I open the shop door and stand in the doorway, wishing the café was open for a peppermint hot chocolate. I can’t help noticing there’s a light on in the back of James’s shop, although his front window is dark and the giant Santa outside is mercifully quiet.
Everything is so quiet. Walking through Nutcracker Lane at night used to be a magical experience. My grandma and I would often take this way home, even after the shops were shut, because the trees would be sparkling, heavy with ornaments and tinsel, and the garlands would still be twinkling, hung in boughs from the roof.
I wonder if any of that stuff is left. There’s a huge stockroom in the basement level of Nutcracker Lane, and it used to be packed to the brim with decorations, props, and lights, and shopkeepers were free to go down and help themselves to anything they wanted. I wonder if we could use some of it. I mean, there are no staff here anymore; there’s no one monitoring what we do. What if we found some of that old stuff and put it up? What if we made Nutcracker Lane a bit brighter? It would probably be ages before anyone noticed the increase in electricity being used, and surely even E.B. Neaser couldn’t complain about the shopkeepers trying to make things better for everyone?
I close the shop door behind me and start walking towards the end of the lane. There’s a corridor between the Christmas craft shop and the snowglobe shop that leads to a staff-only door, and I tap in the code and let myself into a narrow corridor that runs underneath Nutcracker Lane. It sounds like some mystical underground vault full of Christmas magic, but it’s actually quite scary and the first time I came down here last month, I went back to the shop to get Stacey and made her come with me because I thought I might get lost or find a serial killer lurking down here. In reality, it’s a cold basement with squeaky lino flooring and multiple storage rooms, some of which haven’t been opened for years. It’s not where Santa stores his sleigh for the rest of the year like my granddad used to tell me when I was little.
I’m also not alone. As I get further along the hollow corridor, I realise one of the doors to a storage room is open and there’s light spilling out. I gulp. ‘Hello?’ I call out, unable to hide the tremble in my voice.
‘In here,’ a voice calls back. Hopefully a good sign. I had visions of catching the bloke who plays Santa down here in a compromising position. What he does in public is bad enough – the thought of what he might get up to behind closed doors is enough to give anyone nightmares.
‘Ah, my arm breaker,’ the voice says as I get near the doorway and I’m already breathing a sigh of relief at it being James and not the Santa bloke doing something unthinkable with bodily excretions.
‘Hi, Grinch.’ I put my head round the door and spot him in a corner, examining a set of plastic light-up reindeer that used to be put on the roof every December.
He looks up and smiles as our eyes meet across the room. ‘I know that’s meant as an insult but it doesn’t sound like one.’
‘It is.’ Why can’t I stop smiling? No matter how much I tell myself not to, a great big smile spreads across my face every time I see him. And somehow he looks even more gorgeous tonight than he did earlier. He’s got elegant cheekbones and a pointed kind of dainty nose, and the stubble covering his angled jawline is scruffier than it was yesterday.
He looks like he believes me about as much as I believe myself. ‘Interesting jumper choice,’ he says as he straightens up and moves away from the reindeer. ‘Not quite as exciting as yesterday’s flashing one.’
I look down at my snowman jumper. ‘I buy a Christmas jumper every year. I love them. I usually keep the flashing ones for special occasions, like opening day and Christmas Eve.’
‘Yeah. I think light-up jumpers should be saved for special occasions too. Like when hell freezes over – would that count as a special occasion?’
I go to snap something sarcastic back, but as he moves, a look of pain crosses his face and he seems to be shuffling rather than walking. ‘Are you okay?’
‘All the better for seeing that jumper.’ He gives me a tight and completely mocking smile, but there’s obviously something wrong. His face is pale and the dark circles under his eyes look much bigger than they did yesterday.
‘Seriously, James. You don’t look well.’
‘I’m fine.’ His left arm is still held across his chest by the sling, and he moves around the boxes, opening them with his right hand and peering inside. ‘It’s a shame spiders don’t count as Christmas decorations.’
I shudder. ‘I saw you renamed your shop?’
‘Yeah, thanks for the advice. And about pricing. I reduced everything and made loads of sales today.’
‘Good,’ I say, even though what I’m thinking is “bollocks”. Despite what he says, the last thing I’m supposed to be doing is helping the competition. I shouldn’t have said anything. I should’ve let him get on with selling his hideously overpriced all-singing all-dancing decorations. Our shop has been empty today and his has
