The Little Christmas Shop on Nutcracker Lane. Jaimie Admans

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       Chapter 2

      The chill in the air is icy as I step out the door of my cottage and lock up behind me, still finding it weird not to say goodbye to my grandma as I leave, even though she’s been gone for over four years now. The concrete of the driveway is sparkling with frost, and as I open the front gate and go through it onto the pavement, I see Stacey standing on the corner where my little side street meets the main street, bouncing on her feet to keep warm as she waits for me. She lives two streets down the hill, so we always meet at this intersection and walk up to Nutcracker Lane together.

      ‘Another one bites the dust, huh?’ She rubs gloved hands together as I approach.

      At first I think she means Ben or Jerry, several tubs of which bit the dust last night and it takes me a moment to realise she’s talking about the cheating ex and not ice cream or Cadbury’s chocolate.

      ‘Another one bites the purple lingerie, to be precise.’ I shove my hands into my pockets as we start walking up the hill towards Nutcracker Lane. ‘Probably tearing it off with his teeth as we speak.’

      ‘Nah, far too early for that kind of naughtiness. She’s probably too busy trying to get pillow creases out of her face while he’s brushing his furry tongue to get rid of the morning breath. Remember him that way. It’ll make it easier.’

      I laugh out loud at the mental image. I love my best friend. She knows it wasn’t a serious relationship, and even though she’s happily married with a daughter, she gets that it still hurts when someone cheats on you, no matter what. Thinking about it makes the loneliness sidle in again, having been blocked out by rushing to get ready this morning. It’s opening day and I thought we’d better get there early. ‘Am I ever going to find a decent man? Is there even one out there? What is it with all these guys who go for sexy purple lingerie instead of comfort and commitment – both in lingerie and in a relationship? Aren’t there any decent men on the planet?’

      ‘Yeah, there are loads, there’s just the slight problem of them all being married or otherwise taken. It’s a shame single men don’t grow on Christmas trees.’ She snuggles further into her scarf.

      ‘My relationship problems are solved anyway,’ I say as we reach the top of the hill and turn left, walking through another residential street. ‘I asked the nutcracker for a handsome prince last night, so one is bound to be along any minute. Can you hear the clip-clopping of horses’ hooves?’ I put my hand to my ear. ‘Probably him on the way in his fairy-tale carriage right now.’

      ‘Yep. There’s bound to be a single, gorgeous, gentlemanly prince waiting in the entranceway as soon as we get in, magically summoned by an old wooden toy to find his princess,’ she says with a laugh. ‘And any prince is bound to be entranced by your collection of Christmas jumpers. Which one did you go with today?’

      I open my coat to reveal my Christmas jumper, which is black with lots of green trees all over it, each one with tiny lights that flash from a battery pack hidden inside the hem.

      ‘Flashing trees for opening day. Good choice.’

      ‘Nothing like a Christmas jumper to get you in the mood. And an added bonus of sending customers to Mrs Brissett in the Nutcracker Lane jumper shop when they ask where I got it.’

      We come out the other end of the residential street, go up another slope, and shortcut across the frosty shrub border surrounding the Nutcracker Lane car park. Even though the nutcracker manufacturing plant that runs behind the lane hasn’t started work yet, the hint of fresh-cut wood is in the air, mixing with the balsam and pine smell as the tree seller unloads netted Christmas trees from the back of a pick-up truck that’s reversed up to the end of our little Christmas village where her tree lot stands.

      We walk around the perimeter of the building on the pavements surrounding it until we get to the wide glass doors, a huge clear-sided foyer full of signs advertising Nutcracker Lane’s attractions – signs that have lessened every year as more and more things disappear.

      ‘No prince, then.’ Stacey pushes open the second set of doors into the main entrance court. ‘Just a giant nutcracker who, admittedly, is better company than some of the men you’ve dated.’

      ‘Aww, I think the nutcracker’s a prince in his own right.’ I wave to him as we walk past his little elf-garden enclosure. ‘Good morning, Mr Nutcracker.’

      ‘You’re only polite to it so when they rise up as an army on Christmas Eve and take over the world, they’ll remember you fondly and spare you.’

      I poke my tongue out at her. She doesn’t get why nutcrackers have always been my favourite Christmas decoration or why I like that one quite so much.

      ‘You know it was the staff here who granted your childhood Christmas wishes and he’s not really magical … Unless Prince Charming randomly turns up this morning. Then I’ll take it all back.’

      ‘I think we can safely say that’s not going to happen …’

      Santa chooses that moment to stroll out of the gents’ toilets pulling his trousers out of his bum.

      Stacey and I hold each other’s gaze for a long moment and then burst into giggles. ‘Nah.’

      ‘God, it’s bleak, isn’t it?’ She says as we continue down the lane, the first signs of the log cabins coming to life around us. Lights on in the back rooms, a few of the Christmas trees with their lights twinkling already. ‘They don’t even decorate anymore.’ She wraps her hand around a bare iron lamppost as we pass it. In years gone by, the posts were wrapped with sparkling green tinsel wound with white fairy lights, finished with an oversized red bow and a bunch of fresh mistletoe hanging from the top of each one. The ceilings were decked with fairy-light-wrapped garlands and you couldn’t turn around without coming face-to-face with a poinsettia.

      ‘I always imagined bringing my children here one day, and it’s so sad that Lily has never got to see it as I remember it. She doesn’t believe me when I tell her what it used to be like. It’s such a shame to see it on its last legs.’

      ‘Do you really think it is?’ I try to stamp down the sadness that rears up. I haven’t got as far as thinking about having children, but if I ever do, I can’t imagine not being able to bring them to Nutcracker Lane where I spent so many happy childhood days back in the Eighties and Nineties.

      ‘Look around, Nee. It’s faded gradually every year, СКАЧАТЬ