‘Can I take some photos?’ I say in a burst of inspiration.
James makes a “go ahead” gesture. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know … It’s probably too late for this year, but this place is special, and I don’t think it’s been showcased online since the days of social media and viral news stories. Look at all these nutcrackers about to lose their home … As a story, it could have legs to it.’
‘Lose their home?’
‘Scrooge is shutting down this part of the lane. Selling it for factory space. This is the closest point to the factory – it’s going to be the first to go. It can’t be considered important because it hasn’t opened its doors once this year, so it’s certainly not going to have earned enough to stay.’ I reach out and run my fingers over the furry hat of a sentry nutcracker. ‘These chaps are going to be out on the street.’
‘Nia, Scrooge isn’t going to …’ He trails off as I get my phone out.
‘He’ll probably sell them all for firewood.’
‘You don’t really think he’s still going ahead with the competition, do you?’
‘He hasn’t told us otherwise. And Scrooge is the type of horrible person who refuses to go back on his word and admit he was wrong about anything out of sheer pig-headed superiority. Everything we’ve done could be for nothing because of that horrible man and his gigantic ego.’
He shakes his head as if trying to clear it. ‘So what do you suggest? Run an adopt-a-nutcracker campaign? A series of posters emblazoned with “a nutcracker is for life, not just for Christmas”?’
‘James, that’s brilliant!’
‘It is?’ He sounds confused.
‘I’m not even sure how yet, but it is. We could sell some of these off – really cheap, and use the profits for wish-granting. Christmas Day is on Friday – that gives us three days to find homes for some of these nutcrackers. And we could carry on after Christmas … If Scrooge would let us. We could be rehoming nutcrackers for months rather than letting him destroy them. If he won’t even let anyone open the shop this year, he can’t think it’s important.’
‘Maybe he didn’t think nutcrackers mattered anymore?’
I snap a picture of a shelf, pick up a nutcracker and hand it to him. ‘Smile.’ He does it automatically but he looks like he’s miles away as I take a photo of him and the nutcracker. ‘This is special. Where else in the UK can you see this many nutcrackers all together? People would love to see this. People would come to see this. And not just at Christmas. The factory operates year-round. The only one in the UK, James. There’s historic significance here. We could use the lane as some sort of nutcracker museum throughout the year. You said yourself that one of the problems is that there’s no interest outside of December. What if we could find some? We could showcase their history. We could run school trips. Oh!’
My voice goes so high with overexcitement that it makes him jump. ‘We could run workshops and let people in to make their own! We could do story times for kids and read the original book The Nutcracker and the Mouse King and have painting sessions so they could paint their own. We could have nutcracker-themed afternoon teas. And the shops could stay. I mean, either we could do a Christmas-all-year-round theme, or they could be part of the museum complex. All museums have giftshops, and things like the chocolate shop or the sweetshop or the coffee shop don’t have to be seasonal, and nutcrackers originate from Germany so maybe we could pull in some traditional German shops and make it like a year-round Christmas market. We could change things while still staying the same. Take the snowglobe seller – he could make summer globes, so he’s still doing his craft but it’s not out of season.’
James picks up a tiny nutcracker from a shelf and flips it over in his hand. ‘What are summer globes?’
‘I don’t know, I think we just invented them.’ I spin around and take another couple of pictures. ‘Something like tropical scenes in the globes with sand, and shells, and glitter. Trees with tiny autumn-leaf confetti falling when you shake it up. For spring, he could have tulips and daffodils with falling cherry blossoms all around them. I don’t know, I’m not a snowglobe maker – I just mean that we could change the seasonal aspect without changing the heart of Nutcracker Lane … There’s just one man standing in the way.’
‘Maybe there’s not. If you put your mind to something, I firmly believe you’re capable of winning anyone over. And maybe you already have and he was rushing in the last letter and he forgot to say it.’
‘Keeping us on our toes, more like. Keeping us guessing. Trying to keep the shopkeepers at each other’s throats while he sits counting all the money our efforts are pulling in.’ I sigh and take a photo of a row of six-foot nutcrackers lined up together except they’re test pieces so they’re all a couple of inches shorter or taller than their intended height. ‘What do you think?’
‘Why does it matter what I think?’
I stop in the middle of picking up a thirty-eight-centimetre ice-blue glittered nutcracker with a whisk in his hand and a cupcake for a hat and I stare at it for a few moments while I try to think of an answer. The air feels charged between us, like this is a key moment to say something important. ‘Because I can’t imagine doing this without you. Everything feels possible when you’re here.’
He looks down. ‘Nia, I …’
‘I’m sorry,
