Unless he is going to turn back into a wooden soldier on Christmas Day.
I’m pretty sure it’s not the latter, but I can’t find the words to say anything, so I concentrate on the nutcrackers instead. I don’t realise I’m trying to find one for him too until I come across the perfect one. It’s wearing all black apart from gold boots and an amber gem belt, but the Japanese art of kintsugi has been tried out on it, so it’s covered in cracks but each one is patched up with fine lines of gold. It’s got big brown eyes and black furry hair that’s a bit longer than usual, and it’s wearing a crown and holding an intricately carved wooden bell to ring in the season that dings when you push it. It’s got a kind of regal look that’s different to other nutcrackers. It’s so him that it could have been made for him.
I’m so eager to give it to him that I’m glad when he yells ‘got it’ and thrusts a nutcracker in the air victoriously, and immediately regrets it when the movement pulls on still-healing ribs.
We meet at the checkout counter and he hands me the nutcracker he’s chosen, one with green legs going down into furry white boots that I’ve never seen before, a red Christmas jumper with actual pom poms glued onto his wooden body, a tiny Christmas tree held in his hand and a Santa hat on the hair around his head that’s almost the same shade of brown as mine.
‘Oh, James.’ I bite my lip to stop my eyes watering. ‘He’s amazing. Exactly the one I would’ve chosen myself. I even have a pair of boots like that. I never wear them because furry boots don’t work so well with our English drizzle, but I get them out and admire them occasionally. And now I have a nutcracker wearing them …’ I’m rambling to stop myself enveloping him in a bear hug. Out of the thousands of nutcrackers here, he’s picked the exact one I would’ve grabbed if I’d seen it myself. ‘Thank you.’ I can barely get the words out as I take it from him. ‘You know I’m getting one for you too, don’t you?’
The smile that crosses his face is slow at first, gradually getting wider as I pull it out from behind my back and hold it out, waiting for his good hand to close around it.
He raises an eyebrow. ‘It’s broken.’
‘No, it’s not. The Japanese mend cracks with gold resin to illuminate each repair an object has undergone. They believe flaws should be celebrated and each break is a unique part of every item’s history that only adds to its beauty.’
He swallows hard. ‘Believe me, I celebrate these breaks every single day because I wouldn’t have met you without them.’
‘Aww.’ I push my bottom lip out because I’m not sure if he’s being sarcastic or not, even though the look in his eyes is soft and distant and he looks genuinely touched.
‘I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. I can honestly say no one’s ever bought me a nutcracker before.’ He takes the nutcracker out of my hand and runs the fingers of his broken arm across it. He seems to be considering saying something else but he eventually thinks better of it. ‘We should pay. Can I …’
I know he’s such a gent that he’s going to offer to pay for his own nutcracker but I’ve already pulled my purse out, thankful I had the forethought to shove it into my pocket while he was waiting downstairs earlier. He goes behind the counter, opens the till to put the money in, grabs a notebook from underneath and writes a note saying “Two nutcrackers gone, money in till. Thanks ~ J” and I wonder two things simultaneously – is he really on such familiar terms with the factory owners, and how can even the way someone writes be sexy?
He must notice me watching him write because he says, ‘What’s the difference between the Christmas alphabet and the regular alphabet?’
It’s got be another one of his bad jokes but I can’t think of an answer to catch him out. ‘I don’t know.’
‘The Christmas alphabet has no-el.’
I can’t stop myself laughing, even though it’s not because the joke is funny but because of how ridiculously proud he looks as he chucks an extra five pence into the till and takes a bag, carefully settling both our nutcrackers into it and handing it to me to carry.
After he turns the lights off and locks up behind us, he stops me at the edge of the alleyway before we turn into the main lane. ‘One second.’
He pulls his phone out and opens an app on it, doing something until … suddenly the whole world lights up. Every pillar, every lamppost, every hanging garland, every extra tree that’s been erected in the lane in the past couple of weeks, they all spring into fairy-light life. The nutcracker village starts up its mechanical movement behind us, and the first few bars of “Grown-Up Christmas List” by Kelly Clarkson filter through the overhead speaker.
‘The decorations!’ I look around in surprise. ‘This is, like, all of them. Ever. Right?’
‘I might’ve emptied the storeroom. And the shop. I wanted to make it like it was, Nia. I know there’s only three days until Christmas and it’s too little, too late, and I wish I’d met you earlier and we’d done all of this at the beginning of the season …’
I reach out and take his hand. ‘I’m more concerned that you did this yourself with one arm.’
‘I appreciate you thinking I’m Superman, but I couldn’t have done this by myself even without the broken bones. I had help from some of the others. I wanted to make it special for you, just one last time, before …’
There’s that “before” thing again. Like there’s some kind of
