He holds the nutcracker out and the boy takes it cautiously, clasping both hands around its painted body.
‘Do you know the story of The Nutcracker?’ he continues. ‘He’s really a prince who was cursed to take the form of a wooden soldier after being defeated by an evil mouse king, and it’s said that if he finds the right person to take care of him, he can become a real boy again. A real friend.’
The boy strokes the nutcracker’s furry white hair as James talks. ‘I had one of these when I was your age, and I used to drive my parents barmy because I’d never let them put it away after Christmas. I used to talk to it and tell it all my problems. Nutcrackers are renowned for being very good listeners. What do you think? Will you take him home with you?’
The boy nods enthusiastically and unexpectedly throws his arms around James’s neck. I see him wince but he does an amazing job of not showing it as he returns the hug, carefully patting the boy’s back with his right arm while holding his broken one out of harm’s way.
The father must catch James’s wince because he carefully extracts his son and both parents thank him. He even goes to get his wallet out but James stops him. ‘Merry Christmas from Nutcracker Lane.’
The family all wish him a happy Christmas and I wait for them to go out of sight before I sidle out from behind my pillar. James is still sitting on the floor and I go over and hold out my hand to pull him up, and I can’t ignore the little buzz as his fingers close around mine and I haul him to his feet, even though I’m sure he was perfectly capable of getting up by himself.
I go to speak and only realise how close to tears I am when it comes out as a choked-off sob. That was so touching, and I can’t find the right words to convey it.
He doesn’t let go of my hand as we start making our way back up the lane. ‘If there’s one thing that surprises me about this place, it’s the number of unexpected hugs you get.’
I gurgle a half-sob and tighten my fingers around his. ‘Thought you didn’t believe in lying to children, Grinch.’
He goes to speak but nothing comes out. ‘Well, it’s … it’s not … it’ll help him …’ He gets increasingly frustrated at not being able to find the right words. ‘He already believes a magical nutcracker is going to grant his wish, how much worse can it get?’ He snaps eventually, but there’s no heat behind the words. ‘What’s a parent’s favourite Christmas carol?’
‘You can admit your heart has grown a size rather than trying to distract me with terrible jokes, you know.’
‘“Silent Night”.’ He grins, deliberately ignoring me. ‘See? It wasn’t terrible.’
I can’t help laughing, but mainly because he thinks his distraction techniques will work.
Hubert has obviously made his way down into the storage room because there’s a big box of decorations outside his shop, and he’s now directing Carmen and Mrs Brissett to string tinsel around a lamppost each and drape it between them, one on a set of steps and one on a stool. They greet us cheerily as we pass.
‘Thanks for the idea, you two,’ Hubert calls out. ‘We didn’t know these decorations were still here. Scrooge is going to kill us. Isn’t it wonderful?’
He sounds abnormally excited about the prospect of impending murder.
‘I was followed this morning when I went to find the garlands in the storage room,’ James explains. ‘I mentioned what you said the other night about putting them up without Scrooge’s permission and before I knew it, he was calling in reinforcements and collecting boxes.’
I’m torn as I want to stay to help, but Carmen’s eyes have homed in on our joined hands and I can feel them like two pinpricks in the back of my hand. We have left a stepladder unattended that we should get back to, and they look like they’ve got it under control.
There aren’t enough people around to have bothered with the stepladder by the time we get back, and James goes back up it to pick up the garland he left hanging from the central ceiling beam and attach it to the top of the lamppost with ease, leaving it draped in perfect crescent shapes high above our heads. If we do this with the rest of them, they will come out like a wreath formed above the magical nutcracker.
For someone who only seems to have come here a few times as a kid, he certainly remembers exactly how this place used to be decorated.
The sound of the carollers coming up the lane reaches us as they harmonise through “Silver Bells”.
‘What’s with all the bells in Christmas music?’ he says, as if trying to prove he’s still a Grinch in case anyone saw his look of joy when that little boy accepted the nutcracker. ‘“Silver Bells”, sleigh bells, “Jingle Bells” …’
‘“Carol of the Bells”?’ I offer.
‘Is that the really fast one from Home Alone that absolutely no one knows the lyrics to?’
I sing him the first verse.
‘Of course you know it word for word.’ He shakes his head, but he can’t get the smile off his face.
‘You don’t have to prove your Grinchiness to me just because you granted a Christmas wish. I can teach you the words if you want. Come on, it’s much less complicated than it sounds …’ I sing the first four lines slowly and make him repeat them, looking like he’s torn between humouring me and actually enjoying it.
We stop when the carollers come into view and Angela, the lead singer, waves when she spots us.
‘Any requests?’ she asks as they come to the end of “Silver Bells”.
James rolls his eyes. ‘Oh, go on then. “Carol of the Bells”, please.’
They surround the fence
