‘You’re early.’ I want to go over and kiss him good morning or something, but with Hubert looking fit to burst and Mrs Brissett heading down the lane towards us with her letter in hand, I think better of it, especially when there’s no mistletoe nearby to use as an excuse.
‘Couldn’t sleep.’ His mouth tips up at one side. ‘For some reason.’
My cheeks redden as I catch Hubert looking between the two of us with interest. I’ve not been getting much sleep lately either. I’ve barely stopped thinking about him for nearly three weeks.
‘Budget’s being increased.’ I hold the letter up.
‘So I hear.’ He leans on his good shoulder against the doorframe. ‘Why do you look annoyed? I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘I am, but it’s such a patronising letter that’s as vague as always. We don’t even know how much by. We could buy something expensive, go to claim it back on expenses and be refused. There’s no system for getting approval first so wishes have to be granted on the spot.’
‘Maybe there’ll be enough for anything you want.’
‘Scrooge would never be that generous. He’s probably allocated us an extra fiver each, which we’ll only find out when we’ve spent a couple of hundred.’
‘I’m with Nia.’ Mrs Brissett taps her own letter. ‘Either support us or don’t. I’ve had enough of his ambiguous letters. And then to add that onto the end. He may as well be saying “keep up the good work” like he’s in any way part of this. We’re doing this to fight him. I don’t want his patronising encouragement. Or his ever-changing budget, for that matter. If the papers phone him for a quote about all this, you can guarantee he’ll take credit for it.’
‘They’d be better men than me if they can get through,’ Hubert says. ‘I’ve been trying to phone him every day and it just rings and rings.’
‘There were customers trying to get in when I arrived this morning,’ James says. ‘Shouldn’t we concentrate on the positive things here? You’ve got what you wanted and we can carry on granting wishes. I’ve got another thousand nutcrackers in the back of my car and Nia’s got more flags and bunting, right?’ He looks at me questioningly and I nod. ‘We’ll bring boxes round today. We’ve got a week left until Christmas so let’s make it the best week ever, rather than worrying about some guy behind his computer in an office.’
‘Hear, hear!’ Hubert says, always the first to support anybody.
As usual, James has got an eloquent and endearing way of saying things that’s guaranteed to get people on board and make it feel like anything’s possible. And he’s got a point too. All we can do is try to make this week before Christmas the best week Nutcracker Lane has ever had and if that’s the end of it, then at least it will have gone out on a high note.
Stacey goes inside to prepare for opening time, Mrs Brissett wafts away and Hubert wishes us a good day and goes inside his own shop, leaving me and James alone in the empty lane. He gives me a slow and deliberate wink ‘See you at lunchtime? Maybe we’ll manage to walk under a lamppost or two this time.’ His smile widens as he nods towards the nearest bunch of dangling mistletoe, which is too far away for now.
It’s enough to make me feel all flushed and overheated, but I can feel my lips twitching up in response to his smile and I force myself to turn away and go into Starlight Rainbows.
A very high note might be an understatement.
***
Stacey’s on the till while I’m on my lunchbreak, but instead of wolfing down a sandwich and painting something out the back, I go to find James. His shop is shut but he isn’t inside, although I keep seeing him walking up and down the lane with boxes of nutcrackers under his good arm, delivering them to shopkeepers who want more to hide around their local areas.
I head outside and meet him at his car where he’s got the back seats down and he’s leaning into the boot and attaching my laminated flags to the nutcrackers’ hands. ‘Do you know you’re losing trade? Customers keep trying your door, even though your window is almost empty with the amount of stuff you’ve put out.’
‘Don’t care. I’d rather see people enjoying it than get a few quid for it.’ He grins at me and lifts the box of nutcrackers. ‘I’m taking these down to the snowglobe seller. Walk with me?’
For the first time this year, we’re dodging customers. It’s busier than I’ve seen it for a long while, and the school holidays haven’t even started yet. People are clutching nutcrackers, and going into shops and coming out weighed down with bags, and instead of walking up and down the lane today, the carol singers are gathered in the recess outside the coffee shop and giving a concert. It’s been years since it was too crowded for them to walk up and down.
‘There are definitely more,’ James says in my ear and we stop for a moment and listen to their rendition of “O Holy Night”.
‘What?’
‘Carol singers. Counting them seems to have become my new hobby. On that first day when you were in my shop and they walked past, there were only five. Now there’s sixteen.’
I simultaneously half-laugh and realise he’s right. The small group of carol singers has increased, and they sound so much better for it. Their harmonies filter from one end of the lane to the other, and someone’s turned off the overhead music that feeds out through the speaker system so people can hear them properly.
‘They stopped coming because no one listened,’ I whisper to him. ‘Angela has always said how disheartening it is to keep carrying on when there’s no one to appreciate it, and now look.’ I nod
