‘Which is your favourite nutcracker?’ Without lifting his head from the back of the sofa, he nods towards the nutcracker army on the living-room window ledge.
‘You could just ask if we can change the subject, you know.’
He smiles at me sleepily. ‘Sorry. It’s all I’ve thought about for the past year and being with you distracts me. And I’m enjoying being distracted.’
‘You can always talk to me. Even if you think I won’t get it because I love Christmas, I’d still listen.’ I look between him and the window ledge. ‘You know, I’ve got a soft spot for that little unpainted wooden one someone gave me this year. Although I’ve always wanted a life-size one like you see in Hallmark movie sets. I think that’d really complete my collection.’
‘That’d make you less lonely on winter nights.’
I don’t mention that I haven’t been lonely at all this December and I’m currently snuggling up with the reason. ‘Didn’t you ever have a proper Christmas?’ I blurt out.
‘Define proper?’
‘Tubs of Quality Street, arguments over the last strawberry cream, family squabbles, the annual Trivial Pursuit and Scrabble games while Grandpa’s snoring in the armchair and Grandma’s telling everyone to pipe down so she can hear the Queen at 3 p.m., all sitting around wearing silly paper hats and getting abnormally excited about cheeseboards.’
He lets out such a loud laugh that it’s a welcome sound after all the seriousness. ‘Well, I understand the getting abnormally excited about cheeseboards bit, but nothing else. I don’t have a big family, and Christmas has always been about work for my parents. When I was little, they’d hand me an Argos catalogue in November and tell me to circle everything I wanted, and it would all be under the tree on Christmas morning, but it was the people who worked for my dad who put it there. Christmas was delegated to his paid staff.
‘Yeah, it was great having all the toys I could’ve dreamed of, but what my parents didn’t understand was that I wanted them to play with me. I didn’t want the stuff – I wanted the happy family Christmases I saw on TV. And that’s never going to happen when you work until late on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day is a chance to catch up on admin and paperwork, and then it all starts up again on Boxing Day with trying to shift the excess stock that hasn’t sold this season. My parents sold the illusion of a perfect Christmas, but our own Christmases were just a box-ticking exercise. Another chore to tick off the list. An inconvenience.
‘I spent Christmases alone, waiting for my parents to be done with their paperwork so we could do something together. Other days were easier because I could go round to friends’ houses and stuff, but you can’t do that on Christmas Day when everyone’s with their families. To me it was a normal day where you couldn’t be normal. The world forces you to acknowledge it and criticises you if you don’t.’
His words conjure up an image of a little boy sitting in front of a Christmas tree, surrounded by toys, but sad and alone in the middle of what should be a happy scene. It’s a good thing I’m still holding the fingers of his broken arm and I’m too afraid of hurting him to move a millimetre because it’s enough to make me want to leap on him, snog him senseless, and promise he’ll never be lonely at Christmas again.
One of his fingers twitches where they’re sandwiched between mine and I squeeze them minutely tighter. ‘You don’t have to look so upset. As soon as I was old enough, I worked through Christmas and appreciated the uninterrupted day to catch up on admin.’
‘That’s a terrible way to see Christmas.’
‘So yours were all about the family stuff then?’
‘Yeah. Mum’s house is a fifteen-minute walk away, so when I was little, me and my mum and dad used to come here to my grandma and grandpa’s cottage, and she’d invite loads of cousins and aunts and uncles who we never saw at any other time of the year, and then after my little brother was born, Mum didn’t want to drag a baby and all his stuff up the hill, so Grandma and Grandpa started coming to us and less and less extended family were invited.
‘Mum was always crazed with the cooking, so my favourite thing on Christmas morning was walking up here to meet Grandma and help her carry the plates of food she’d made back to the house, and after my dad and then my grandpa died, our family Christmases gradually got smaller and smaller, but they were always ours. Everyone’s Christmases are individual, and—’
‘And no one’s doing anything wrong if they choose to spend it working?’
‘I think you spend enough time working, Grinch.’ The name comes out as a murmur and my voice shakes with a rush of affection for him. I’m suddenly unable to stop myself touching him. I lift my hand carefully from his fingers and reach up to stroke his cheek where his face is still turned towards me, letting my nails trail lightly down his stubbled jaw. ‘I wouldn’t mind betting you’ve got three broken bones that were a direct result of working too hard.’
He untangles his hand from my forearm and slides it across mine on his cheek, his fingers slotting through mine and closing as he lifts it and pulls it to his mouth, pressing his lips against my knuckles.
It has never been such a good thing that I’m already sitting down.
He settles our joined hands to rest between his collarbone and shoulder, tucked under his chin, his hint of stubble grazing the back of my hand, and I close the fingers of my left hand gently around the fingers emerging from his cast, rubbing my thumb over them carefully, still astounded that he trusts me so much.
His injuries are the only thing stopping me from kissing him. Every part of my body is alive and tingling with the desire to do just that, and at the same time, I’m warm and relaxed and comfortable. I settle my head down against the back of the sofa and curl in a bit tighter, wishing the wall of cushions wasn’t between us, smiling at him when he mirrors my position. It’s been a long time since I felt this peaceful and at ease with someone.
Chapter 12
I’m alone when I wake up on the sofa, but I’m covered with the red-and-white fleece throw that I definitely don’t remember putting there, and my hand twitches instinctively like I can still feel the weight of his hand in mine and the warmth of his fingers where they were intertwined. I groan as I stretch and put my legs down to try to get feeling back into them. It’s been a long time since I spent a night curled over on the settee, and even longer since I spent the night with a man, even if it wasn’t in that way.
I lean around the corner so I can see into the hallway and spot my keys on the doormat where he’s posted them back through, and another Post-it Note reading “Thank you ~ J” is on the coffee table. The light filtering through the glass in the front door shows it’s nearly daylight and I can’t help wondering how long he’s been gone. How did I not wake up as he moved around? How did I fall asleep with him in the first place? The last bloke I actually slept with was Brad and that was only after we’d been dating for months. I barely know James and yet somehow I can be comfortable enough to fall asleep with him.
I stretch out like a starfish and slide halfway off the sofa, groaning again as I heave myself up and go over to unplug the Christmas tree lights that got left on. Hanging on a branch at the front is a tiny, blocky, glittery nutcracker that I don’t recognise. It’s carved from a single block of wood, with painted green legs, a red torso, and a black hat. It doesn’t have a lever, or a face, or the traditional furry hair and beard. It looks like the sort of thing you’d find inside a Christmas cracker and I remember James saying he used to make them. It must be from him.
It’s later than I thought when I check the clock and I quickly shower and scarf down a couple of Christmas-tree-shaped crumpets before I dash out the door to meet Stacey on the way to work.
James’s car is already in the car park, and there’s a light on in the back of his shop when we get in. There are quite a few shopkeepers in early judging by the number of lights on, and there’s not yet a gap in the line of nutcrackers that run down either side of the lane, all the way from the entrance
door to the tree lot at the opposite end. And even though James and I got involved in setting them up so they’re standing side-by-side like an army hand-in-hand, a line through every shop window and along the ground, I have to admit it’s an impressive sight when you walk in.
I’m even more impressed when we open the shop door at nine and there are already a couple of shoppers wandering around. Could the nutcracker army being sent out into the streets be working already? In the past couple of days, James and I have divided a thousand of his nutcrackers into boxes for every shop and asked every owner to hide them around their local area. It’s Friday today, and everyone has said they’ll hide them on dog walks and days out over the weekend, so hopefully it’ll gain a bit of attention by Monday.
Stacey and Lily hid some last night on the way home from school, and James and I took the scenic route back to my house and poked some into hedges and trees and stood them at my neighbours’ garden gates and leaning against their garden walls.
Within five minutes of being open, I’m behind the counter serving a lady buying a hand-painted “Joy to the World” sign that shows the words entwined in a reindeer’s curled antlers and has got 3D paper poinsettias glued on and leaves a trail of glitter everywhere it goes, when James pops his head in the door and grins at me. ‘Hey, can I—’
‘You’re wearing an elf hat!’ I feel like a Christmas tree when someone’s just plugged the lights in at the sight of him. And it’s not just the elf hat. Although it is adorable. And something I never thought I’d see him wear.
He does the Flynn Rider smile that’s so wide, it’s almost like he has to speak from the side of his mouth to accommodate it. ‘You said you like people who throw themselves into the season and aren’t afraid to wear silly things. I think this qualifies.’
I quickly finish the transaction and the lady nods at him as she leaves. ‘It suits you, dear.’ She turns back to me. ‘You know you’ve got a handsome man when he can even make an elf hat look good.’
I dissolve into a fit of giggles as James’s cheeks go the same colour as the red stripes in the knitted hat on his head.
‘Hat shop, fourth on the left,’ he calls after her as she heads up the lane.
‘Encouraging shared custom – that’s good.’ Stacey comes out of the back room with an armful of new jewellery to restock what was sold yesterday. ‘Nice hat.’
The bell in the tip of the green-and-red-striped cable knit hat jingles when he moves as he steps inside. ‘Do you mind if I borrow Nia for a minute?’ he asks her. ‘I keep stealing her for this, that, or the other.’
‘Oh, I assure you, it’s not the other I’m worried about.’ Stacey shoos us both away. ‘Go on. Make sure you get up to a bit of this, that, and the other.’
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ I turn back to Stace as I go to follow James out. I keep leaving her to cover the shop while we’ve been busy setting the nutcrackers out, and although she always says she doesn’t mind, it’s becoming a daily thing.
‘Of course not. Nee, one of the main reasons we decided to go into this together was so I can go to school assemblies and parent–teacher meetings and pick Lily up when Simon’s working late, and so you can go off with hot men who look like Disney princes whenever you need to and neither of us have to worry about the shop being covered. It said those specific words in our contract.’
I grin. Our contract would’ve been a lot more fun if there had been a mention of Disney princes in it.
‘Besides, you two are trying to save Nutcracker Lane – that benefits all of us in the long run,’ she continues. ‘And if Simon looked like that, I wouldn’t want to leave his side for a moment either.’
‘It’s nothing to do with th—’
‘Your whole demeanour changed when he popped his head in. We met when we were eleven, Nia, and I’ve never seen you react like that to a man. He’s someone special, even if you don’t realise it yet.’
I can tell from the grin on her face that she knows I’ve already realised it but I don’t give her the satisfaction of admitting it. ‘Back in a minute.’
‘Take your time,’ she calls after me. ‘Take all your time. As much time as you need.’
I pull my gingerbread woman jumper down as I follow James and go up the step into his shop, giving the Macarena-ing Santa a wide berth.
‘What are you up to?’ I look around at the chaos. Almost everything from the window is strewn around the aisles and he’s got the nutcracker village onto a shelf and is trying to lift it one-handed. I rush over and take the other side. ‘You’re not meant to be lifting heavy things.’
‘It’s not heavy, it’s just so bulky that I don’t have enough functioning arms to manage it.’ He makes us turn around with the plastic village between us, even though I protest that if we fall over, it’s going to hurt him a lot more than it will me, but he’s ever the perfect gent and insists on being the one to walk backwards.
‘What are you doing with all this stuff?’ I ask as we pull into the side to avoid the group of carollers walking up the lane and singing “We Wish You A Merry Christmas”. Angela waves cheerily.
‘Are there more?’ I say to James, my eyes following the singers over my shoulder as they swish up the lane in their floor-length Victorian dresses. It’s impossible to count them.
‘Maybe. I don’t know. I’m used to counting sales figures, I never thought I’d end up counting carol singers.’
It makes me laugh as we carry on moving.
‘Giving it back,’ he says quietly.
It takes me a moment to realise he’s not still talking about the carol singers.
‘You were right. It’s not mine to sell. Why should I earn money for stuff that can be used to improve the lane?’
‘What about what the new owner wanted? I thought you were “following orders”? Aren’t you going to be in trouble?’
‘Frosted reindeer bollocks to the owner. By the time anyone even realises, I’ll be long gone. I won’t be here after Christmas; I won’t have to deal with the consequences. What’s the worst anyone’s going to do? I’ve still got shelves of the excess products he wants sold, but this big stuff that used to be part of the lane itself … Let’s put it back.’
He winks at me and I feel so fluttery that I nearly trip over my own feet. Stacey’s right – I can’t remember the last time a man had this effect on me. I’ve never looked forward to seeing someone before. Never missed someone when they weren’t there or searched for excuses to spend time with them. And yet, every time James smiles, I forget about everything else in the universe. Apart from the enthusiastic way he talks about not being here after Christmas and how it makes my stomach drop.
We turn the corner at the end of the lane by the Christmas bookshop and go down the narrow offshoot from the main lane that leads to the point where the nutcracker factory behind joins. There are large security doors separating the two, but before you get to those, there’s the outlet shop where my grandma used to bring me every year to buy a new nutcracker to add to our collection.
It’s manned by factory staff rather than rented by independent shopkeepers like the rest of Nutcracker Lane, and although it used to be open all the time, the factory have obviously decided it’s not worth it anymore because it now only seems to open whenever they’ve got an excess of staff and can spare someone to sit in there for a couple of hours.
‘Have you bought this year’s nutcracker yet?’ James asks like he can tell what I’m thinking.
‘I’ve yet to see it open this year. I check it every time I walk past. They’ve restocked the nutcrackers but seem to have given up on actually allowing people to buy them.’
‘The lane’s been too quiet. You can see why they wouldn’t want to spare the staff. At least the ones being made in the factory are guaranteed to be shipped overseas or sold wholesale. Why waste time on a dead end – literally?’ He uses his eyes to gesture to the corridor around us. It’s narrower than the main part of Nutcracker Lane. The ceiling is low
and claustrophobic, covered in unlike the rest of the lane, and all that’s down here is the nutcracker outlet shop, the public toilets, and the security doors that lead to the covered walkway between the Christmas village and the factory. The factory that’s soon to be expanded if Scrooge gets his way.
It really is a dead end. The doors are foreboding steel with plenty of “Danger: Keep Out” signs covering them and both a key and a security code required to enter them from this side, neither of which anyone on Nutcracker Lane has. When school trips came here to go on a tour of the nutcracker factory, this was always the meeting point where children and teachers would be greeted by a surly-looking bloke in a hard hat and yellow safety jacket with a clipboard and list of rules to follow.
The budget for school field trips is one of the many things that was cut years ago, back when Scrooge first decided they didn’t pull in enough cash and cost too much in staff training and health and safety measures, regardless of how much enjoyment they gave children or how popular they were with people who could book tours during certain times in December.
‘But the nutcrackers they sell are special.’ I nod to the outlet shop. ‘Not just standard mass-produced ones, but special ones from the factory – ones with mistakes and flaws, ones that were tested but never put into production, practice pieces, and ones that are wonky or otherwise unsellable, all with characteristics that you don’t find in typical high-street stores. That’s why my grandma always came here for the yearly nutcracker. She liked unusual things and things that didn’t quite make the grade. She was the kind of person who felt sorry for the last little spindly tree in the lot and brought it home to nurture it back to health and would always buy the limp 10p plants on the sale shelves in the garden centre and lovingly plant them up and tell them how special they were and be oh so proud when they flowered beautifully the following year.’
‘So doing well with broken things runs in the family then?’ He looks down at himself, and it takes all my willpower not to drop the nutcracker village and throw my arms around him.
The Little Christmas Shop on Nutcracker Lane Page 20
