He puts the soldier back in the space it came from, being careful not to knock any of the others in case they fall over and we have a nutcracker domino effect on our hands. He picks up the little wood-coloured one he gave me yesterday and holds it out questioningly. ‘No dart holes?’
I give him an offended look. ‘I haven’t had time to get one yet this year so he’ll do for now. Opening day is different on Nutcracker Lane when you’re working there. I didn’t have a chance to go across to the factory outlet where they sell them.’
He puts it down and picks up another short, stumpy one with a glossy green sceptre and a glittered red jacket. ‘I used to make these.’ He sounds lost in thought.
‘You used to make Christmas decorations?’ I say, not intending for it to come out quite so disbelievingly.
‘Only for crackers. The really tiny squat ones that are chiselled from one piece of wood and covered in glitter paint. A long time ago now.’
‘Do you work with your hands much?’ I think about how he said he was going to fix the nutcracker I broke yesterday and how he mentioned mending the snow machine, and his talents when it came to repainting the shop sign.
‘I used to, but not anymore. Now I just sit in an office and stare at my computer, with numbers and figures blurring on the spreadsheet before my eyes.’
Before I have a chance to question him, he puts that nutcracker down and picks up a snowglobe, a clay Christmas tree inside with a tiny model of a young girl in a pink coat beside it.
‘My granddad made that for me. He’d never made one before but he knew I liked snowglobes and he wanted to give me something special. I was surgically attached to my pink coat at the time.’
He shakes it and watches, mesmerised, as the snow and glitter float down around the miniature snow-covered branches of the tree, still as perfect today as the day my granddad gave it to me when I was seven years old.
‘Okay, even I can admit that’s kind of special.’ He puts it down gently and his long fingers trail across the top of the glass dome. ‘For a Christmas decoration.’
I narrow my eyes at him when he looks up and smiles.
‘Your house is amazing.’ He looks around with a soft kind of awestruck look on his face. ‘It’s so warm and inviting. This is what a house should be like. It’s like coming home.’
‘Where do you live?’
‘I have a flat over in Melksham.’ He points in the general direction of the area. ‘About half an hour in the car, but near my parents and the office. It’s not like this. This is a real home. I still have boxes I haven’t unpacked from when I moved in four years ago.’
‘I moved in with my grandma when I was a teenager and then looked after her when she got older, and she left the cottage to me when she died a few years ago, so I’ve lived here for a really long time. And accumulated enough Christmas decorations to show for it.’ I indicate the army of nutcracker soldiers on the window ledge, and he looks at them again and his eyes shift to the warm yellow glow coming from the scented candle in the warmer.
‘It even smells like Christmas.’ He takes a deep breath and as he breathes out, his tummy lets out a loud rumble, and his face instantly glows adorably red.
I can’t help giggling as I point to the coffee table in front of the sofa. ‘Help yourself to biscuits and chocolate.’
His eyes go wide as he spots the tub of chocolates and the biscuit selection box on the low rectangular table. ‘You have chocolate and biscuits just there for the taking?’
‘It’s Christmas. You have to have a tub of chocolates and a biscuit selection box.’
‘It’s December the 2nd.’
‘Exactly. Only three weeks to work my way through as many as possible. And they’re all on offer at this time of year – it’d be rude not to.’
His smile is so wide as he goes across and tears the lid off the tub of Roses and picks out a hazel-in-caramel. He makes a noise of pleasure as he rips the wrapper off and puts it in his mouth and I watch his shoulders droop in contentment as he sucks it. Then I realise that standing in the doorway and watching him enjoy a chocolate is probably weird, so I nod towards the sofa. ‘Sit. Help yourself. Put your feet up on the table if it’s comfier. That’s what it’s there for. Food won’t be long now.’
He’s barely swallowed before he takes a strawberry cream and tears into it, and I kind of like that he’s gone for my favourites. We might not have a love of Christmas in common, but at least we can appreciate the same chocolate.
‘Is there room for me with all the festive cushions?’ he says with his mouth full.
‘You can use them to get your ribs comfortable. Pack them around yourself or chuck them off if they don’t help.’
He pulls a red-and-white knitted Fair Isle cushion aside and sinks down with a sigh of relief, sounding as tired as he looks. He plonks first one leg and then the other up onto the coffee table with a heavy clunk and settles back, letting his head rest against the back and closing his eyes. He goes to speak but all that comes out is a giant yawn.
Thankfully the kettle chooses that moment to click off and I back away to the kitchen rather
