The Little Christmas Shop on Nutcracker Lane: The perfect cosy and uplifting Christmas romance to curl up with!

by Jaimie Admans

  ‘I’m not joking, Stace. He’s Scrooge. He’s been Scrooge all along.’

  She shakes her head, still not taking me seriously. ‘Well, what’s he doing here then? If James hated Nutcracker Lane as much as Scrooge does, he wouldn’t be here, would he?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I slap his notebook against the palm of my opposite hand. ‘Come to gloat as he watches the lane he’s taken such great pleasure in destroying glug its final glug and sink beneath the waves as Leo and Kate jump off it?’

  ‘That was Titanic, Nee …’

  ‘I’m serious though. What the hell is he doing here? Spectating? Getting himself a front-row seat to the final demise of Nutcracker Lane? Does he get some kind of sadistic pleasure from meeting the people he’s personally putting out of a job? Has he sat there laughing while we’ve all run around like drunken giraffes trying to save this place from him?’

  She finally falls in that I’m really not joking. ‘This can’t be right. There’s got to be a misunderstanding somewhere.’

  ‘There isn’t, Stace. He made it abundantly clear just now. I’ve spent the past three weeks trying to Un-Scrooge Scrooge.’

  She sucks in a breath. ‘I think you’ve done a little bit more than that with him, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’ve only gone and fallen in love with the man I hate more than anyone else in the world … You know, the same man who I was absolutely certain would never cheat on me like other boyfriends have, the one I let in and opened up to, the one I knew was a good, honest, trustworthy person? I’d rather he cheated on me than this. At least that would be a one-time thing. James has been weaving a carefully constructed lie since the moment I walked into his shop that first time.’

  ‘He’s got just as involved in trying to save the lane as everyone has. Nia, there must be something else going on here.’

  ‘Humouring us. Having a laugh at our expense. Nutcracker Lane is a sport to him. Teasing us, giving us hope, dangling this place like a carrot, letting us think there was a chance while he gleefully slices our budget like Edward Scissorhands.’ I’m still miming Johnny Depp’s cutting motions from the film when Lily comes back in with a tray of three cups and a box of extremely creamy cream cakes.

  Even they don’t look appetising, but Stacey assures me fresh cream has medicinal properties and we both huddle behind the counter while Lily answers customer queries with more adeptness than I ever have.

  ‘All the times his car’s been in but he’s been nowhere to be found,’ I say with my mouth full. ‘Where did I think he was? The North Pole?’

  ‘Where was he?’ she asks, struggling to keep up.

  ‘I don’t know. Over in the factory, I suppose. Being an acting manager. Poring over his expansion plans and which shops he can bulldoze first.’ I take a sip of hot chocolate, which does nothing but remind me of James and the way he bought us one on the morning after he came home with me for the first time. ‘Oh God, Stace, the keys. Last night, he had the keys to the outlet shop and I thought he must’ve gone to so much trouble to get them and do this incredibly special thing for me when they were his all along.’

  She scoops cream out of her cake with her finger. ‘I hate to be the voice of reason, but don’t you think he’s gone to a lot of trouble here? The decorations, the nutcrackers, talking the shopkeepers into getting involved in banding together against … himself? Nia, it doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘Nothing Scrooge has ever done makes sense. We knew he wasn’t using his real name, but even in that, he was … what, taking the mickey out of us? Laughing over his own Scrooge-like tendencies?’ I lick my fingers as I finish my cake and sip my hot chocolate again even though it’s still too hot.

  His notebook is on the floor under my knee and I pick it up. ‘I’m going to, I don’t know, go and paint something. I should have been putting in more hours with my crafting, not spending every waking moment with him …’

  ‘You were trying to save Nutcracker Lane. That’s a good thing.’

  ‘The only thing I’ve been trying to do is not fall in love. And I failed.’

  ‘Nee …’ she calls after me as I get up.

  ‘It’s okay. I should’ve known. From day one, I’ve said men like him don’t exist in real life – turns out, they don’t.’

  I go through to the back room and put my hot chocolate cup and his notebook down on the workbench. I’m sure he only gave it to me because he had nowhere else to put it, but I can’t resist the temptation to flick through. It doesn’t say much, other than proving he was at least honest about what he was doing this morning because the first few pages really are full of customer comments, although why or what he intends to do with them is anyone’s guess. Clues to the most popular shops he can bring back next year, I suppose. I shut the book in frustration. I don’t know what I expected to find in there. An explanation that made sense, maybe?

  I had a custom order for a snowman family with the names of each family member on yesterday that is being picked up tomorrow, so I sit down at the table and pull out my paint box. One of the things I’ve always loved most about making things is the escape and the ability to let your mind go and forget about everything other than the brushstrokes.

  As I sit there dabbing white paint onto MDF snowmen, I can almost hear the gossip spreading down the lane like the leaves on trees leaning across to whisper to each other on a windy day, and it isn’t long before Carmen, Mrs Brissett, and Hubert bustle into the back room to find me.

  Hubert puts a bag of peppermint bark down on the desk in front of me and I thank him and put a huge piece of the jagged chocolate into my mouth so I can avoid answering their questions for a while.

  ‘We had no idea, pet,’ Mrs Brissett says.

  ‘What a shock,’ Hubert says.

  ‘And he seemed so nice,’ Carmen adds.

  The shop’s obviously quiet because Stacey pokes her head round the door and gives me a wink of solidarity.

  ‘But what about the good things he’s done? It was James’s idea to put the decorations back, and he’s done so much of it himself, even with the arm,’ Carmen says.

  ‘And I’ve lost track of how many jumpers he’s bought now,’ Mrs Brissett says. ‘That first day when we met him, I thought he was way too uptight to wear a Christmas jumper, but you had such a positive influence on him.’

  ‘All those wishes he’s granted. Why would he do that if he was going to shut us down?’ Hubert holds up a finger to halt us. ‘And look at how happy it’s made him. He’s been genuinely touched by some of the people he’s helped.’

  ‘He practically ran to that supermarket the other day to get that voucher even though he was obviously in agony,’ Mrs Brissett adds.

  I think about standing in the car park with him as we watched that woman drive away. He was genuinely touched. He talked about Nutcracker Lane’s legacy … because that’s all it will ever be to him – history.

  ‘The rivalry between shopkeepers,’ I say, because I can’t combine the James I’ve got to know with the Scrooge who’s been sending us condescending letters for months. ‘That was his idea. Every budget cut. Every little thing that’s gradually been siphoned from the lane. That was all him.’

  ‘What about all he’s done this year?’

  ‘All I can think is that he wanted to get hands-on with his factory expansion plans. As well as the sales figures for each shop, he wanted to see for himself which ones are performing best. We all said straightaway that it would be impossible to judge from figures alone because of item value, and he obviously knew that too and inserted himself smack bang into the middle of Nutcracker Lane where he could carefully monitor comings and goings and do customer satisfaction surveys.’

  ‘But he increased our budget this year.’

  ‘Yeah. I don’t get that bit,’ I admit. ‘One final joke to pep us up before he pulls the rug right out from underneath us, maybe?’

  ‘The chestnut seller said he personally asked him to come back, an
d the carol singers have been rewarded handsomely. I don’t understand, Nia,’ Carmen says with imploring eyes, like I somehow do.

  ‘But he’s such a nice man,’ Hubert says. ‘Maybe we’ve got it wrong. Maybe Scrooge is on holiday and he’s the acting manager for the acting manager. The acting acting manager.’

  The words “clutching” and “straws” spring to mind.

  I end up sitting there nodding along with them while working my way mindlessly through the bag of peppermint bark until they leave.

  I feel like I’ve been hit in the face with something heavy and I’m probably suffering from some sort of concussion because I can’t connect what happened this morning with any sort of reality and I feel like I’m floating above the shop and watching it like I’m not really here.

  As evidenced when I paint a snowman pink because I’m not concentrating.

  I’m hyperaware of what James said about explaining later and I’m a nervous wreck for the rest of the day as the clock creeps towards closing time and it gets more likely that he’s going to come in.

  I must admit that I’m … kind of worrying … about him too. We have no idea what happened at the factory this morning, only that the ambulance raced off at full speed not long after James left and the factory hasn’t been operational since then. Hubert tried to go over but was refused both entry and information by a security guard. Stacey’s even changed the Christmas songs for the local radio station in the shop in case any news makes it there before it makes it to us. I tried to man the till, but I kept making mistakes because I was so obsessed with watching for him – ready to dive into the back room at the first sign because I do not want to see him at the moment.

  Simon collected Lily an hour ago and confirmed his car wasn’t in the car park. The skies are dark outside, and it’s a few minutes to our later pre-Christmas closing time of 6 p.m. when I’m finally brave enough to venture from the back room and help Stacey tidy the shop.

  ‘Nia.’

  I squeal at the sound of his voice and dive up the step into the back room so fast that I stumble and hit the wall, shaking the entire cabin and knocking several display pieces loose.

  He goes to follow me but Stacey plants herself squarely in his path, hands on her hips, feet wide apart. ‘She doesn’t want to see you.’

  I hide on the other side of the open doorway. He’s mere feet away, but there’s a wall between us so I can’t see his face, but I’m pretty sure he could get round Stacey easily.

  ‘I see that, but there’s an explanation for this.’ He sounds exhausted. How can I know him so well after such a short amount of time that I can tell every nuance of his voice? And at the same time, I clearly know nothing about him.

  ‘I’m sure there is.’ I can hear from her tone that she’s folded her arms and is probably tapping a foot expectantly.

  ‘I’m not going to shout it across the shop. I need to see her. Please, Stacey.’ I can envision him pushing a hand through his hair and sighing when it falls forward again straightaway. ‘I’m sorry it’s so late, but I had to go home and change because I was covered in someone else’s blood. I’ve been at the hospital all afternoon. I got back as soon as I could.’

  Even after all this, I still want to go and hug him. He sounds like he needs a hug. Just as I’m thinking that maybe I should go out there and hear what he has to say, I remember he’s Scrooge and force my feet to stay rooted to the floor.

  I know Stacey when she’s in protective mode – last seen when Lily was being bullied at school – and I hear her shuffle forwards and imagine her barging him towards the counter so he doesn’t get a chance to follow me while she gets his notebook out from where we’d put it ready to give back. I hear her shove it at his chest. ‘I don’t think now’s the time.’

  ‘Nia?’ he calls. ‘I know you haven’t gone far, please let me explain.’

  He knows me too well too. I can barely hear over the blood rushing in my ears. I close my eyes and lean my pounding forehead against the cool wall. I want there to be an explanation – I just don’t think there is, and I’m not in the mood for hearing James try to talk himself out of it and tangle himself in more lies.

  I take a deep breath. ‘Answer me one question.’ I’m surprised the words are audible because even I wasn’t certain they were going to come out. ‘Are you, or are you not, the Scrooge who’s been merrily cutting the budget every year and gloating and preening over how much more damage you can do?’

  Please be not. Please let this all be a misunderstanding.

  ‘Yes.’ He takes a few steps closer to the door into the back room and I automatically back up. ‘But it’s not what you think.’

  ‘You would say that!’ I don’t realise I’m going to shout until the words come out deafening in the quietness.

  ‘Nia, please—’

  ‘Go away, James.’

  I can almost hear him glance between Stacey and the open doorway and I hear her footsteps as she moves to stand in front of the step, blocking his path again.

  After a few long moments, he speaks again. ‘Fine, I’ll go for now, but I’m not giving up on this. I’m not giving up on us because you made me believe in Christmas magic. You made me believe that no matter how impossible something seems, anything is possible at this time of year.’

  And in the process, I’ve made absolutely damn sure that I do not. Christmas has suddenly lost all its magic for me.

  I hear Stacey lock the door behind him, and within seconds, her head pops round the back room door. ‘You okay?’

  I can’t manage anything more involved than a shrug.

  ‘If it helps, he looked distraught.’

  I know he did. I could hear it in his voice even without seeing him. ‘Good,’ I say, although I can’t hide the wobble in my voice and Stacey hears it too.

  She comes over and gives me a hug. ‘Come on, let’s finish tidying and then you’re coming home with me. Simon’s taking Lily ice skating tonight so you and me are going to put on a Christmas movie and eat three times our bodyweight in ice cream.’

  I appreciate her efforts, but I think it’s going to take more than festive romantic comedies and ice cream to fix this. I don’t remember being this upset after Brad cheated on me and I’d been dating him for years. I’ve known James for three weeks and my heart feels more broken than it ever has before, and I don’t know if it’s because of him, or because I’m absolutely certain that whoever he is and whatever he’s playing at, this will be my last year on Nutcracker Lane.

  There is no more hope of saving it. Both the man I was falling for and the Christmas village I’ve loved since childhood are gone.

  Chapter 17

  Yesterday, I was shocked and numb, but today I’ve barely stopped crying. It’s December 23rd, the penultimate shopping day before Christmas, and Nutcracker Lane is bustling with festive cheer. These few days before Christmas when most things are done – cards are posted and presents have been delivered to people you aren’t spending the day with, visitors have visited and office Christmas parties are hazy memories – these are my favourite days. There’s a certain satisfaction once last posting dates have passed and you’re officially too late to buy any more gifts or add any more food to your Christmas grocery delivery. A sense of “that’s it, if it’s missing now, we’ll just have to go without it”, absolving yourself of your festive to-do list and looking forward to a few days of eating too much and not getting up from the sofa unless it’s absolutely necessary.

  Everything Christmassy has lost its appeal now. I forced myself into a Christmas jumper and holly-leaf headband this morning solely because I knew Stacey would march me across the lane to the jumper shop to buy another one if I turned up in ordinary clothes. She’s already held me down and inserted a pair of flashing Christmas bulb earrings into my ears. I couldn’t risk anything that would make me leave the safety of the back room.

  Going across the lane is out of the question because James could pop out at any moment. His car wasn’t there
when Stacey and I got in this morning – early, to avoid any risk of running into him – but Hubert has reliably informed us that it’s now in its regular space, although his shop is shut so he must be over in the factory.

  Lily’s dressed up as Rapunzel from Tangled and is dancing around the shop, belting out “I See The Light” like some sort of summoning ritual, but she’s too adorable for me to ask her to stop.

  ‘Auntie Nia, why won’t you let an actual Disney prince into your shop?’ she asks me for the eleventh time this morning.

  ‘Because Disney princes only exist in Disney films. They never, ever step into real life. I should’ve known that.’

  Despite her love of Flynn Rider, she promises to hit James with her fairy wand if she spots him lurking nearby. Stacey has taught her well.

  I spend most of the morning in the back room. Well, all of the morning because Stacey shooed me away when I did go onto the shop floor and was so obsessed with watching for James that I knocked over an earring stand and sent forty pairs of bauble earrings flailing across the floor. I spend most of the morning painting sets of gingerbread man bunting sprinkled with iridescent glitter, even though it’s a bit late for Christmas decorations now, and if I was thinking clearly, I’d have made good use of the time and started on Valentine’s Day stock instead.

  The afternoon brings with it a slew of last-minute custom orders that customers buy for collection tomorrow, and to give the paint and varnish ample drying time, they need to be done as quickly as possible.

  Usually I get annoyed at last-minute orders, but it’s like Nutcracker Lane knew I needed the distraction today, and I appreciate the ability to lose myself in the work and not think about anything else.

  Except for every voice in the shop and every hint of a footstep near the open doorway to the back room. Except every 0.02 of a second when my mind drifts to him and where he is and if he’s going to come in and try to talk to me again.