‘Where are you going to find a board game?’
‘I’ll tell you what, at this rate, the place that’s going to profit most from Nutcracker Lane is that toy shop Hubert mentioned. I’m going to … well, I was going to say run over there, but I tried to run the other day and it didn’t end well. I’m going to walk in the fastest and least impactful way possible. Don’t lose that kid. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
He’s taken off before I even have a chance to tell him to be careful, and I don’t want to shout after him because of drawing attention to myself when I’m supposed to be following the teenager like some sort of super spy.
Like luck is on our side, the lad goes into the coffee shop and sits down with his drink, so engrossed in his phone that he doesn’t notice me lurking outside. When he comes out, he goes into the bakery and then the candle shop to pick a gift, and Mrs Thwaite notices me loitering, realises what’s going on, and makes him smell every candle in the shop to see which one his mum might like, and by the time she lets him leave, James is hurrying up the lane with a paper bag in his hand, his face red and his forehead glistening under the band of the elf hat, looking like he’s seriously overdone things.
‘Here. Your turn.’ He hands me the bag and sits down on a bench, short of breath. I don’t have a chance to protest that it was his idea in the first place because the lad is almost out of sight and I’m certainly not about to drag James up and let him overexert himself anymore.
‘Excuse me?’ I rush after the boy and introduce myself when he turns around. I have no idea what to say. My mouth has gone dry. I’ve never granted a wish before. James seems to be a natural at it; he has an innate patter and charm, but I do not. I stutter and stumble my way through an explanation about how we’re giving away things to improve people’s Christmases and how board games are good for families spending time together, aware of James’s eyes on me from further up the lane.
All the while in the back of my mind, I’m thinking we could have misinterpreted the wish and his parents could be divorced and fighting all the time and how many things “something to bring my family together” could mean, and I half-expect the teenage lad to laugh at being given a board game and shove it back in my face like I’m a random Christmas-jumper-wearing weirdo.
‘Vintage. Cool!’ A smile spreads across his face as he peers into the bag. ‘You’re not trying to scam me, are you, Mrs Gingerbread?’ He nods to the image on my jumper.
I don’t want to openly tell him that we overheard his wish on the nutcracker, because the most magical thing about it is the possibility that it might be magic – that people are going to get these things and wonder if they really are somehow an answer to a wish. ‘Nope, just a promotion we’re running today to try and bring families together.’
If he notices I’ve reused his own words, he doesn’t show it. ‘S’all right, this place. Only came coz I found a nutcracker hanging out by some traffic lights, but you got good coffee and free stuff. Cheers!’
‘Merry Christmas,’ I call after him as he walks away, swinging the bag on one finger. I’m nowhere near cool enough to communicate with teenagers.
I’m well aware that James hasn’t taken his eyes off me as I walk back up the lane, muttering all the way about how Monopoly being described as “vintage” makes me feel old.
I fold my arms and give him a purposely stern look when I get back to the bench where he’s sitting. ‘I think you forget how much of a toll injuries take on your body.’ I hold out my hand to pull him up, but he shakes his head so I sit down beside him instead.
I’m on his left side this time, next to his broken arm, and his head instantly drops onto my shoulder. I automatically reach up to play with the fluffy white pompom on the tip of his elf hat where it’s dangling down and resting against his neck.
‘Did that feel good?’
His head on my shoulder? Oh, his head on my shoulder feels very good indeed. It takes me an embarrassing amount of time to realise he’s not talking about that. ‘It really did. I don’t know if he even recognised the significance between that and what he’d said to the nutcracker, but yeah. I wish we could do more. There are so many wishes we’re not going to be able to touch.’
‘We’re just a few people doing what we can,’ he says. ‘No one can expect more than that. The shopkeepers are already spending their own money on this. I never expected that.’
‘Who bought that board game?’ I say even though it’s a rhetorical question because we both know he isn’t going to claim it back on expenses.
‘We should move.’ He lifts his
