‘Well, you’ve certainly been keeping active,’ I say, picturing him climbing up and down on that stool today.
‘That means you’ve been watching me …’
Is he being deliberately obtuse or does he genuinely have no idea how difficult it is not to watch him? ‘Actually, we were watching the Macarena-ing Santa. It’s impossible to take your eyes off him.’
His face breaks into a smile and then he groans. ‘Oh, please don’t make me laugh, I beg of you.’
My concern must show on my face because he tells me again not to look so worried. ‘I just twisted it, that’s all. It’s the end of a long day and I admit I overdid it this morning with the painting. I haven’t been sleeping because the ribs are too painful to find a comfortable position, and I’ve already hit my pain threshold a few hours ago.’
‘Why didn’t you go home at closing time?’
He goes to shrug but thinks better of it. ‘Nothing to go home for. How about you?’
‘I like spending time here.’ I hesitate because I’m sure he’s going to make fun of me for it. ‘It feels more and more like Nutcracker Lane as we know it is going to be gone soon, and I want to make the most of it while I still can.’
He pushes his bottom lip out and then pulls it back with his teeth, but I cut him off before he can say something sarcastic. ‘You said something yesterday about painkillers?’
He laughs. ‘Oh, I can’t take them here.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’ve been taking them at night, at home, in private, because they make me fuzzy-headed. It’s bad enough making a fool of myself, I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of you too.’ He uses his good hand to pat mine where it’s still resting on his knee. ‘So you have to go away and leave me alone because I’m not moving until I’ve taken them.’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’ I can’t help smiling as I squeeze his knees. ‘We’re the only two people here and you’re sorely mistaken if you think I’m going to leave you by yourself in this state.’
He laughs again, a shallow chuckle rather than a laugh. ‘I’ll be fine. I just need to take something and not move for a while. I’ve been alone for a long time – I can look after myself.’
‘Good for you, but I’m not leaving.’ I pat his knees again gently and use the box on either side of his legs to push myself up. ‘Painkillers?’
He pats the front pocket of his jeans. I go to get him a cup of water from the staff water dispenser inside the door, and when I get back down the corridor, he’s got the packet held between his teeth and is somehow managing to push two out with one hand, and I watch as he pops them into his mouth and takes the water with a nod of thanks, his hand shaking as he swallows it and puts it down on the box beside him.
‘Right, tea. Sugar?’ I ask, but stop him before he has a chance to respond. ‘Actually, don’t answer that – you need something hot and sweet so you’re getting sugar whether you like it or not.’ I pat his knee again. ‘Back in a minute. Don’t move.’
‘I assure you I’m going to lose consciousness if I even think about moving.’
‘Good.’
He cracks one eye open and raises an eyebrow. ‘You really don’t like me, do you?’
I grin. ‘I meant because you’re not going to think about it, and you know it.’
A smile spreads slowly across his face and I’m smiling back involuntarily even though he must think I’m a lunatic because so far tonight, I’ve been ecstatically happy that he was hit by a car and tried to smother him to death by boob. I’d better get that tea before he starts thinking I’ve got a vendetta.
When I get back up to the shop, I can’t make the tea fast enough. I spoon at least three spoonfuls of sugar into each mug while I wait for the kettle to boil and I search the table and rifle through my handbag for something to eat, wishing Stacey and I hadn’t polished off those mince pies I got from the Nutcracker Lane bakery this morning. I haven’t got anything to offer him.
Generally, you don’t need anything here. Nutcracker Lane has got its own bakery which sells all manner of Christmas-themed cakes and biscuits, and next door to that is the coffee shop which sells every festive flavour of hot drink you can imagine, but everything’s closed at this time of night. Most of the shopkeepers have their own kettle in the back room, which will probably get more use now we’re all in competition with each other and buying coffees from the coffee shop makes it more likely that they will be the winners. It makes me sad just thinking about it. I don’t want to work somewhere that I can’t even go and buy a gingerbread tiffin latte because of this awful competition between us.
I take the two mugs of tea in one hand and walk down the silent lane and back towards the staff-only entrance to the storage rooms.
‘You still conscious, Grinch?’ I call out as I enter the code one-handed and use my foot to manoeuvre round the door and close it behind me.
‘Define conscious,’ he replies from inside the storage room.
It makes me laugh. ‘That counts,’ I say as I go in the doorway and find him sitting in exactly the same place I left him. He doesn’t look like he’s moved a centimetre. ‘How are you feeling?’
He opens his eyes and looks up at me. ‘Extremely grateful to the doctor who prescribed these lovely painkillers.’
His cheeks are flushed and his skin tone looks a lot brighter than it did before. I put my own mug on
