The Little Christmas Shop on Nutcracker Lane

by Jaimie Admans

  I go to speak and only realise how close to tears I am when it comes out as a choked-off sob. That was so touching, and I can’t find the right words to convey it.

  He doesn’t let go of my hand as we start making our way back up the lane. ‘If there’s one thing that surprises me about this place, it’s the number of unexpected hugs you get.’

  I gurgle a half-sob and tighten my fingers around his. ‘Thought you didn’t believe in lying to children, Grinch.’

  He goes to speak but nothing comes out. ‘Well, it’s … it’s not … it’ll help him …’ He gets increasingly frustrated at not being able to find the right words. ‘He already believes a magical nutcracker is going to grant his wish, how much worse can it get?’ He snaps eventually, but there’s no heat behind the words. ‘What’s a parent’s favourite Christmas carol?’

  ‘You can admit your heart has grown a size rather than trying to distract me with terrible jokes, you know.’

  ‘“Silent Night”.’ He grins, deliberately ignoring me. ‘See? It wasn’t terrible.’

  I can’t help laughing, but mainly because he thinks his distraction techniques will work.

  Hubert has obviously made his way down into the storage room because there’s a big box of decorations outside his shop, and he’s now directing Carmen and Mrs Brissett to string tinsel around a lamppost each and drape it between them, one on a set of steps and one on a stool. They greet us cheerily as we pass.

  ‘Thanks for the idea, you two,’ Hubert calls out. ‘We didn’t know these decorations were still here. Scrooge is going to kill us. Isn’t it wonderful?’

  He sounds abnormally excited about the prospect of impending murder.

  ‘I was followed this morning when I went to find the garlands in the storage room,’ James explains. ‘I mentioned what you said the other night about putting them up without Scrooge’s permission and before I knew it, he was calling in reinforcements and collecting boxes.’

  I’m torn as I want to stay to help, but Carmen’s eyes have homed in on our joined hands and I can feel them like two pinpricks in the back of my hand. We have left a stepladder unattended that we should get back to, and they look like they’ve got it under control.

  There aren’t enough people around to have bothered with the stepladder by the time we get back, and James goes back up it to pick up the garland he left hanging from the central ceiling beam and attach it to the top of the lamppost with ease, leaving it draped in perfect crescent shapes high above our heads. If we do this with the rest of them, they will come out like a wreath formed above the magical nutcracker.

  For someone who only seems to have come here a few times as a kid, he certainly remembers exactly how this place used to be decorated.

  The sound of the carollers coming up the lane reaches us as they harmonise through “Silver Bells”.

  ‘What’s with all the bells in Christmas music?’ he says, as if trying to prove he’s still a Grinch in case anyone saw his look of joy when that little boy accepted the nutcracker. ‘“Silver Bells”, sleigh bells, “Jingle Bells” …’

  ‘“Carol of the Bells”?’ I offer.

  ‘Is that the really fast one from Home Alone that absolutely no one knows the lyrics to?’

  I sing him the first verse.

  ‘Of course you know it word for word.’ He shakes his head, but he can’t get the smile off his face.

  ‘You don’t have to prove your Grinchiness to me just because you granted a Christmas wish. I can teach you the words if you want. Come on, it’s much less complicated than it sounds …’ I sing the first four lines slowly and make him repeat them, looking like he’s torn between humouring me and actually enjoying it.

  We stop when the carollers come into view and Angela, the lead singer, waves when she spots us.

  ‘Any requests?’ she asks as they come to the end of “Silver Bells”.

  James rolls his eyes. ‘Oh, go on then. “Carol of the Bells”, please.’

  They surround the fence around the nutcracker and launch into the fast, lilting tune, and I love that James hums along, his eyes shining and his smile brighter than any twinkling Christmas lights.

  He’s laughing as the carollers gather again and start walking back towards the other end of the lane, the tune fading as they disappear from view.

  Among all the carollers, I haven’t noticed Carmen appear, but when I look round, she’s up two rungs on the ladder behind us and leaning over to hang a fresh bunch of mistletoe from the lamppost we’re standing under.

  ‘From the florist.’ She winks at us. ‘One on every lamppost, like there used to be.’

  I follow the line of lampposts on either side of the lane and realise I’ve been so distracted by James that I’ve missed the fact we’re not the only people working on the decorating. Mrs Brissett has just come into view and is wrapping tinsel around the post on the corner, and the florist is dragging a step between each one and hanging up a bunch of mistletoe, the stems wrapped with twine, although it’s obvious Carmen has come to this particular lamppost for a reason.

  She nods down at James and I. ‘Go on, it would be rude not to.’

  He catches my eyes and smiles his Flynn Rider smile as he steps closer and ducks towards me, aiming for my cheek.

  My eyes close automatically as his lips touch my skin, and the green earthy scent of the fresh mistletoe above us is overpowered by his aftershave. He smells like the spices you’d use to make mulled wine, orange and star anise and fresh cinnamon curls with a hint of fiery ginger, his usual stubble freshly shaven this morning and his jaw smooth against my skin.

  It’s nothing more than a press of his lips, but it’s slow and intense and somehow feels even more intimate than if he’d kissed me on the mouth. I can feel every tiny movement of his lips, leaving me in no doubt about what it would be like to kiss him properly. My fingernails make crescent shapes in my palms as I try to stop myself touching him because I’ve never wanted anything more than to curl my hands into the back of his head and pull his mouth to mine.

  My knees feel shaky and I don’t realise I’m holding my breath until my lungs start to burn, and even though it lasts for a matter of seconds, it feels like time has slowed down and seconds have stretched out to eternity.

  The tip of his nose rubs against my skin as he pulls back, drawing the closeness out for even longer, and I don’t open my eyes as I try to hang on to the moment, even though I’m pretty sure I’ll still be able to feel the imprint of his lips on my skin next March.

  ‘Mistletoe is something we’ve been sorely missing around here,’ Carmen announces.

  I’ve completely lost myself and have to blink for a few moments to remember where I am. I swallow before I can get any words out. ‘I hope you and Hubert will be testing it out for yourselves soon.’ My voice is so breathy and stuttery that she must be able to tell. How can a peck on the cheek have that much of an effect on me?

  She waggles her eyebrows. ‘Oh, we already have, Nia.’

  James shakes himself out of the daze and offers his hand to help her down from the ladder. ‘Oh, you are a gent. And I saw what you did for that boy.’ She lets go of his hand and reaches out to pat his arm. ‘You’re a good lad, James. I wasn’t sure at first, but you’re really one of us.’

  He looks touched by that and a soft look crosses his face, but he quickly squares his shoulders and clears his throat. ‘I’m really not. I hate Christmas. Nothing will change my mind.’

  She ignores him. ‘I best get back. Those decorations won’t put themselves up. You two have fun, and remember, every lamppost.’ She points to the mistletoe again and gives us a wink, and waves over her shoulder as she goes back to help Mrs Brissett.

  But his harsh words are a sharp reminder to me. He’s leaving as soon as his shop shuts, and he’ll never give Nutcracker Lane another thought again. I try to force it out of my mind, but it stays like flames licking in the background. He’s never going to care about this place the way I do. ‘We sh
ould do that more often.’

  ‘Stand under mistletoe?’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘I completely agree.’

  ‘No … Well, that too, but I meant grant wishes. That was really special, James. With a tiny bit of effort and no cost other than one of many nutcrackers from your stock, you made that little boy feel important. You cheered him up and made his day. We could do that more often.’

  ‘I can spare a nutcracker or two, but I don’t know about a family trip to Disneyland or the latest thirty-gear mountain bike under someone’s tree …’

  He’s certainly got a point there. People will wish for expensive things. On the minuscule budget Scrooge has allocated us this year, we couldn’t even manage a miniature bike under a doll’s house tree. ‘It doesn’t have to be about money. In fact, it shouldn’t be about it. Everything’s been about money lately on Nutcracker Lane. Scrooge and his budget, can’t afford this, can’t afford that, cuts cuts cuts everywhere. The wish-granting when I was younger was about giving people something relatively valueless that made them feel like they mattered. Like someone was listening to them. It made people feel seen, like you did for that little boy.’

  ‘Yeah, but how? Not everyone is going to want a Christmas decoration.’

  ‘I don’t know, but it’s not about money. It’s about feeling. Making people feel something. Giving them that heart-warming feeling that Christmas is all about. Letting them know that someone cares. We could start listening in to wishes, just like the wish-granters used to, and if it’s something small or something that we can interpret in a different way, like you did this morning, then why can’t we do it? We could ask all the shop owners to get involved …’

  ‘Most people are having their worst year ever …’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be a financial contribution. Believe me, none of us can afford that. But if we can’t grant a wish, we could do something else, like put together little gift baskets with a festive plant from the florist and a box of chocolates from the chocolate shop and a decoration from you and a fun necklace or pair of reindeer antlers from me and Stacey. Something that no one has to make any extra effort for and the only outlay is something from stock … Why are you looking at me like that?’

  ‘Because you’re incredible.’

  It’s such a simple compliment, but it makes butterfly wings start beating in my chest and my knees feel wobbly again. I swear, wobbly knees were never this much of an issue in my life before I met James. ‘It’s you. What you did today was lovely. That’s the true meaning of Christmas. You’re inspirational.’

  ‘I can honestly say no one’s ever thought that about me before.’ He looks down as he says it, kicking one boot against the paved floor, and his voice is so quiet that it makes me wonder about all the things he isn’t saying. He hasn’t said much about his life so far, nothing more than what he said in the storage room on that first night, about having to take over a Christmas cracker business when his father retires, and it makes me want to prod and wheedle and ask questions, but it doesn’t seem like the time or place.

  ‘What do you think?’ I ask as a way of distracting myself.

  ‘I don’t know, but you could suggest a trek to the North Pole to find the real Rudolph and then a swift naked roll in some pine needles and I’d agree. You’re very persuasive.’

  I steadfastly ignore any ideas of James naked, with or without pine needles. ‘Good, because I was about to try persuading you into reindeer antlers or a Santa hat. We’ve got you into the Christmas jumpers; now we need to start accessorising too.’

  He laughs and it slowly trails off when he realises I’m not joking. ‘I’ve already got a flashing bulb necklace. Isn’t that punishment enough?’

  ‘Oh, believe me, the flashing bulb necklace is just the beginning,’ I say, and he still can’t get the smile off his face.

  Maybe, just maybe, he might not be such a Grinch after all.

  Chapter 10

  ‘Come on, sing along.’ I nudge my elbow against his right arm as Christmas music plays from my phone on the counter.

  ‘Do you know how many people I’ve sung in front of in my life? You could count them on one hand. If you add “while sober” to the mix, you could count them on these two fingers.’ He holds up his thumb and forefinger to make a 0 shape. ‘I’m not singing along – I like you far too much to subject you to that.’

  The idea that he likes me in any way makes heat rise up my body and pool in my chest.

  Nutcracker Lane closed hours ago, but we’re in Starlight Rainbows, reassembling the handmade pallet shelving James brought the other day. It’s been leaning against a wall in the back room since then because we’ve been too busy with the nutcrackers to attempt putting it together yet.

  ‘Besides, I refuse to sing along to a song I’d never heard of a week ago, but I’ve now heard so many times that I unintentionally know every lyric off by heart. The music that plays over the main speakers in the lane is like torture. I’ve started having nightmares about Cliff Richard.’

  ‘It’s lovely.’ I try not to laugh. I doubt many people have got a phobia of “Mistletoe and Wine”. ‘And you don’t have to keep trying to prove you still hate Christmas. It’s like you have a threshold of how many nice things you can do before you suddenly remember your Grinch status and feel you have to prove it.’

  It’s been another day of decorating Nutcracker Lane, and handing out boxes of the miniature nutcrackers holding flags and banners to shop owners, and getting their opinions on the wish-granting idea, which so far has been positive.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying it.’ I point a screw at him.

  His brown eyes go distant as he thinks back to earlier. ‘You didn’t see that girl with the skateboard today.’ He starts telling me again about the teenager who told the magical nutcracker she wanted a skateboard because all her friends had them, and how the bloke from the coffee shop happened to have one in his car that had been sitting there for weeks, waiting to be taken to a charity shop, and as the girl and her family walked across the car park, he and James hid behind cars and rolled it between them so it went right across her path. ‘You should have seen her look of wonder when she picked it up. The way she glanced back through the doors towards the nutcracker.’

  ‘I know, you’ve told me three times already.’ I nudge my arm against his again. ‘Thought you didn’t believe in magic, Grinch.’

  ‘I believe in a heck of a lot of things since I met you, Nia.’

  We stare into each other’s eyes and for a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. I find myself drifting closer, pushing myself up on tiptoes, close enough that if I reached out I could touch his hand, until “One More Sleep” by Leona Lewis ends and the silence of the gap between songs fills the room.

  ‘I don’t.’ He steps away sharply. ‘But it was something so simple, literally something the guy’s son didn’t want anymore and it brought someone so much joy. It felt good to be part of that. The guy from the coffee shop even invited me out for a drink sometime. In my usual job, I have a quiet office and I keep to myself as much as I can, so it’s nice to feel like part of a bigger picture.’

  Mariah’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” starts and James gives himself a shake. ‘I mean, it’s good from a commercial point of view for the lane, that’s all. I’ll never understand all this trash.’ He waves a dismissive hand towards the pile of fairy lights on the counter that we’ve taken down to make room for the shelving, and whether he likes it or not, are going back up once it’s all in place. ‘All you’re “putting up” is your electricity bill.’

  ‘Oh, you’re so practical.’ I roll my eyes. ‘Don’t you have a tree? Not even a little one?’

  ‘No. Don’t tell me that surprises you? What part of “I hate Christmas” is unclear? Do you want me to repeat it louder or on a different frequency? How about in a different language? Dwi’n casau Nadolig – there you go, Welsh. French too? Je déteste Noël.’

  ‘You hate Christmas so much, you
’ve taken the trouble to learn it in different languages?’

  He laughs, but he’s not getting out of this one as easily as he thinks he is. ‘You say all that, but you’ve never told me why you hate it. You grouch and Grinch and bluster, but you’ve voluntarily worn two Christmas jumpers this week, and you’ve been up at the nutcracker listening to wishes at every opportunity. That is very un-Grinch-like behaviour.’

  ‘The jumpers are comfortable. Getting dressed isn’t exactly easy at the moment and finding anything comfy is next to impossible.’ He holds up the broken arm. ‘Besides, I don’t want to disappoint you. You’re trying so hard to un-Grinch me, I don’t want you to realise I’m too much hard work and give up on me.’

  It makes warmth pool in my belly and I suddenly want nothing more than to throw my arms around him, but I force myself not to. The words seem significant somehow, not like he just plucked them out of thin air, and I want to push him for an explanation, but I have to keep reminding myself that I still barely know this man. Even though it feels like I’ve known him for months, the reality is that I met him ten days ago and I don’t know him well enough to read what each line on his face means or hear hidden meanings behind his words.

  He’s holding a screw between his teeth and he makes a noise that I’ve translated to mean “Can you hold this?” now we’re on our second set of the surprisingly sturdy shelving units.

  Each plank of wood has been sanded until it’s silky and smooth with age, and each knot in the woodgrain is preserved with resin. The back and sides of each unit are made from long lengths of pallet planks, and the shelves are made of shorter chunks screwed onto a wooden base.

  I go over and hold two wooden boards at a ninety-degree angle while he leans down to line up the hole.

  He takes the screw out of his mouth and pushes it in, holding it carefully between the fingers of his left hand as the electric screwdriver in his right hand whirrs into life and he drives the screw into place. ‘It’s so much fuss for one day that always ends up being a complete let-down. I don’t like all the expectation that hinges on this one “Big Day” being perfect. You’re expected to be full of joy and cheer, and certain people’ – he side-eyes me pointedly – ‘act like there’s something wrong with you if you’re not.’