I hum along to “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” as they come into view from the end of the lane and wave excitedly as they get nearer, glad to see that other shopkeepers are in their doorways doing the same. Now they don’t get paid to do this anymore and their number has dwindled over the years, everyone is expecting the day when they don’t come back, and it’s heart-warming to see that customers have stopped to join in too. Maybe if enough people get behind them, we could convince the new owner that it’s worth adding carol singers back to the budget.
I wave and shout “hello” as the group of carollers get nearer. The leader of the group is a wonderful woman called Angela who handmakes all their Victorian clothing and has been doing this for longer than I can remember, and she waves back, unable to stop to chat mid-song, but she points towards Starlight Rainbows and gives me a thumbs up, looking slightly confused that I’m in the wrong doorway.
I turn around at a noise and see James throwing and catching a resin reindeer in his one hand as if testing the weight of it. ‘What are you doing?’
He holds it up to his head. ‘Debating how much force it would take to knock myself out until it’s over and if it would be worth the pain of getting up from the floor again.’
‘I really hope you’re joking.’
He grins, letting me know that he is.
‘Don’t you think that’s lovely?’ I force myself to look away from his smile because it’s doing something to me. ‘You don’t have to like Christmas to appreciate nice music and talented singers.’
‘Pardon? I can’t hear you over that racket!’
He’s deliberately winding me up now. ‘You must like some Christmas music. You have The Nutcracker score playing in your shop.’
‘I’m left with no options. The only tolerable Christmas music are songs without any words in them. I don’t know how anyone can bear this lot waltzing around with their constant “Hosanna in Excelsis-ing”. They need to fa-la-la off.’
I’m trying to be annoyed but I can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes at his turn of phrase, and he smiles back at me, and I lose track of everything for a minute as we smile at each other across the shop, and by the time I come back to myself, the carollers are off in the distance and have moved on to “Away In A Manger”.
‘Well, your shop is amazing so you must be doing something right …’ I pause for a minute and then blurt it out anyway. ‘Other than the name. And what’s with the weird pricing?’
‘When people try to haggle, I can knock a six or twenty-six off and customers think they’ve got a bargain. It works better when it’s not a round number.’
‘Shrewd.’
He bows his head like it’s a compliment. ‘And what’s wrong with the name?’
‘Tinkles sounds like something you need the bathroom for.’
‘I hadn’t even thought of that. I was thinking of Tinker Bell, you know, fairies on top of Christmas trees and stuff like that …’
‘Well, other than that, it looks like a real winter wonderland – just like Nutcracker Lane used to be.’
‘I hear things are changing now …’
‘Yeah,’ I say sadly. He obviously got a letter this morning too.
‘Good. This place is old and tired. It’s long past time it was put out of its misery.’
‘No, it’s not. It’s long past time it was owned by someone who cares about it and thinks it’s worth saving and putting money back into rather than selling off everything that’s not nailed down and putting some miserly accountant in charge to squeeze every penny out of the budget. And this competition to be the most profitable shop is terrible. It pits us all against each other. It turns friends into enemies.’ I pick up a little nutcracker that had ricocheted off a plastic snowman and tried to hide under a shelf and point it at him. ‘You and me are officially rivals.’
‘Ah, but I don’t want anything to do with that. This is a one-off for me. I won’t be back next year, and this shop’ll only be here until the stock’s gone. Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not the rival type. We might have to be friends instead.’
I know my face has gone red because there’s something so sweet about his innocent words. I’m trying not to smile, but there’s something about him that’s impossible not to smile at. ‘I don’t think I can get along with someone who hates Christmas as much as you do.’
He pushes his bottom lip out, pretending to pout, and I go back into the aisle where he’s still standing and go to give him the nutcracker back but he shakes his head. ‘Keep it. As a reminder of your Christmas-hating shop neighbour. You can put it on the counter and throw darts at it.’
They’re unusual little nutcrackers – bare wood from the bottom of their circular stand to the peak of their top hat, their only facial feature is the traditional wedge-shaped nose and opening mouth, and there’s no decoration whatsoever apart from a shock of furry white hair and a patch of white beard. ‘I could never throw darts at a nutcracker … but I’m absolutely fine with knocking them over and breaking their arms, obviously.’ I regret the words before I’ve finished the sentence. Well done, Nia: first you cause clumsy destruction in his shop,
