He’s trying his absolute hardest not to smile as he says it, but his mouth keeps tipping up.
‘I know,’ I repeat.
‘Good.’
‘Good.’ I reach up over his shoulder to get to the battery pack at the back of his neck, my fingers brushing the dusting of fine hairs there, which stand on end at my touch and I can feel the goose bumps rising in their wake, until my thumbnail finally finds the on-off switch and I flick it and step back as the necklace flashes each colour of bulb alternately.
James groans as he looks down at himself, and I reach out and straighten it over the sling. ‘And, as a bonus, it can help with road safety. I bet that car would’ve noticed you if you’d been wearing this.’
‘It probably would’ve veered off to the side and crashed due to being blinded by the flashing lights.’
‘You can say what you want, but you’re not getting out of wearing it, Grinch.’ I grin at him and he grins at me and I know he’s trying to be annoyed but it’s just not working.
‘Just so you know, I have never worn something that flashes before. You must have magical powers to talk me into this.’
‘It’ll be a Christmas jumper next.’ I pull my own jumper down, this one navy with snowflakes and a large polar bear wearing a blue fluffy scarf on it.
He goes to protest but Stacey clears her throat and points to one of my plywood cut and hand-painted bunches of mistletoe, something I’d thought the stems would be too flimsy to cut but seems to have worked so far and has had lots of comments from customers. ‘That could be termed “standing under the mistletoe”.’
I give her a look because it’s on the wall behind his head and there’s no way it counts. He turns around and looks too and then laughs because he’s a good few feet from it, and instead of stepping further away like I thought he would, he sidesteps until he’s standing next to it and beckons me closer.
I’m blushing furiously as I go over. Thank God I didn’t choose a red jumper today because I’d be completely camouflaged.
The advent calendar bag is still hooked over his little finger as he holds his hand out, inviting me to slot mine into it.
His eyes don’t leave mine as his fingers fold around my fingers and he lifts my hand to his mouth, like a prince would greet a princess, and his lips press gently against the back of it. Heat flares from my hand outwards, his stubble sending sparks zinging across my skin, followed by a trail of goose bumps, and the most delicious shiver goes down my spine.
How can he have that much of an effect on me with one innocent touch? Well, maybe not quite so innocent, judging by the twinkle in his eyes when he pulls back.
He’s smirking like he knows exactly what he’s done to me. ‘I figured that was the most I could get away with considering the position of the mistletoe. Solely to say thank you for the advent calendar, obviously.’
After lingering for an absurd amount of time, my fingers finally slip from his, his thumb closing over them to hang on for every moment longer, and everything feels faraway and hazy, even the carol singers on one of their trips up the lane, singing “This Christmas” by Brian Alex, a beautiful, haunting melody about Christmas wishes.
‘And on that note, I should probably open up.’ At least his cheeks have gone as red as mine must be, judging by the pulsing heat I can feel pumping from them. He backs out of the shop without dropping my gaze until he nearly falls down the step and quickly grabs the doorframe to stay upright.
‘You bought your own advent calendar!’ I call after him when I come to my senses. He stops in the middle of the lane and turns around to wink at me.
When he’s disappeared inside his shop, I sort of collapse against the counter and look up at Stacey who’s fanning a hand in front of her face.
‘Never mind a nutcracker prince, you are sure he’s not actually Flynn Rider in real life, right?’ She looks across the lane as the Santa starts up his Macarena dancing. ‘Because he seems more and more like he belongs in a Disney movie every time I see him.’
‘Maybe that’s the problem.’ I push myself upright. ‘Either he is a magical answer to a wish I made on the nutcracker, or there’s something wrong with him that hasn’t come to light yet, because men like that don’t exist in my life. He’s single, he’s gorgeous, he’s sweet, charming, and chivalrous, and so far his only flaw is that he hates Christmas. And he’s here because he wants to find some Christmas spirit … So what’s wrong with him, Stace?’
‘Do broken bones count as a character flaw?’
I laugh. ‘No. And that means there’s got to be a catch somewhere else.’
‘Or maybe it means that you’ve dated your fair share of complete prats and now the universe has finally thrown you into the path of Prince Charming.’
I give her such a sceptical look that she giggles. ‘Or maybe he is a wooden doll come to life. Maybe he is going to turn back into a nutcracker on Christmas Day and you’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream.’
‘Maybe,’ I say, but from what I know of men and dating, it’s a far more likely scenario than James actually being as perfect as he seems.
Chapter 7
It’s a couple of days later as I lug my granddad’s old hand truck trolley up the hill to work. Lily’s got a parents’ assembly in school this morning so Stacey won’t be in until later, and it feels odd and lonely to be walking to work on my own. I hadn’t realised how much I’d got used to not being alone. James was visiting his parents last night and I missed him a truly ridiculous amount for my seventh day of knowing him.
I hadn’t realised how lonely I was until now. Even though I’ve dated, it never felt any less lonely. None of those men have ever come to my house. Never eaten my food. Never watched movies with me. I’ve realised how much I tend to put off going home, and how much I work in my shed with Christmas music playing from my phone to drown out the silence, and how nice it’s been to go home with James, and how warm and cosy and Christmassy it’s felt to sit in the living room with him, get the log fire going, and a bowl of something hearty and warming and a Christmas film on the TV, even without the tree up. I can’t believe it’s already the 7th and I haven’t got one yet.
The folding trolley to transport the tree home tonight clonk-bonks along the pavement behind me, and as I reach the top of the hill and go to cross the shrub border surrounding the car park, James’s car pulls into his usual space under the lamppost. I can’t help the smile that breaks across my face. It’s a foggy grey morning but seeing his matching smile through the windscreen makes it feel like the sun has burst through the clouds.
He turns the engine off and opens the door. ‘I was hoping to catch you,’ he says before I’ve reached him.
I put my hand on the open car door and peek around the edge at him. ‘I missed you last ni— You’re wearing a Christmas jumper!’
He grins. ‘Thought you’d like it.’
‘Where did you find that? It’s perfect for you.’ I can’t tear my eyes away from the giant green face of the Grinch on the front of the black jumper.
I don’t miss how difficult it is for him to get out of the car. Every movement is slow and considered as he turns in the driver’s seat and inches each leg out before using the door to haul himself upright without twisting his upper body.
‘Mrs Brissett at the jumper shop.’ He’s speaking through gritted teeth and holding on to the car roof to steady himself.
It makes me realise how much pain he must be in and how much he usually covers it. Since the night in the storage room, apart from the odd wince or intake of breath, you’d never know there was anything wrong, and my nails make crescent-shaped indents in my palms as I hold back from how much I want to put my hand on his back and just sort of rub. His arm is out of its sling for driving and the white plaster of his cast stands starkly against the black sleeve of the jum
per that’s pulled up to his elbow.
‘And now I wish I’d been five minutes earlier so you didn’t have to see how long it takes me to negotiate something as simple as getting out of a car. I’m not usually like this, I swear.’
‘You’re hurt, James,’ I start, but all the moving has pulled his jumper skew-whiff and as he reaches one arm back and tries to pull it straight, I catch sight of the bare skin underneath. ‘Holy hell, you’re black and blue.’
The trolley clatters onto the pavement as I drop it and leap forwards to stop him pulling the jumper down. I cover his hand with mine and roll the knitted material and the plain T-shirt underneath it back up again, sucking in air through my teeth as I uncover more and more skin of his left side, from hip to as far as I can go without risking pulling near his ribs.
‘Nia, don’t, please. It’s just bruising – it happens when you’re hit by a car.’
‘Have you had this checked out?’ His whole left side is an angry mottle of black, blue, and purple in more shades than you’d see on a standard colour chart, with yellowy-green edges that extend under the waistband of his jeans and further around his chest than I can see.
‘Of course. They said I’d be bruised and it’d take a few days to come out and a couple of months to properly heal. It looks worse than it is, Nee. They’re just bruises; it only hurts when I press them. Don’t look, please. At some point in the future, I wouldn’t mind if you found me attractive, and seeing my battered body is not going to help matters.’
So many things spring to mind – that he’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met and a few bruises don’t make any difference to that, how bruises that severe are not the kind that only hurt when you press them – bruises like that spread through your entire body and hurt with every step – and mainly, how much I wish I could reach my fingers out and trail them across his bare hip, but that would be asking for too much trust from someone I barely know, not to mention crossing God knows how many lines.
I also realise that even though it’s warmer today with the low-lying fog and threatening rain clouds, it’s still a December morning and he’s standing in the car park with half his torso exposed and the cold air is undoubtedly not doing the bruising any good. I quickly tug the T-shirt and jumper back into place and step away, but all my good intentions fly away as he straightens up and turns around, pain visible in every taut line of his face.
The Little Christmas Shop on Nutcracker Lane Page 14
