The Little Christmas Shop on Nutcracker Lane

by Jaimie Admans

  ‘There is no part of tonight that hasn’t been fun.’ My hand involuntarily drifts towards the imagined imprint of his lips covering the edge of mine. Everything seems to have been fun since I met him and I can’t remember what my life was like before he came into it. He’s easily the best thing about Christmas this year.

  Chapter 14

  ‘We’ve got a budget increase!’ Hubert bounces out of his sweetshop door as Stacey and I walk past on the way to work a couple of mornings later. His red cheeks match the red stripes in his red-and-white candy-esque striped shirt and his smile looks like it’s trying to expand past the width of his face while he waves around a letter.

  ‘Who – Scrooge?’ I ask and he nods excitedly.

  ‘Maybe the ghosts of Past, Present, and Future finally got to him,’ Stacey says.

  ‘The sales reports finally got to his desk, more like.’ I fold my arms as she unlocks our door and retrieves our letter from the doormat. ‘Or the mention we got in the local paper last weekend, or the amount of foot traffic through the door, or the comments and pictures of the hidden nutcrackers on social media. People are talking about our little wooden army.’

  ‘One of my neighbours stopped me as I was going out my gate this morning and asked me if the magic was really back on Nutcracker Lane,’ Stacey says. ‘Even Scrooge isn’t immune.’

  ‘You don’t think he did it out of the goodness of his kind ’ickle heart, do you?’ I ask as she tears the letter open. ‘And it’s December 17th. Couldn’t he have done it earlier? We needed a budget increase in November. A week before Christmas is not good enough.’

  ‘From now until Christmas, he’s increased our budget.’ Stacey summarises the letter. ‘It doesn’t say how much by.’

  ‘Of course not. Scrooge would never let us have goalposts we could actually see – that would be too easy.’

  ‘It says to build and expand on wish-granting because it’s getting people talking,’ she continues. ‘Nothing about the competition between shops or keeping the lane. Just a cheery “keep doing what you’re doing” tacked onto the end.’

  ‘Keep earning what you’re earning so I can screw you all over in January,’ I translate the letter as she hands it to me. ‘Scrooge doesn’t do anything to benefit the lane, only him—’

  I’m cut off when the door to James’s shop opens from inside and he appears in the doorway. All thoughts of Scrooge disappear instantaneously at the sight of him. He’s wearing jeans and another Christmas jumper, this time depicting Max, the Grinch’s dog, sitting in the snow with a Santa hat on, and his arm is in the sling across his chest again. On his head is a brown and white Christmas pudding beanie with crocheted green holly leaves and three red berries on top.

  ‘You’re early.’ I want to go over and kiss him good morning or something, but with Hubert looking fit to burst and Mrs Brissett heading down the lane towards us with her letter in hand, I think better of it, especially when there’s no mistletoe nearby to use as an excuse.

  ‘Couldn’t sleep.’ His mouth tips up at one side. ‘For some reason.’

  My cheeks redden as I catch Hubert looking between the two of us with interest. I’ve not been getting much sleep lately either. I’ve barely stopped thinking about him for nearly three weeks.

  ‘Budget’s being increased.’ I hold the letter up.

  ‘So I hear.’ He leans on his good shoulder against the doorframe. ‘Why do you look annoyed? I thought you’d be pleased.’

  ‘I am, but it’s such a patronising letter that’s as vague as always. We don’t even know how much by. We could buy something expensive, go to claim it back on expenses and be refused. There’s no system for getting approval first so wishes have to be granted on the spot.’

  ‘Maybe there’ll be enough for anything you want.’

  ‘Scrooge would never be that generous. He’s probably allocated us an extra fiver each, which we’ll only find out when we’ve spent a couple of hundred.’

  ‘I’m with Nia.’ Mrs Brissett taps her own letter. ‘Either support us or don’t. I’ve had enough of his ambiguous letters. And then to add that onto the end. He may as well be saying “keep up the good work” like he’s in any way part of this. We’re doing this to fight him. I don’t want his patronising encouragement. Or his ever-changing budget, for that matter. If the papers phone him for a quote about all this, you can guarantee he’ll take credit for it.’

  ‘They’d be better men than me if they can get through,’ Hubert says. ‘I’ve been trying to phone him every day and it just rings and rings.’

  ‘There were customers trying to get in when I arrived this morning,’ James says. ‘Shouldn’t we concentrate on the positive things here? You’ve got what you wanted and we can carry on granting wishes. I’ve got another thousand nutcrackers in the back of my car and Nia’s got more flags and bunting, right?’ He looks at me questioningly and I nod. ‘We’ll bring boxes round today. We’ve got a week left until Christmas so let’s make it the best week ever, rather than worrying about some guy behind his computer in an office.’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ Hubert says, always the first to support anybody.

  As usual, James has got an eloquent and endearing way of saying things that’s guaranteed to get people on board and make it feel like anything’s possible. And he’s got a point too. All we can do is try to make this week before Christmas the best week Nutcracker Lane has ever had and if that’s the end of it, then at least it will have gone out on a high note.

  Stacey goes inside to prepare for opening time, Mrs Brissett wafts away and Hubert wishes us a good day and goes inside his own shop, leaving me and James alone in the empty lane. He gives me a slow and deliberate wink ‘See you at lunchtime? Maybe we’ll manage to walk under a lamppost or two this time.’ His smile widens as he nods towards the nearest bunch of dangling mistletoe, which is too far away for now.

  It’s enough to make me feel all flushed and overheated, but I can feel my lips twitching up in response to his smile and I force myself to turn away and go into Starlight Rainbows.

  A very high note might be an understatement.

  ***

  Stacey’s on the till while I’m on my lunchbreak, but instead of wolfing down a sandwich and painting something out the back, I go to find James. His shop is shut but he isn’t inside, although I keep seeing him walking up and down the lane with boxes of nutcrackers under his good arm, delivering them to shopkeepers who want more to hide around their local areas.

  I head outside and meet him at his car where he’s got the back seats down and he’s leaning into the boot and attaching my laminated flags to the nutcrackers’ hands. ‘Do you know you’re losing trade? Customers keep trying your door, even though your window is almost empty with the amount of stuff you’ve put out.’

  ‘Don’t care. I’d rather see people enjoying it than get a few quid for it.’ He grins at me and lifts the box of nutcrackers. ‘I’m taking these down to the snowglobe seller. Walk with me?’

  For the first time this year, we’re dodging customers. It’s busier than I’ve seen it for a long while, and the school holidays haven’t even started yet. People are clutching nutcrackers, and going into shops and coming out weighed down with bags, and instead of walking up and down the lane today, the carol singers are gathered in the recess outside the coffee shop and giving a concert. It’s been years since it was too crowded for them to walk up and down.

  ‘There are definitely more,’ James says in my ear and we stop for a moment and listen to their rendition of “O Holy Night”.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Carol singers. Counting them seems to have become my new hobby. On that first day when you were in my shop and they walked past, there were only five. Now there’s sixteen.’

  I simultaneously half-laugh and realise he’s right. The small group of carol singers has increased, and they sound so much better for it. Their harmonies filter from one end of the lane to the other, and someone’s turned off the overhead musi
c that feeds out through the speaker system so people can hear them properly.

  ‘They stopped coming because no one listened,’ I whisper to him. ‘Angela has always said how disheartening it is to keep carrying on when there’s no one to appreciate it, and now look.’ I nod to the tip basket on the floor in front of her feet, full of coins. Divided by sixteen of them, it certainly won’t put down a deposit on a yacht, but it must be nice to feel appreciated.

  ‘Nia!’ Angela beckons me over as they finish the song and shuffle their lyric sheets for the next one. ‘Did you hear about the email?’

  ‘What email?’ I pull James with me as we go around the edge of the group of people gathered to listen.

  ‘From Scrooge, saying he’d increased the budget for Nutcracker Lane and offering us a set wage to come every day until Christmas. Generous, too. Enough to get some stragglers back on board.’ She nods towards the singers behind her, all dressed in their finest handmade Victorian outfits. ‘I take it this is all your doing, you two.’ She smiles at James as well.

  ‘We had nothing to do with this,’ I say because it’s the first time I’ve heard about it. ‘Scrooge is outdoing himself with the surprises today.’

  ‘Well, it was jolly nice of him, no matter how unexpected. Apparently we’re “an important part of the Nutcracker Lane team and the sense of nostalgia wouldn’t be the same without us”. The man’s a reformed character, I tell you!’

  ‘He must’ve been abducted by aliens and replaced by a pod person overnight,’ I mutter.

  The rest of the carollers clearly want to get on with singing so we say goodbye and sidle out of the ever-increasing crowd, James being careful not to whack anyone with his box or broken arm.

  ‘I never thought I’d see it like this again.’ We stop and look back at the small crowd as the carollers start “O Tannenbaum”.

  ‘It’s all your doing.’

  ‘Mine? It’s you, James. Without you …’ I trail off as I think about what this season would’ve been like without him. ‘It’s everybody. The shopkeepers getting involved, you rallying everyone, not to mention providing thousands of nutcrackers …’

  It’s reassuring to see things busy as we head down the lane to the snowglobe shop on the corner before the wide expanse of the tree lot leads out into the car park. Even so late in the season, the tree seller has still got a few people wandering through her selection. It’s incredible. Last year, she’d closed up by mid-December because no one was here to buy any trees.

  The snowglobe seller is so busy with customers that he barely has time to call out a thank you as James hands over the box of nutcrackers.

  I check in with Stacey on the way back, but there’s still ages left of my lunchbreak and she shoos me away again, and James takes my hand as we walk back up the lane. He doesn’t say anything, just slots his fingers between mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and I squeeze his hand back, because in a way, it is. I’ve never felt as comfortable with anyone as I do with him. It’s never felt as normal to hold hands with someone. Maybe it’s just because of his injuries – because holding hands has been “our thing” since that first night in the storeroom?

  ‘Is that …’

  ‘Oh my God, James, the chestnut seller is back!’ My hand tightens around his so fast that it makes him flinch. ‘It’s been years.’

  I point excitedly at the man with his Victorian-style cart setting up near the coffee shop. He roasts chestnuts on the spot and sells them in little paper bags, the most nostalgic taste of Christmas gone by. ‘They were my granddad’s favourite thing about coming here. My grandma didn’t even like them but she used to buy a bag every time we came here after he died and we’d eat them on the way home.’

  ‘He looks like he’s ready for his first customers.’ James tugs me in that direction, only letting go of my hand when we reach the chestnut seller and he digs his wallet out, cutting me off when I try to protest that I can get them.

  ‘It’s been some years,’ I say to the man as he throws his nuts into the gas-powered oven hidden in the base of his cart.

  ‘Yeah, Mr Neaser got in touch and explained about the drive to revitalise this place. I was only too happy to come back, even without the handsome incentive he offered. So many good memories here, but the place was fading into obscurity. Nice to see it looking like it did in the good ol’ days again.’

  ‘Mr Neaser …’ I mutter. Like that’s his real name. I don’t trust anything that horrible accountant does. He’s got to be up to something. Increasing the budget, tempting back the carollers and now the chestnut seller, with only a week to go until Christmas.

  ‘You’re overthinking it,’ James says in my ear, having clearly developed mind-reading abilities. ‘Maybe he really did have a visit from three ghosts overnight. Maybe he can genuinely see that things are going well and he wants to help. Maybe he regrets what he’s done and wants to make amends.’

  I jokingly point a finger at him. ‘I’ve told you before about sticking up for that awful man.’

  He looks away, inhaling the gorgeous nutty smell as the chestnuts roast. Eventually the chestnut seller hands us a warm paper bag each and James digs in eagerly, pulling out a chestnut bursting from its crisp shell. ‘I’ve never eaten one of these before …’

  ‘They’re a key part of Christmas. Roasting on an open fire and all that.’ I sing the first line of “The Christmas Song”.

  ‘Another thing ticked off my festive bucket list.’ He shakes his head. ‘And I can’t believe I’m saying things like “festive bucket list”. Before I met you, my festive bucket list was to make it ’til January without strangling anyone with tinsel or drowning myself in a vat of pine-needle-infused vodka. I think you found me just in the nick of time before I became a completely unfestiviable Grinch.’

  As usual, I can’t help giggling at his way of putting things as we head back up the lane, munching on hot chestnuts.

  Carmen and Mrs Brissett are on wish-granting duty, but there’s a lot more people than there have been in recent days, and it doesn’t look like they’re keeping on top of things. Rhonda from the hat shop is carrying a jumper and rushing about looking for someone she’s obviously lost track of, and the florist has got a poinsettia under one arm and a snowglobe in the other and looks like he needs a map or a rescue by helicopter.

  We’re automatically heading towards the magical nutcracker anyway, but there’s a young woman getting a nut out of the vending machine, and everyone else is already occupied by other wishes so no one’s paying attention. James and I crouch down by the fence surrounding the nutcracker, at the back and out of the woman’s sight, trying to make it look like we’re mending a broken fencepost if we do get caught, although I don’t know how because he’s got an arm in plaster and we’re both still eating chestnuts.

  ‘I wish I could afford to give my family a proper Christmas.’ The woman’s voice breaks as she speaks to the nutcracker. ‘Everything’s been so hard since my husband left. I can’t take as many shifts because I’ve got to look after the children, and they need things, and I can’t afford a Christmas dinner, let alone any presents. Please help me give them the Christmas they deserve after such an awful year.’

  James’s eyes don’t leave mine, and I watch his beautiful brown eyes get wider and sadder with every word she speaks.

  ‘Heartbreaking,’ he mouths, and I agree, trying to think of how we can help her.

  ‘What about a hamper?’ I watch over my shoulder as the woman throws her nutshell into the garden and starts walking away.

  He nods enthusiastically and I shove both the bags of chestnuts at him and use his shoulder to push myself up before he has a chance because there’s bound to be a bit of running involved. ‘You stay, I’ll go.’

  ‘Nee?’ When I turn around, he tosses his shop keys to me. ‘There’s a wooden crate behind my counter. Fill it with everything you can from everyone. I’ll cover the costs.’

  I don’t have time to argue with him
because the woman is getting away and he has to scramble after her. I wave to Stacey as I let myself into his shop, find the empty wooden crate and lock up behind me as I dash from shop to shop, filling it with chocolates from Carmen, sweets from Hubert, an armful of soaps and bath bombs, and a couple of scented candles from Mrs Thwaite. At the bakery, they give me a box filled with a selection of every cake in their display cases, the florist puts in an Amaryllis and a Christmas rose, and the coffee shop throws over a couple of bags of their flavoured coffee.

  When I come out of my final shop, I grab a tree from the tree lot, and look desperately around for James.

  ‘That way!’ Rhonda points towards the car park. ‘He went to get something so I’ve ended up watching him watching her in a vicious circle of stalking. You haven’t seen a little girl who wants a pony, by any chance, have you?’

  ‘No,’ I shout back, hoping to all the reindeer gods that she hasn’t got an actual pony hidden somewhere. Scrooge’s budget might have increased but it would never go that far.

  I finally see James at the edge of the car park, looking around for me. There has to be a better system of doing this. The wish-granters of the past never seemed to run around like headless horseflies and lose half the recipients of the wishes they were meant to be granting.

  ‘Excuse me?’ James stops the woman just as she’s about to get into a battered old car that looks like it’s going to fall apart at any moment. She looks nervous at being stopped by a random man in the car park as I run up panting. You wouldn’t think it was possible to sweat this much on a cold December day. If we come back next year, we’re going to have to come up with a better wish-granting system.

  ‘Hi, we work …’ Gasp. Wheeze. Choke. My new year’s resolution needs to be to do some exercise. Again. One half-hearted jog last January clearly wasn’t enough.