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

by Jaimie Admans

  ‘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.

  Thankfully James takes over, giving his usual sleek and endearing introduction while I try to get my breath back. ‘We work for Nutcracker Lane. You’re our hundredth visitor of the day and you’ve won a prize. We’d like to give you this hamper as a thank you for your custom.’

  I hand her the wooden crate full of goodies, and she’s clearly surprised by the weight of it when she takes it in her arms. I lean the tree against the door of her car, and James holds up an envelope and tucks it in down the side of the crate. ‘Just a little something extra.’

  It’s a gift voucher for the out-of-town supermarket two roads away. I can’t see how much it’s for but I know James well enough to know that it’ll be a large amount and that he paid for it himself and won’t claim it back, and I feel my heart swell in my chest, and it’s not just from being short of breath.

  The woman bursts into tears. ‘But I just said to the …’ Her finger points to the building and she stares at the entrance where the nutcracker stands before looking between us. I think she’s worked out that we’ve somehow heard her wish and not that the nutcracker is actually magical, but she doesn’t say it. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she says instead, looking down at the array of goodies in the crate, which really would’ve been packed nicely and done up with some tissue paper and a ribbon if I’d had a few more minutes. ‘Why would you do this?’

  ‘’Tis the season,’ James says simply.

  ‘You don’t understand. My husband walked out, and I’m trying to raise two children, but I can’t work as much as I was because I can’t afford childcare, and they need clothes and school uniforms and school trip money, and all their friends have got the latest technology and it’s Christmas next week and I don’t have a penny extra …’ She’s trying to fight the tears but they spill over again. ‘Thank you. Thank you, thank you. This is so wonderful.’ She glances down at the tree leaning against her car. ‘I couldn’t even afford a tree and they keep asking when we’re going to get one.’

  I have to bite my lip to stop myself crying as she thanks us again and again and hugs us both, making James wince. He steps back as I help her get the tree into the back seat and we stand together and wave as she reverses out and drives away.

  ‘You need to start wearing a sign that says: “My ribs are broken, don’t hug me”.’

  ‘Ah, it keeps me on my toes. Every day is a constant roulette of “will I get my lungs punctured today?”’ He nudges his elbow into my arm. ‘And there are some people I don’t mind hugging me.’

  I don’t know if that was a hint or not, but I’m not missing an excuse to hug him. I lean up and settle my arms around his shoulders and pull him against me gently. ‘You’re lovely, you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, if only you knew.’ He lets out a bitter laugh. ‘And that was your idea.’

  ‘I didn’t run two streets and get her a gift voucher. This was never supposed to be about real money.’

  ‘I know. I just saw a way I could help so I did. Believe me, Nee, I don’t help many people in my normal life, and this is …’ I feel him shake his head against mine.

  I’m waiting for him to say something cynical about people coming here to see what they can get out of us, but he doesn’t.

  ‘We need to do more,’ he says as he pulls away. ‘People are struggling all over the country. So many other people must be in the same boat. It makes you realise how lucky you are if you can afford food every week. How lucky we are to work here with all these amazing people who are going out of their way to grant wishes. We could use this place to do something good.’

  ‘They used to …’

  ‘… but the budget was cut.’

  ‘Exactly,’ I answer, even though he doesn’t phrase it as a question.

  ‘You’re right when you say everything feels nicer at this time of year. There’s just a touch more kindness in the air, but people who need help need it more than ever. Helping people is the legacy I want Nutcracker Lane to leave.’

  ‘I don’t want it to go. I want it to be its own legacy for many more years than this. This place is amazing and no part of it deserves to be sold off for factory space.’

  ‘Guess we’re just going to have to answer some more wishes then …’ He holds his hand out and I slip mine into it as we walk back across the car park, and I can’t help thinking that one of mine has already been granted. Whatever it was that sent such a kind, sweet, and generous man into my life, there had to have been some magic involved somewhere, because for the first time ever, I think I’ve found a good one.

  Chapter 15

  I jump at the knock on my door on Monday night and glance at the clock as I get up to answer it – gone 8 p.m., cold, dark, and I wasn’t expecting anyone, but I can’t help the little flutter when I see James on the doorstep.

  ‘I thought you were busy tonight.’ I’m grinning because of how glad I am that he’s not. It sounds ridiculous to say I was missing him, because I saw him as I left Nutcracker Lane two hours ago, but I was missing him. It’s the 21st of December now and Christmas Day is on Friday. It’s too late for online orders to be posted before Christmas, and all the gift orders have already been sent, so I’d just put the TV on and flopped on the sofa in front of a rerun of a Christmas edition of a game show, but the other half of my sofa feels empty without James here.

  He hands me a bunch of festive flowers that he must’ve got from the florist – red and white roses interspersed with sprigs of blue spruce, pinecones, and stems of red berries and mistletoe. They’re so beautiful and I inhale them gratefully while trying not to impale myself in the nose with the spruce needles.

  ‘I am – hopefully with you. I had to check something first. And I have a question … Have you bought this year’s nutcracker to add to your collection yet?’

  I shake my head. ‘I still haven’t found the shop open. At least I have the one you gave me. And a box of about four hundred more in the spare room.’

  ‘Good.’ His grin is brighter than my porch light shining down on him. ‘Do you fancy walking up to the lane with me?’

  ‘Right now?’ I ask and he nods. ‘It’s closed.’

  ‘Ah.’ He taps his nose, his cheeky grin saying he’s not about to elaborate.

  ‘Sure.’ I shrug because I’d walk up to Orion with James if he asked.

  He waits inside so he doesn’t freeze while I get my coat, and once outside, he offers his arm and I slip mine through it, letting my fingers sink into the soft fabric of his mid-thigh-length black coat.

  Christmas lights are shining from every window and twinkling in garden hedges and outdoor trees as we walk along my street and turn up at the corner where I meet Stacey every morning. I love their multicoloured brightness and how cheerful they make me feel. Some houses have got strings of chunky snowflake lights draped around their windows, some have got large silhouettes of Santa stuck to the glass, some have got inflatable snowmen in their gardens, and winter-dead trees have been given the illusion of life with green artificial holly-leaf lights. Some have left their curtains open and their Christmas trees twinkle inside, each one individual and unique, the living-room lights on, allowing us a glimpse into families’ lives as they sit around watching TV or eating dinner.

  My arm tightens where it’s around James’s and I snuggle a bit closer to him as he pulls my arm tighter against his side and holds it there.

  He doesn’t loosen his grip as we cross the icy shrub border and walk over the car park, and he only lets go to dig his keys out and let us in.

  It’s dark inside, illuminated only by the light of the moon filtering in through the glass ceiling. James shoves his keys back into his pocket and holds his hand out, and I slip mine into it like I’m physically incapable of not holding his hand when there’s even the slightest opportunity. Our footsteps echo through the empty lan
e, sounding loud in the complete silence that’s the opposite of how noisy it is during daylight hours. Even with things as quiet as they’ve been in recent years, Nutcracker Lane is always full of noise – the hiss of steamers in the coffee shop, the jingling of bells and tinny music coming from battery-powered Christmas decorations, or the carollers or the hum of chatter from the few customers we do have.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘You’ll see when we get there.’ He looks over at me and even in the darkness I can tell how wide his smile is.

  ‘Are we supposed to be here? Are we going to get done for breaking and entering over this?’

  He laughs. ‘I assure you, we’re good.’

  We pass the darkened doors of the Starlight Rainbows and Twinkles and Trinkets until eventually we come almost to the end of the lane, and then he tugs us to the right, to the narrow corridor between us and the nutcracker factory.

  The mechanical village we put there is still in darkness in its display case, as silent as everything else is tonight, and it’s even darker in this part of the building without the see-through roof.

  James stops in front of the door to the nutcracker outlet shop, pulls another set of keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door.

  ‘What are you doing? How do you have the keys for that?’

  He grins, but he clearly isn’t going to let me in on his secrets, and the door swings shut behind him as he goes inside and floods the shop with light, bright enough to lighten up the whole corridor.

  ‘This way, Madame …’ He pulls the door from the inside and holds it open for me.

  ‘I can’t afford bail money, James.’ I go through the glass door anyway and he closes it softly behind us.

  ‘I promise I have permission. The shop’s never open these days and you haven’t got this year’s addition to your nutcracker collection yet. I couldn’t let Christmas pass without doing something about it. So there you go.’ He gestures to the huge shop that used to be such an integral part of Nutcracker Lane. ‘Take your pick. It’s on me.’

  ‘James …’ I shake my head, struggling not to tear up at his thoughtfulness. Of all the things I thought he might be up to tonight, I was not expecting this. It’s such a sweet, kind gesture, to go to all this trouble, to square whatever he had to square with the factory operators to let us in here after dark and get their keys, and how attentive he is to have given my nutcracker collection a second thought.

  I feel like a kid in a sweetshop … well, like an adult in a sweetshop because I’m no less childlike when I go in a sweetshop even at the ripe old age of thirty-five.

  The shop smells of freshly sanded wood and acrylic paint, the scent stronger than usual because the doors have been shut for so long. The carpet is a warm mulled wine colour under my feet, and every shelf is lined with silver tinsel and fairy lights in the exact same shade of purply red as the carpet. I look forward to stepping inside this shop every year, and I hadn’t realised until this moment how much I’d missed it this year.

  Nutcrackers line every shelf in any size you can dream of. There are thousands of them, standing like sentinels, holding swords and sceptres and drums. They range from tiny ones to hang on your tree to huge six-foot-tall display ones like the one I knocked over in James’s shop all those weeks ago. Each shelf is crowded with them, from floor to ceiling at some points, rows and rows of their serious little moustached faces stare down at us, and while I can imagine that many of them might freak some people out, to me they’ve always been comforting. It’s said they bring good luck and guard a home by baring their teeth at evil spirits. I don’t know about evil spirits in Wiltshire, but anything that wants to bring me luck is welcome.

  This shop was always a huge part of the lane – the giftshop that children used to go in at the end of their school tours, a big draw for tourists, and the last place my grandma and I used to visit on our way home. It was the one thing that made Nutcracker Lane stand out from any other outskirts-of-town shopping centre at Christmastime. The whole lane developed from this one shop – from the factory needing a place to get rid of excess makes that couldn’t be sold wholesale like the rest of their stock.

  This is the only nutcracker manufacturing plant in the UK, and this little place gained a worldwide reputation. So many people came that they expanded the lane until it became its own self-contained little Christmas village. People flocked from all over to get their hands on these one-of-a-kind nutcrackers. And now look at them …

  ‘Can I take some photos?’ I say in a burst of inspiration.

  James makes a “go ahead” gesture. ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know … It’s probably too late for this year, but this place is special, and I don’t think it’s been showcased online since the days of social media and viral news stories. Look at all these nutcrackers about to lose their home … As a story, it could have legs to it.’

  ‘Lose their home?’

  ‘Scrooge is shutting down this part of the lane. Selling it for factory space. This is the closest point to the factory – it’s going to be the first to go. It can’t be considered important because it hasn’t opened its doors once this year, so it’s certainly not going to have earned enough to stay.’ I reach out and run my fingers over the furry hat of a sentry nutcracker. ‘These chaps are going to be out on the street.’

  ‘Nia, Scrooge isn’t going to …’ He trails off as I get my phone out.

  ‘He’ll probably sell them all for firewood.’

  ‘You don’t really think he’s still going ahead with the competition, do you?’

  ‘He hasn’t told us otherwise. And Scrooge is the type of horrible person who refuses to go back on his word and admit he was wrong about anything out of sheer pig-headed superiority. Everything we’ve done could be for nothing because of that horrible man and his gigantic ego.’

  He shakes his head as if trying to clear it. ‘So what do you suggest? Run an adopt-a-nutcracker campaign? A series of posters emblazoned with “a nutcracker is for life, not just for Christmas”?’

  ‘James, that’s brilliant!’

  ‘It is?’ He sounds confused.

  ‘I’m not even sure how yet, but it is. We could sell some of these off – really cheap, and use the profits for wish-granting. Christmas Day is on Friday – that gives us three days to find homes for some of these nutcrackers. And we could carry on after Christmas … If Scrooge would let us. We could be rehoming nutcrackers for months rather than letting him destroy them. If he won’t even let anyone open the shop this year, he can’t think it’s important.’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t think nutcrackers mattered anymore?’

  I snap a picture of a shelf, pick up a nutcracker and hand it to him. ‘Smile.’ He does it automatically but he looks like he’s miles away as I take a photo of him and the nutcracker. ‘This is special. Where else in the UK can you see this many nutcrackers all together? People would love to see this. People would come to see this. And not just at Christmas. The factory operates year-round. The only one in the UK, James. There’s historic significance here. We could use the lane as some sort of nutcracker museum throughout the year. You said yourself that one of the problems is that there’s no interest outside of December. What if we could find some? We could showcase their history. We could run school trips. Oh!’

  My voice goes so high with overexcitement that it makes him jump. ‘We could run workshops and let people in to make their own! We could do story times for kids and read the original book The Nutcracker and the Mouse King and have painting sessions so they could paint their own. We could have nutcracker-themed afternoon teas. And the shops could stay. I mean, either we could do a Christmas-all-year-round theme, or they could be part of the museum complex. All museums have giftshops, and things like the chocolate shop or the sweetshop or the coffee shop don’t have to be seasonal, and nutcrackers originate from Germany so maybe we could pull in some traditional German shops and make it like a year-round Christmas market. We could change thi
ngs while still staying the same. Take the snowglobe seller – he could make summer globes, so he’s still doing his craft but it’s not out of season.’

  James picks up a tiny nutcracker from a shelf and flips it over in his hand. ‘What are summer globes?’

  ‘I don’t know, I think we just invented them.’ I spin around and take another couple of pictures. ‘Something like tropical scenes in the globes with sand, and shells, and glitter. Trees with tiny autumn-leaf confetti falling when you shake it up. For spring, he could have tulips and daffodils with falling cherry blossoms all around them. I don’t know, I’m not a snowglobe maker – I just mean that we could change the seasonal aspect without changing the heart of Nutcracker Lane … There’s just one man standing in the way.’

  ‘Maybe there’s not. If you put your mind to something, I firmly believe you’re capable of winning anyone over. And maybe you already have and he was rushing in the last letter and he forgot to say it.’

  ‘Keeping us on our toes, more like. Keeping us guessing. Trying to keep the shopkeepers at each other’s throats while he sits counting all the money our efforts are pulling in.’ I sigh and take a photo of a row of six-foot nutcrackers lined up together except they’re test pieces so they’re all a couple of inches shorter or taller than their intended height. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Why does it matter what I think?’

  I stop in the middle of picking up a thirty-eight-centimetre ice-blue glittered nutcracker with a whisk in his hand and a cupcake for a hat and I stare at it for a few moments while I try to think of an answer. The air feels charged between us, like this is a key moment to say something important. ‘Because I can’t imagine doing this without you. Everything feels possible when you’re here.’

  He looks down. ‘Nia, I …’

  ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.’ I backpedal as fast as I can. ‘You’ve got your own problems with your father and your business to take over. I shouldn’t have said anything.’