I go through the gap in the fence surrounding him and pick a walnut from one of the nut-vending machines. I reach around him to pull the lever up and open his mouth, put the nut in, and pull the lever gently back down.
I look up at his cheery, red-cheeked woodgrain face. A face I’ve looked into many times and always felt was smiling back at me. I was fifteen the last time I made a wish on him, and my last wish was that one day I’d get to work on Nutcracker Lane, and even though I am now working here, it’s taken twenty years to come true, and determination not to give up even when every application for a shop has been rejected, so I don’t think I can quite credit Christmas magic for that one.
‘Ah, what the heck …’ I pull the lever until the nutcracker’s jaws touch the walnut shell. ‘I wish to finally find Prince Charming. A prince like you, Mr Nutcracker. A strong, dependable, handsome man who will be loyal and charming and kind. Is that too much to ask?’
The breeze whispers through the lane again and the walnut splits. I take it out of the nutcracker’s smiling mouth, throw the shell into the nutshell garden, and pop the kernel into my mouth. ‘Goodnight.’
A cloud passes over the moon above and for just a moment, it looks like he winks at me.
I shake my head at myself as I walk away. Apparently break-ups cause hallucinations now too. It reminds me that I’m alone again, and I decide to take the long way round and pop into the 24-hour supermarket on the way home. Never mind magical nutcrackers and walnut wishes, there’s only one thing that’ll make me feel better in this situation – Ben & Jerry’s. Several tubs. And one of those gigantic tubs of chocolates they bring out for Christmas.
In 65,903 calories’ time, yet another cheating man will be nothing but a distant memory. It won’t matter that I’m alone again because it’s Christmas and Nutcracker Lane opens in the morning, and it’s my first year here. It’s going to be the best Christmas ever.
Chapter 2
The chill in the air is icy as I step out the door of my cottage and lock up behind me, still finding it weird not to say goodbye to my grandma as I leave, even though she’s been gone for over four years now. The concrete of the driveway is sparkling with frost, and as I open the front gate and go through it onto the pavement, I see Stacey standing on the corner where my little side street meets the main street, bouncing on her feet to keep warm as she waits for me. She lives two streets down the hill, so we always meet at this intersection and walk up to Nutcracker Lane together.
‘Another one bites the dust, huh?’ She rubs gloved hands together as I approach.
At first I think she means Ben or Jerry, several tubs of which bit the dust last night and it takes me a moment to realise she’s talking about the cheating ex and not ice cream or Cadbury’s chocolate.
‘Another one bites the purple lingerie, to be precise.’ I shove my hands into my pockets as we start walking up the hill towards Nutcracker Lane. ‘Probably tearing it off with his teeth as we speak.’
‘Nah, far too early for that kind of naughtiness. She’s probably too busy trying to get pillow creases out of her face while he’s brushing his furry tongue to get rid of the morning breath. Remember him that way. It’ll make it easier.’
I laugh out loud at the mental image. I love my best friend. She knows it wasn’t a serious relationship, and even though she’s happily married with a daughter, she gets that it still hurts when someone cheats on you, no matter what. Thinking about it makes the loneliness sidle in again, having been blocked out by rushing to get ready this morning. It’s opening day and I thought we’d better get there early. ‘Am I ever going to find a decent man? Is there even one out there? What is it with all these guys who go for sexy purple lingerie instead of comfort and commitment – both in lingerie and in a relationship? Aren’t there any decent men on the planet?’
‘Yeah, there are loads, there’s just the slight problem of them all being married or otherwise taken. It’s a shame single men don’t grow on Christmas trees.’ She snuggles further into her scarf.
‘My relationship problems are solved anyway,’ I say as we reach the top of the hill and turn left, walking through another residential street. ‘I asked the nutcracker for a handsome prince last night, so one is bound to be along any minute. Can you hear the clip-clopping of horses’ hooves?’ I put my hand to my ear. ‘Probably him on the way in his fairy-tale carriage right now.’
‘Yep. There’s bound to be a single, gorgeous, gentlemanly prince waiting in the entranceway as soon as we get in, magically summoned by an old wooden toy to find his princess,’ she says with a laugh. ‘And any prince is bound to be entranced by your collection of Christmas jumpers. Which one did you go with today?’
I open my coat to reveal my Christmas jumper, which is black with lots of green trees all over it, each one with tiny lights that flash from a battery pack hidden inside the hem.
‘Flashing trees for opening day. Good choice.’
‘Nothing like a Christmas jumper to get you in the mood. And an added bonus of sending customers to Mrs Brissett in the Nutcracker Lane jumper shop when they ask where I got it.’
We come out the other end of the residential street, go up another slope, and shortcut across the frosty shrub
