‘I wasn’t suggesting that …’ My voice shakes. I’ve lost the crowd. They’re all muttering among themselves about various injustices they’ve faced over the years that I don’t know anything about.
James drapes his good arm around my shoulder, making me jump because I hadn’t heard him get up. He was the last person I expected to stand up for me in this. I’m pretty sure he’d like to never hear the words “Nutcracker Lane” again.
‘What my law-abiding friend here is trying to say is simple – do you want to come back to Nutcracker Lane next year? Do you all want it to still be here?’ His voice is calm and measured, and there’s something about him when he speaks that makes everyone fall silent and listen.
‘Yes,’ comes a collective response.
‘Great, because that’s what we all want.’ He takes his arm from around my shoulders and walks over to the wish-granting nutcracker and points up at it. ‘Do you all remember how the community rallied to bring this guy home once before?’
There’s inconclusive murmuring and James gives a quick recap of the story he told me the other night, and then continues. ‘Nutcracker Lane works on the idea that wishes comes true … Well, they don’t.’
Typical James. He hasn’t changed that much then.
‘We’re all adults here. We know that cracking a nut in this thing’s mouth won’t make it a reality, but we also know that half the power of wishes is the idea of manifesting what you want and working towards it, effectively making your own wish come true. So if we want to save Nutcracker Lane, we can’t just make a wish and stand back to hope for the best. We have to make it come true.’
God, he’s good. Everyone’s gone quiet to listen to him and he doesn’t seem even vaguely perturbed by so many eyes on him. He’s still wearing his Grinch jumper and his arm is back in the sling now, and his hair has fallen to the opposite side than usual like he’s pushed it back a few times. I never expected him to get involved in this. I thought his involvement would end at handing over the nutcrackers, but the fact he’s got up too, and is trying to calm this crowd of people he barely knows, buoys my confidence.
‘We all know that people used to love it, and we all know that in a few years’ time, if it goes, people will reminisce fondly and wish it was still there,’ I say. ‘That interim time is where the magic happens, and we’re currently standing in it. We have a chance to save Nutcracker Lane before people can start reminiscing about the good times when it used to be there.’
‘Exactly,’ James agrees. ‘What if we don’t report equal earnings, but we all earn enough that Scrooge can’t possibly shut us down? What if we all have our best year ever?’ He’s got a sort of authority about him that makes anything sound possible when he says it.
‘I’m in.’ Hubert, bless him, is the first to agree even though he hasn’t got a clue what we’re suggesting yet.
‘If it was that easy, we’d have done it years ago,’ the bloke from the craft shop mutters.
His cutting remarks shook me just now, but James gives him a bright smile. ‘But we’re not talking about years ago. We’re talking about right now. If we have one Christmas left before Scrooge does irreparable damage then we need to make the most of it. If we fail, at least we’ll have tried.’
Craft Shop Man reluctantly mutters something about being “in”.
While I explain a bit about my plan to spread the nutcrackers far and wide, James goes over to the box he left on the bench and gets a handful of nutcrackers out. He gives one to Lily and winks at her as he comes back. I attach a “Save Nutcracker Lane” flag around one’s neck and give another two a string of bunting to hold, joining them together, and explain that we could line our shop windows with these, as well as hiding them in every conceivable place around our county and getting people talking about Nutcracker Lane.
‘A whole new generation of children will be captivated,’ Hubert says excitedly.
‘We could get the newspapers involved!’ Carmen shouts, and I’m glad that we’re on the same page. ‘And the TV cameras!’
‘People will talk about hundreds of nutcrackers popping up around town!’ one of the carol singers shouts.
When I look up at him, James is grinning at me.
‘People will love finding them. Like free Christmas decorations. Kids love that sort of thing. Have you seen how some places hide books for other people to find? It’ll be like that but with nutcrackers!’
‘And we can all take some and distribute them around where we live. We’ll have covered all of Wiltshire in no time!’
James and I share another look. I don’t mention that we’ve already thought of all this stuff because it’s amazing to see everyone getting involved.
‘But we have to work together,’ I say loudly to be heard over the racket as everyone starts chattering between themselves about good places for putting nutcrackers. ‘We have to go back to supporting each other, showcasing each other’s products, talking each other up, helping each other out. We have to show Scrooge that we’re in this together and each and every one of us deserves our place. Even if this fails and we lose Nutcracker Lane, at least we won’t lose the friendships we’ve made here.’
Everyone mumbles an agreement and the group is suddenly filled with hugs and apologies and people saying things like, ‘It’s been so lonely without anyone to have lunch with,’ and ‘I’ll be in first thing tomorrow for a batch of my annual peppermint crèmes. I haven’t known what to do with myself without them this year.’ It warms my heart to the core, and when I look up at James, he’s looking proud and sentimental, and I step a bit closer to him and he does the same until our arms are touching.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper to him.
‘Thank you.’ He tilts his neck back until he can look up at the giant nutcracker behind us. ‘Making wishes isn’t what’s magic here. It’s having something to wish for that makes all the difference. Hope. This has given them all hope. That’s something that’s been in short supply lately. For all of us.’
I know he means himself by that, but someone asks a question about the nutcrackers before I have time to analyse it too deeply.
James promises to go and collect a carful tonight and I promise to make up a thousand more flags. The atmosphere feels instantly brighter. Even Santa has left his bodily functions to their own devices and is now flicking a nail uninterestedly against a paving stone.
As everyone starts filtering away from the meeting area, they all stop to crack a nut in the giant nutcracker’s mouth, and this time, all our wishes echo each other’s – to save not just our own shops, but Nutcracker Lane as a whole.
Stacey goes to get their coats and Lily tugs at the bottom of my Christmas jumper and I crouch down so she can reach Rudolph’s nose and press it, making the big red bobble light up. ‘Auntie Nia, are you going to have to grow your hair?’
‘I don’t think so …’ I say carefully, waiting to see where her childhood logic is going.
‘Only every time you start growing it, you get it cut again, so I don’t think it’s going to go very well.’
Great. Even a seven-year-old has noticed my inability to commit to a fringe. Although I must be doing something right if she thinks I “get” it cut because what I actually do is hack away at it with scissors in the bathroom mirror and then regret it. And try to fix it, which inevitably ends up going horribly wrong until there are porcupines with better haircuts.
‘Mummy says you might have to because you’ve got your very own Flynn Rider now …’ She blushes as she says it, and I remember feeling exactly the same about Aladdin when I was her age. Crushes on cartoon characters are definitely a thing that carries across the generations.
‘Oh, honey, there’s no part of him that’s mine, but he does look like him, doesn’t he?’ I glance up at James and grin at him when he meets my eyes. ‘Hey, Disney Prince, come over here. This is Stacey’s daughter, Lily. She wanted to say hello because she thinks you look like Flynn Rider.’
I introduce t
hem, but she still calls him Mr Rider when she thanks him for the nutcracker, and I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t melt at how sweet and gracious he is with her, and how at least he waits until she and Stacey are out of earshot before looking at me in confusion. ‘Who’s Flynn Rider?’
‘Rapunzel’s prince. Tangled.’ I shake my head in despair. ‘So after the Christmas movies, we’re going to have to work on getting you acquainted with Disney movies then, are we?’
He grins and waggles his eyebrows. ‘I’m remarkably okay with that idea.’
I am too, but I still shake my head fondly. Honestly, never mind under a rock, anyone would think he’d been living as a wooden soldier for years.
Chapter 9
‘Where is he?’ I say for approximately the sixty-third time this morning judging by the look on Stacey’s face. ‘His car’s in but his shop’s shut.’
‘Honestly, Nia,’ she mutters from behind the counter where she’s crouched down folding up gift boxes. ‘If you spent as much time making Christmas decorations as you do looking for that man … At least if his shop’s shut, that flipping Santa isn’t dancing.’
‘I think I might buy you that for Christmas.’ I turn and wink at her and she pokes her tongue out at me. ‘Can you hold the fort if I go looking?’
She laughs and nods, and I’m hit with a wave of how grateful I am to be working with my best friend. I think she’s so surprised by the prospect of me actually wanting to spend time with a man that she never complains about the number of times I dash out to see him, or how at some point today, we’ve got to go and distribute nutcrackers to the other shopkeepers and there’s no time to waste given that it’s already the 8th of December.
I step out of Starlight Rainbows and look both ways, trying to decide where James might be.
Hubert and Carmen, sworn enemies yesterday, are now huddled in his sweetshop doorway sharing a plate of her chocolates with a cup of tea each. Before I have a chance to decide which way to go, they beckon me over.
‘He’s a good one you’ve got there,’ Hubert says.
‘I thought he was going to be a problem when I first met him,’ Carmen says. ‘He looked so uptight and like he belonged in an office. Not Nutcracker Lane’s usual type at all.’
Hubert nods. ‘He doesn’t let the arm stop him, does he?’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask in confusion.
‘The garlands.’ They nod in unison towards the top of the lane.
I thank them and head in the direction of the wish-granting nutcracker, and the question of what they mean is quickly answered as I come out into the entrance court and spot James, balancing precariously on a stepladder near the nutcracker, hanging a thick green garland intertwined with twinkling white lights from a low ceiling beam to the top of a lamppost where they always used to hang.
I fold my arms and look up at him. ‘What part of this counts as “taking it easy”?’
He obviously saw me coming because he isn’t even slightly surprised. ‘You don’t have to worry about me so much, you know.’
I probably don’t, but I’m pretty sure I’m the only person who knows quite how far his injuries extend and I can’t stop myself. ‘Can I help?’
‘You can come and steady the ladder, if you want. It’s a bit wobbly up here.’
‘Yeah,’ I mutter as I go across and put one foot on the bottom rung and lean my weight against it. ‘I’ve always thought the best place for someone with their arm in a cast and two broken ribs is right at the top of a rickety ladder.’
He lets out a guffaw. ‘And good morning to you too.’
I can’t ignore the little flutter at the sight of his smile. ‘Good morning, Grinch. And congratulations on another impressive Christmas jumper.’
He grins down at me and I find it impossible to tear my eyes away from his. I love that he’s somehow managed to find another Grinch-themed Christmas jumper, this one black with smaller Grinch faces all over it. He’s wearing butter-soft well-worn jeans and his broken arm isn’t in the sling, the sleeve of the jumper once again hooked around his elbow above the white cast.
We’re only a few feet away from the fence that surrounds the magical nutcracker, at one of the lampposts on the edge of the entrance court, and I’m distracted as a little blond boy holding his older sister’s hand goes up to it. His sister helps him get a walnut from the vending machine and tries to take him up to the nutcracker, but he shouts at her to leave him alone. He’s maybe five or six years old, and his sister looks in her pre-teen years, and she huffs and tells him he won’t be able to reach it by himself, but he shouts and pushes her away so she goes to stand outside the fence.
The scene intrigues me, from the scowl on the girl’s face as she pulls her phone out and starts prodding it instead, to the little boy making his way up the steps to the nutcracker, which he really is going to struggle to reach.
I glance up at James. The fingers of his good hand are still trying to attach the garland to the top of the lamppost, but I can tell he’s not concentrating on what he’s doing.
The steps were designed so that little ones of almost any height can reach, but the little boy still has to stand on tiptoes to put his nut into the open mouth, and then step back down and go around the back of the nutcracker to reach the lever and pull it down with both hands. The nut cracks and the little boy goes back up the steps to collect it, and I realise there are tears streaming down his face. The sister is still absorbed in her phone, and I bite my lip as I watch him reach up to collect his nut, and stand on the steps with it clutched in one hand. He leans up and touches the nutcracker’s furry beard.
‘I wish I had a friend,’ he whispers to it.
I can’t help the intake of breath and I have to chew my inside cheek to stop my eyes filling up. I look at James again and he’s not even pretending not to be listening now. He looks down at me and his mouth tips up in a sad half-smile.
No one else has heard. The sister is standing far enough away and still hasn’t looked up from her phone. There’s no one nearby, and the little boy hasn’t noticed us at the ladder. The boy eats his nut without taking his eyes off the nutcracker’s friendly face, and doesn’t look like he wants to move, until his sister shoves her phone back in her pocket and shouts over to him. ‘Hurry up. Mum and Dad are waiting by the trees.’
The little boy wipes his eyes and squares his shoulders, rallying himself as his sister hurries him away. He keeps looking back at the nutcracker, but still hasn’t noticed me and James listening in.
I’m so focused on them that it makes me jump when James steps down the ladder.
‘Oh God, right in the heart.’ He puts his hand on his chest when he’s back on solid ground and standing opposite me. ‘I’ve got an idea. Will you stay with them and don’t lose track of them? I’ll be back in a minute.’
I nod and he starts jogging towards his shop but within one step, he gasps in pain and slows to a fast walk. He hurries past the little boy and his sister, and I loiter, keeping an eye on them as she drags him down the lane towards the tree lot. I follow slowly, not wanting them to see me or wonder why this strange woman is following them, hiding behind pillars and lampposts. I pass Hubert and Carmen who are now chatting to the snowglobe seller, and wave to Stacey as I pass Starlight Rainbows.
I’m hiding behind a pillar when the two of them meet their parents at the corner of the lane before the covered part ends and it opens into the tree seller’s display at the edge of the car park. James reappears beside me, out of breath, probably from the pain of moving faster than broken ribs generally allow. He’s got a big nutcracker in his hand – a fifty-centimetre tall one with a silver sword in its hand, and a blue jacket with white accents and a silver trim. He nudges my arm, grins at me, and rushes across to the family.
‘Hi, excuse me?’ I watch him catch up with them. ‘I’m James. I work at Twinkles and Trinkets.’ He uses the nutcracker to point towards his shop and I attempt to hold my stomach in so they don’t see me l
urking behind the nearest pillar when they look in this direction. ‘I was wondering if you could do me a favour?’
I love how, although he nods to the parents and sister, he talks only to the little boy. He sits down cross-legged on the floor directly in front of him. ‘See, I’ve got this very lonely nutcracker who’s desperately in need of a family to take him home …’
He holds the nutcracker out and the boy takes it cautiously, clasping both hands around its painted body.
‘Do you know the story of The Nutcracker?’ he continues. ‘He’s really a prince who was cursed to take the form of a wooden soldier after being defeated by an evil mouse king, and it’s said that if he finds the right person to take care of him, he can become a real boy again. A real friend.’
The boy strokes the nutcracker’s furry white hair as James talks. ‘I had one of these when I was your age, and I used to drive my parents barmy because I’d never let them put it away after Christmas. I used to talk to it and tell it all my problems. Nutcrackers are renowned for being very good listeners. What do you think? Will you take him home with you?’
The boy nods enthusiastically and unexpectedly throws his arms around James’s neck. I see him wince but he does an amazing job of not showing it as he returns the hug, carefully patting the boy’s back with his right arm while holding his broken one out of harm’s way.
The father must catch James’s wince because he carefully extracts his son and both parents thank him. He even goes to get his wallet out but James stops him. ‘Merry Christmas from Nutcracker Lane.’
The family all wish him a happy Christmas and I wait for them to go out of sight before I sidle out from behind my pillar. James is still sitting on the floor and I go over and hold out my hand to pull him up, and I can’t ignore the little buzz as his fingers close around mine and I haul him to his feet, even though I’m sure he was perfectly capable of getting up by himself.
The Little Christmas Shop on Nutcracker Lane Page 16
