‘Good, because it’s not a Christmas movie, no matter what anyone says,’ I say as we walk up the darkened lane, past the silent windows of the bakery displaying gingerbread houses and cupcake wreaths, and the soap and bath bomb shop that sells Santa-shaped soaps, tiny holly-leaf bath pearls, and fizzing bath bombs modelled to look like snowmen and reindeer and Christmas puddings that smell as gorgeously festive as they look and leave you sparkling with glitter afterwards.
‘I need to get out of the shop more often,’ I say. ‘I haven’t bought a new jumper yet this year, or a new headband, or even any new socks. I buy a new pair of Christmas socks every year. My goal is to have twenty-five pairs – one a day from the 1st until the 25th.’
‘Like some sort of weird sock advent calendar?’
‘Exact— Flipping heck, I forgot to open my advent calendar this morning. What is wrong with me? Day three and I’ve already forgotten chocolate before breakfast.’ I don’t mention quite how distracted I was this morning, or that I was so eager to get in and see him that it even stopped me thinking about chocolate.
‘You have an advent calendar?’
‘Of course. Don’t you?’
He laughs and clutches his ribs, his face slowly falling when I don’t laugh with him. ‘Do I look particularly young or something? I’m thirty-seven and I have to constantly remind you that I’m not a child. I’ve never had an advent calendar; I’m certainly not about to start now.’
‘You’ve never had an advent calendar?’
He shakes his head, looking at me like I’m the weird one here. ‘What’s the point?’
‘It’s chocolate. Every morning before breakfast. Surely even you can see the upside of that?’
He shrugs. ‘I barely function before breakfast. I don’t have the coordination to get a little chocolate out of a fiddly cardboard door. At that time of day, all I want is coffee. If by some madness I wanted chocolate, I’d go to the kitchen cupboard and break a piece off one of the bars there.’
‘You’re missing the point. It’s fun, it’s a countdown to Christmas, and it’s basically enforced chocolate.’ I shake my head at his blank look. ‘First thing tomorrow morning, I’m buying you an advent calendar. It’ll only be the 4th – it’s not too late. The Nutcracker Lane chocolate shop does some amazing ones.’
‘I don’t want—’
‘Don’t finish that sentence.’ I point a threatening finger towards him. ‘Even you are not so much of a Grinch that you can’t appreciate chocolate for breakfast. And if you are then there’s absolutely no hope for you.’
We round the bend in the lane and the giant wish-granting nutcracker comes into view.
‘I don’t mind nutcrackers, you know.’
I do a mock gasp and give him my best flabbergasted look. ‘Did you just say there’s something about Christmas you actually like?’
‘I wouldn’t go that far, but my dad used to read me the book when I was little, and apparently we had one that I used to carry around like a doll and I’d never let my mum put it away after Christmas.’ He looks up at the eight-foot-tall carved nutcracker looming over us as we approach the fence and garden area surrounding him. ‘I always thought it was hilarious how people used to make wishes on this thing though. They honestly believed it was magical. Thankfully I was never young enough to believe in that nonsense.’
‘What?’ I ask. How can anyone ever not be young enough to believe in magic? Unless he really is a nutcracker prince who magically appeared into life a couple of days ago.
‘You know what I mean. My parents were always honest with me. I never believed in Santa, and when we visited here, they’d point out the wish-granters dressed as elves who were strategically positioned to listen in on wishes made at the giant nutcracker.’
‘You never believed in Santa?’
He shakes his head. ‘I don’t believe in lying to children. Neither did my parents.’
‘… lying to children,’ I repeat in disbelief. ‘It’s not lying to help a child believe in Christmas magic. That’s something people remember for the rest of their lives. Anyone, at any age, should look up to the sky on Christmas Eve night and hope they’ll see something magical.’
‘Again.’ He points to himself. ‘Adult.’
I roll my eyes. ‘That makes you need to believe in Christmas magic even more. With all the stresses and worries and strains of adulthood, we need it more than kids do. We need to believe that our dreams can still come true and that anything can happen at this time of year.’
‘And your wishes all came true, did they?’
‘Sometimes. Our family got my childhood dog because I wished for one here. Obviously I now know that one of the elves took my dad aside and talked about the benefits of having a dog and about how many dogs there are in rescue centres who need homes, gave him a free adoption voucher, and a few days later, we went to choose our dog. A little Jack Russell called Dasher who was with us for fifteen years. At the time, I thought she was a Christmas miracle, but I’d never have persuaded my mum and dad on my own. My mum’s too uptight and doesn’t like anything that makes a mess and my dad was always working, but that wish-granting elf tugged at his heartstrings and convinced him I was old enough to take on the responsibility.
‘There was other stuff too. I wished for a special day for my gran and granddad before he died and they took them on the most magical sleigh ride. One of those big walk-and-talk dolls that were sold out worldwide. It was never about stuff though, I think they gave my parents that to put under the tree as a way of teaching me that Christmas wasn’t about material things because it broke down on Boxing Day and I preferred the crafting kit my grandma and granddad had put together for me anyway.’
I wait for him to say something belittling but he doesn’t. We’ve both stopped at the towering nutcracker and are looking up at it, my left hand next to his right hand on the fence, so close it would be easy to reach my little finger out and touch the side of his hand. I look up at the nutcracker to distract myself. ‘I wish I knew what the story behind him is. I was intending to ask the old owners when I saw them this year, but they haven’t been around.’
James is grinning as he pushes himself off the fence, goes inside the open gateway, and somehow manages to negotiate the walnut vending machine with just one hand. He comes back and holds a walnut out to me between thumb and forefinger. ‘Here. You can’t say you wish something in front of him without cracking a nut.’
I take it from him even though I’m not sure if he’s humouring me or making fun of me, but I can feel his eyes on me as I go inside the fence and stand on the lowest step to reach up to the nutcracker’s mouth, place the walnut in it, and lean around to pull the lever down. ‘I wish I knew the story behind you,’ I say aloud as the shell starts to splinter, but no wind whispers in his beard tonight and the rainclouds above us block out any prospect of stars twinkling.
‘He was carved in the 1930s by a local artist, and you know how nutcrackers are said to be lucky and are supposed to protect the homes they’re in? He was moved around a lot and eventually mounted on a church near here in 1940, and when the area was bombed during the war, that church was the only building that survived, and people thought he’d somehow protected it and started visiting him for good luck.’
I’m still standing on the step and I turn around in surprise. ‘You know it?’
‘See? Wishes can come true.’ He holds his one hand out like he’s shrugging. ‘After that, he disappeared. Some say he was stolen, some say the artist took him back and hid him where he could never be found, some say that so many people thought he was lucky that they came to touch him and simply wore him down to nothing.’ He nods towards it. ‘That one’s obviously not true.’
I collect my walnut from the nutcracker’s mouth and step down onto the floor. James continues as I go back out the gate. ‘Years and years later, somewhere around the 1970s, an antique dealer came across him in a collection he’d gone to appraise up in the Scottish borders, reco
gnised him and came back here with the story, and there was a big local campaign to raise enough money to buy him back and transport him home, and the whole county got involved in fundraising, and just as they’d nearly reached their goal, he went missing again.’
I hold out the cracked walnut shell to offer him half of the nut, and I can’t tear my eyes away from him as he takes it and pops it into his mouth. ‘You are full of surprises.’
‘I’m full of something.’ He holds the walnut between his teeth and grins around it.
I take my half and throw the empty shell onto the garden, glad to see how many shells have piled up there since my last wish. People are still coming. They’re still cracking nuts and believing he can grant wishes. Not all people have given up hope that something magical can happen.
‘Two years later, he was left right here leaning against the door of the nutcracker factory. It was founded in the 1930s and it’s said his creator used to work here.’ James points towards the entranceway. ‘No one ever found out where he came from or who put him there. The factory was the only thing that was unchanged in the forty years since he was made, so the popular theory was that he walked by himself and found his way home.’
I feel myself inexplicably welling up and have to blink furiously to stop tears forming. While I doubt the giant wooden nutcracker uprooted himself and walked his way home, it’s such a nice thought, and just the kind of magical feeling I was hoping would be in the story behind him. ‘How on earth do you know all that?’
‘It was the interest in the story of his return that prompted the factory to expand into the commercial side of things and Nutcracker Lane was opened in the early Eighties. My grandparents were around in the Forties when it all happened, so my parents grew up hearing it, and then they were around in the Seventies when he returned, so it was passed down to me as well. They’ve still got newspaper clippings from the time. I’ll see if I can find them next time I go there.’
Something in his voice changes whenever he mentions his parents, and I’m as desperate to ask about them as I am certain that he wouldn’t answer. ‘My dad knew,’ I say instead. ‘He used to tell me about it but I was too young to remember, and my mum doesn’t go in for “fairy stories” so she didn’t know. He died when I was young and I’ve always wished I could remember his stories. Thank you for that.’
‘You’re welcome.’ His little finger reaches towards mine like he’s going to touch my hand but he pulls back and pushes himself upright instead, his hand trailing along the fence tops as he puts a bit of space between us.
‘So community spirit saved the nutcracker once,’ I say as cogs start turning in my mind. ‘That’s magic in itself. It’s a shame we can’t get people to care that much again.’
‘Well, it is Christmas. A certain someone keeps telling me anything can happen at this time of year.’
His maple-coloured eyes are twinkling, showing up flecks of green in them that I’d never noticed before, and I know he’s only humouring me, but he’s got a point. Anything can happen at Christmas, even the impossible.
Chapter 6
‘You cannot seriously be getting me an advent calendar,’ James says when I meet him in the middle of the lane between our shops the next morning.
‘Yep. No arguments. And I peeked into the chocolate shop this morning. They’re all half price now we’re four days into December. Come on.’
‘Nee …’ he starts as he follows me up the lane. It’s not even half past nine yet and it’s still quiet. There’s a bit of chatter filtering down from around the nutcracker but not a single customer has wandered down this far yet. ‘I enjoyed last night. I can’t believe you made me sit through the whole of It’s a Wonderful Life without falling asleep … or that I didn’t completely hate it.’
‘I’ve got a pie ready to go in the oven when I get home tonight,’ I say before I have a chance to second-guess it.
‘You seriously want me there again?’
‘We’ve got a ton of Christmas movies to get through. We’ve come this far, we can’t give up now. It’s non-negotiable that you still have to watch at least The Muppet Christmas Carol, Christmas Vacation, The Santa Clause, and the Jim Carrey version of The Grinch. And that pie is massive – I can’t eat it all myself. And I promise tonight we’ll watch something with an ending that won’t make you cry.’
When I look at him, his mouth is twitching as he tries not to smile. ‘I wasn’t crying. There was something in my eye.’
I giggle because I teased him mercilessly last night too. He deserved it after his disparaging comments about one of the best-loved Christmas films of all time.
Mrs Thwaite in the candle shop is rearranging her window and she looks up and gives us a dirty look. I slip my hand around his wrist and tug him onwards, wondering why it feels so natural to touch him. His fingers start to curl around mine and I let go quickly, because it would be so easy to intertwine our fingers and walk up to the chocolate shop hand-in-hand, but it’s not right. I barely know him.
I woke up early this morning because I couldn’t stop thinking about him, and I occupied the hours between getting up and leaving for work with making a butternut squash and baked camembert pie that I was hoping he’d like because I want nothing more than for him to come over again tonight. Five days ago, I’d sworn off men forever, and now he’s appeared and smashed through my defences with one smile, I can’t hold his hand as well. The other night in the storage room was different. He needed it then. Now I just want to hold it because his hands are elegant and long-fingered and he’s surprisingly adept with just one functioning.
The window of the chocolate shop log cabin is almost always surrounded by children pressing their noses against it and cupping their hands around their eyes to stare in without reflections. It’s empty today, and James is the one who stops to stare in longingly. ‘Do I walk around with my eyes shut or something?’ he murmurs. ‘Why have I never looked in here before? Have you seen that sleigh? How can anyone do that with chocolate? This woman is insanely talented.’
‘This woman is going to lose her shop like the rest of us,’ I mutter. Carmen the chocolate maker has been a staple of Nutcracker Lane for more years than I can remember. My granddad used to buy us all a selection box of her chocolates when I was young, and it was one of my grandma’s favourite shops on the lane. Carmen changes her display every week and it gets more magical each time, from families of chocolate snowmen, to a North Pole workshop manned by chocolate elves with moving piles of presents, to today’s creation of white chocolate reindeers pulling a ruby chocolate sleigh on an actual track that judderingly transports them from one side of the window to the other.
I’m standing in the doorway waiting and I touch James’s left shoulder with the gentlest touch I’ve ever used because I have no idea how far his bruising extends. He looks up, blinking like he was lost in his own little world.
‘Magical, right?’
He swallows hard and gives me a tight nod, and his Flynn Rider hair falls forward to frame his face.
‘Come to survey the competition?’ Carmen sounds angry and unwelcoming when we step inside the shop.
‘Of course not.’ I’m taken aback by the venom in her voice. ‘Come to buy my chocolateless friend here an advent calendar.’
‘Back wall. Half price. Don’t touch anything. If you ruin it, you pay for it.’ Carmen is barely tall enough to see over her own counter, but she folds her arms across her chest, her strawberry-blonde hair pulled up into a high ponytail that makes her look more severe than usual.
James and I share a look. Never have I felt unwelcome in a shop on Nutcracker Lane before. I try to ignore it but the tone in her voice prickles at me as James follows me up to the back wall, and I’m all too aware of her eyes burning into us.
There aren’t many advent calendars left and they’re all down to £4 now instead of £8, and James picks out one with an idealistic-looking cottage on it, and we start wandering back towards the counter. I want to look
around and see if there’s something else I can treat us to, but Carmen hasn’t taken her eyes off us and I get the feeling that a boiling hot oven on legs would be a more welcome guest.
‘Just this, please.’ I give her my brightest smile as James puts the advent calendar on the counter and I get my purse out to pay.
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘You’re not meant to be buying from me. We’re in direct competition with each other. I can’t take your money.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘It wouldn’t be right, Nia. We’re competitors now.’
‘Yeah, but I’m not.’ James gets his wallet out and deposits four pound coins onto the counter. ‘She was just trying to do something nice for me, but I’m not involved in this competition, so I can give you mine instead.’
‘That wouldn’t be fair on her.’ She nods towards me.
James rolls his eyes. ‘I’ll buy something of equal value in her shop to even it out, okay?’
Carmen looks dubious.
‘A whole four pounds is not going to swing this thing far, is it?’ he says. ‘For God’s sake, I’m throwing money at you. Take it. I promise I’ll go and buy something from Nia’s now.’
She reluctantly covers the coins with her hand and pulls them across the counter, stabs some numbers into the till and puts them in. She rips off the receipt it prints out and hands it to him without a word.
‘Can I have a bag, please?’ He digs out an extra 5p coin and hands it to her. ‘Because I’m an adult and I don’t want to be seen carrying around an advent calendar.’
‘Only people who are insecure in their adulthood worry about things like that,’ I say.
Carmen laughs and quickly straightens her face as she puts it in a Nutcracker Lane branded paper bag. ‘This is a one-off. Don’t come back here again, either of you. If you weren’t my first customers today, I’d have refused you both.’
I bite my lip. The anger and hurt on her face are plain to see, and it confirms my fears that the whole lane is as quiet as it looks.
The Little Christmas Shop on Nutcracker Lane Page 13