My phone is still upstairs on the bedside table and I go back up to get it. My fingers have automatically scrolled to the photo of James with the nutcracker in the outlet shop and dialled his number before I’ve considered what I’m doing.
He doesn’t answer. Which is fair enough considering it’s not even daylight yet on Christmas Eve. And probably for the best considering we didn’t exactly part on good terms. Or on any terms at all, really.
I dial the solicitor’s number from the contact details at the top of the letter, but unsurprisingly on the day before Christmas, they don’t answer either, so I dial my most-dialled number instead.
‘Nia?’ Stacey sounds bleary. ‘It’s not even 8 a.m. on Christmas Eve. Even Lily’s not up yet and nothing keeps her in bed when there’s advent calendar chocolate to be had. This had better be good.’
‘I think I own Nutcracker Lane,’ I blurt out.
‘Very funny. You haven’t started on the mulled wine already, have you? We still have to work today.’
‘Not all of it. Part of it.’
‘The mulled wine?’ She sounds confused and I hear her mouthing my name to Simon, who I’ve undoubtedly also woken up on one of his very few days off.
‘No. Nutcracker Lane. A courier just came with a letter from a solicitor saying I’ve been made co-proprietor and I need to make an appointment with his office when they reopen in the new year to sign the paperwork.’
‘Sounds like a scam. Like those phone calls you get saying your internet’s about to be cut off or you’ve been charged a membership to something you’ve never heard of and they’ll reverse it if you phone back and give them all your bank details.’
I run my fingers over the indented logo. ‘It’s very elaborate for a scam. And a scam would’ve come in the normal post. This was same-day courier …’
She grumbles something unintelligible.
‘I’m going to walk up there …’
‘The courier?’
I think I scared the courier more than enough for one morning without adding stalking to the mix. ‘No, to the lane. Just to see if there’s anyone around who can explain this.’
She sighs and I hear the throw of a duvet cover and the groan as she gets out of bed. ‘I’m coming with you.’
I know everyone thinks their best friend is wonderful but mine is more wonderful than most.
I pull on sweatpants and a Christmas jumper, brush my teeth and hair, and yank on a coat as I go out the door, papers in hand to show Stacey.
When I get to the corner where we usually meet, she’s trudging up the hill towards me, a coat on over her nightwear, as baggy blue pyjama bottoms with arctic foxes all over them flap in the breeze.
‘The solicitor exists,’ I say before she’s reached me. ‘I googled him. It genuinely looks legit.’ I can’t hide the flutter in my voice as I think about the possibility of this being real.
She gives me a pre-coffee grunt and takes the envelope out of my hands, scanning over the pages while we walk up the rest of the hill towards Nutcracker Lane as the sky turns from charcoal to light grey in the space of a few minutes. It’s too early for most people’s Christmas lights to be on, so the houses are dull and the pavement is damp with early morning mist.
‘His car’s in.’ After weeks in the habit of looking for his car, it’s the first thing I notice when we reach the top.
Stacey doesn’t even need to look up to know who I’m talking about.
My heart feels like it’s in my throat and simultaneously like it’s pounding out of my chest. And I still feel the familiar flutter of butterflies in my stomach at the prospect of seeing him.
Stacey slots her arm through mine in solidarity and hands the envelope back to me.
‘It looks legit, right?’ My voice is hoarse and shakes on the last word, because I don’t understand it but I can’t ignore the shot of excitement about what I don’t understand.
Apart from James’s car, the car park is completely deserted, and Stace and I go in by the tree lot, which is now bare except for a few spindly stragglers and decorated trees in pots, which probably haven’t got much hope of finding a home on Christmas Eve. We’re nearer our shop from this end, but the lane is dark and silent as we walk up towards Starlight Rainbows.
As we approach the wood cabins, I wonder what I expected to find, because this part of the lane is no less dark and silent than the rest of it.
‘There’s no one here,’ Stacey whispers, tugging my arm a bit closer.
Except there is. I come to such a sharp halt as we approach the two shops opposite each other that I nearly trip over my own feet and Stacey bangs into my side.
‘What the …’ She follows my gaze to the window of Twinkles and Trinkets.
The shop is now completely empty except for one thing – standing alone in the darkened window of James’s shop is the six-foot-tall nutcracker I knocked over on day one. The handsome one with flushed red cheeks matching the blush on his wedge-shaped nose, wearing his green-trimmed red outfit, with his black boots and gold crown. His broken arm is mended and instead of the jagged line joining the wood together, the break is wrapped with a string of tinsel, and the flashing candle bulb necklace James bought from our shop is around its neck.
‘Is that the …’ Stacey asks.
I nod.
‘He mended it then …’
I look around the lane. It’s so eerily silent
