‘Nia!’ Angela beckons me over as they finish the song and shuffle their lyric sheets for the next one. ‘Did you hear about the email?’
‘What email?’ I pull James with me as we go around the edge of the group of people gathered to listen.
‘From Scrooge, saying he’d increased the budget for Nutcracker Lane and offering us a set wage to come every day until Christmas. Generous, too. Enough to get some stragglers back on board.’ She nods towards the singers behind her, all dressed in their finest handmade Victorian outfits. ‘I take it this is all your doing, you two.’ She smiles at James as well.
‘We had nothing to do with this,’ I say because it’s the first time I’ve heard about it. ‘Scrooge is outdoing himself with the surprises today.’
‘Well, it was jolly nice of him, no matter how unexpected. Apparently we’re “an important part of the Nutcracker Lane team and the sense of nostalgia wouldn’t be the same without us”. The man’s a reformed character, I tell you!’
‘He must’ve been abducted by aliens and replaced by a pod person overnight,’ I mutter.
The rest of the carollers clearly want to get on with singing so we say goodbye and sidle out of the ever-increasing crowd, James being careful not to whack anyone with his box or broken arm.
‘I never thought I’d see it like this again.’ We stop and look back at the small crowd as the carollers start “O Tannenbaum”.
‘It’s all your doing.’
‘Mine? It’s you, James. Without you …’ I trail off as I think about what this season would’ve been like without him. ‘It’s everybody. The shopkeepers getting involved, you rallying everyone, not to mention providing thousands of nutcrackers …’
It’s reassuring to see things busy as we head down the lane to the snowglobe shop on the corner before the wide expanse of the tree lot leads out into the car park. Even so late in the season, the tree seller has still got a few people wandering through her selection. It’s incredible. Last year, she’d closed up by mid-December because no one was here to buy any trees.
The snowglobe seller is so busy with customers that he barely has time to call out a thank you as James hands over the box of nutcrackers.
I check in with Stacey on the way back, but there’s still ages left of my lunchbreak and she shoos me away again, and James takes my hand as we walk back up the lane. He doesn’t say anything, just slots his fingers between mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and I squeeze his hand back, because in a way, it is. I’ve never felt as comfortable with anyone as I do with him. It’s never felt as normal to hold hands with someone. Maybe it’s just because of his injuries – because holding hands has been “our thing” since that first night in the storeroom?
‘Is that …’
‘Oh my God, James, the chestnut seller is back!’ My hand tightens around his so fast that it makes him flinch. ‘It’s been years.’
I point excitedly at the man with his Victorian-style cart setting up near the coffee shop. He roasts chestnuts on the spot and sells them in little paper bags, the most nostalgic taste of Christmas gone by. ‘They were my granddad’s favourite thing about coming here. My grandma didn’t even like them but she used to buy a bag every time we came here after he died and we’d eat them on the way home.’
‘He looks like he’s ready for his first customers.’ James tugs me in that direction, only letting go of my hand when we reach the chestnut seller and he digs his wallet out, cutting me off when I try to protest that I can get them.
‘It’s been some years,’ I say to the man as he throws his nuts into the gas-powered oven hidden in the base of his cart.
‘Yeah, Mr Neaser got in touch and explained about the drive to revitalise this place. I was only too happy to come back, even without the handsome incentive he offered. So many good memories here, but the place was fading into obscurity. Nice to see it looking like it did in the good ol’ days again.’
‘Mr Neaser …’ I mutter. Like that’s his real name. I don’t trust anything that horrible accountant does. He’s got to be up to something. Increasing the budget, tempting back the carollers and now the chestnut seller, with only a week to go until Christmas.
‘You’re overthinking it,’ James says in my ear, having clearly developed mind-reading abilities. ‘Maybe he really did have a visit from three ghosts overnight. Maybe he can genuinely see that things are going well and he wants to help. Maybe he regrets what he’s done and wants to make amends.’
I jokingly point a finger at him. ‘I’ve told you before about sticking up for that awful man.’
He looks away, inhaling the gorgeous nutty smell as the chestnuts roast. Eventually the chestnut seller hands us a warm paper bag each and James digs in eagerly, pulling out a chestnut bursting from its crisp shell. ‘I’ve never eaten one of these before …’
‘They’re a key part of Christmas. Roasting on an open fire and all that.’ I sing the first line of “The Christmas Song”.
‘Another thing ticked off my festive bucket list.’ He shakes his head. ‘And I can’t believe I’m saying things like “festive bucket list”. Before I met you, my festive bucket list was to make it ’til January without strangling anyone with tinsel or drowning myself in a vat of pine-needle-infused vodka. I think you found me just in the nick of time before I became a completely unfestiviable Grinch.’
As usual, I can’t help giggling at his way
