James seems to have given up entirely on his shop because it’s shut and he’s outside walking around, and I can’t work out what he’s doing because he just seems to be talking to people. The fingers of his broken arm can grip a notebook now and he’s scribbling down comments, almost like some kind of customer satisfaction survey.
When I’ve watched him walk past for the sixth time, Lily puts her hands on my back and shoves me out the door. ‘Me and Mum can manage here. Go and grant some wishes with your prince. He might turn back into a doll on Christmas Eve.’
‘You weren’t supposed to tell anyone that.’ I raise an eyebrow at Stacey, making her giggle.
‘It’s not like it’s actually going to happen, Nee.’
No, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is. Even with all the kissing last night, and although we didn’t actually define that we are seeing each other, it’s pretty obvious we’ve been in some kind of relationship since the night in the storeroom, but he’s still acting like everything is going to change after Christmas.
‘What are you up to?’ I ask as I catch up with him between the florist and the hat shop, dodging people walking around with poinsettias under their arms and novelty hats on their heads.
We’re near enough to a lamppost that he can get away with the mistletoe excuse and he leans down to press a brief kiss to my cheek, which although lovely, is sorely lacking after all the kissing when we got home last night.
‘Just seeing …’ He swallows, looking surprised that I’ve caught him. ‘Asking what customers want. Finding out what they like and dislike and trying to pin down what we need to improve for next year.’
I like how strong his confidence is in that there will be a next year. ‘Something we can put in the business plan to try and get Scrooge onside?’
‘Er, yeah. Sure.’ His dark hair has gone wavy on the ends where it didn’t dry properly this morning and I resist the urge to tuck it back.
‘What have you got so far?’
‘Well, wishes are popular but what you said is right in that we need a better system and to employ dedicated wish-granters again …’ He stops as the sound of sirens reaches us from a distance and then carries on. ‘Hubert has fallen off a ladder three times this morning from where he’s pretending to fix a lamppost and Mrs Brissett has mopped the same imaginary spot on the floor so often that she’s started to wear away the paving slab itself, and …’
The sirens are louder now, and I feel the same sense of dread and discomfort everyone feels when they hear an ambulance.
‘God, James, they sound really close.’ I stand on tiptoes to see over the heads of shoppers between us and the door, fully expecting to see an ambulance speeding into the car park, but there’s nothing.
A few shoppers have stopped and are looking for the source of the sirens too.
James points to the opposite side of the building where the factory car park is. ‘It’s coming from over—’
‘Oh, thank God! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!’ A middle-aged man wearing neon-yellow safety clothing rushes up to us, looking wide-eyed, sweaty, and out of breath. ‘Sir, there’s been an accident in the factory – you have to come now.’
James has frozen, looking between me and the man with his mouth half open.
‘Please, Mr Ozborne.’ The man is almost yelling in his panic. ‘You’re the acting manager – there’s no one else to turn to. The paramedics are on site but they need someone for the official report. We need you now!’
Ozborne. The name sounds so familiar, even though this is the first time his surname has come up.
James still doesn’t speak, so I do instead. ‘He’s not the acting manager of the factory.’ I turn from the factory worker to him. ‘Are you? How could you possibly be a manager of the factory? That doesn’t make any sense.’
The factory worker is bouncing on the balls of his feet, clearly panicked to get back, but he’s made a mistake here and the sooner he realises that, the sooner he can find whoever he’s really looking for.
James swallows hard. ‘I’m not the acting manager of the factory.’
There. I knew that. Something bad has obviously happened and this poor man has got confused in the chaos. I turn to him. ‘Is everything okay? Can we help?’
‘Nia, I’m the acting manager of the whole place.’ James doesn’t look up as he speaks, saying it to the rounded corner of one of the paving slabs, which he pokes at with the toe of his boot.
I laugh out loud even though this is very odd timing for jokes. ‘You’re not the acting manager of this place. Our acting manager is Scrooge.’
James doesn’t respond. Hubert, Carmen, and Mrs Brissett are all gathered round, along with quite a few shoppers, unable to ignore the spectacle of the distressed man in yellow while sirens howl outside.
I let out a sound that’s half-giggle half-gurgle. ‘That would make you Scrooge. You’re not seriously telling me that you’re him, are you?’
Every nanosecond that passes without him speaking makes my heart plummet further into my stomach. It’s not possible. It’s more likely that he’s genuinely a wooden nutcracker come to life than there being any possibility that he could be that awful, miserly accountant. Scrooge is the furthest thing from kind and generous James.
‘I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you. I’ve tried to tell you …’ he starts.
‘Oh, come on!’ I let out another snortle. ‘You are not Scrooge. You can’t be.’
‘Mr Ozborne, I don’t know what’s going on here but this is an emergency and we need you right now. Please, sir.’ The distraught man starts to run off in the direction of the factory, clearly expecting James
