The Little Christmas Shop on Nutcracker Lane. Jaimie Admans

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СКАЧАТЬ opens the door of the Christmas candle shop two doors down, her letter balled up in her fist. ‘How dare they!’

      ‘This is the same Scrooge who’s been cutting the budget every year, and now he’s eschewed the budget and started on the shops themselves,’ Hubert says.

      ‘What are we going to do?’ I step outside to join them. ‘We’ve only just got our shop. I quit my job to work here. I was relying on it being renewed next year.’

      That’s one of the reasons it’s so hard to get a spot on Nutcracker Lane. Once you’re in, all existing shop owners get first right of renewal, and this used to be such a lovely place that if you had a shop here, you wouldn’t give it up. Hardly any new leases come up each year and the competition to get them is fierce, and the owners have always been selective about which shops they choose to be part of Nutcracker Lane. They have to add something new and unique and not have any crossover with any of the items already available here.

      I glance at the shining new decoration shop. Clearly that rule has gone down the pan this year.

      My job was only stacking supermarket shelves, but it would’ve been impossible to do both that and Nutcracker Lane. For the past few years, I’ve been working dead-end part-time jobs, spending as many hours as I can in the evening making decorations, and Stacey and I have been driving to every craft fair that would have us at the weekends, and selling via our own websites, eBay, and Etsy shops. I’d hoped to make enough profit from this to have a bit of leeway in the coming months until next year here.

      ‘We all were. I’ve been here for nine years,’ Rhonda from the Christmas hat shop says.

      ‘Fifteen.’ Mrs Brissett from the jumper shop comes down the lane towards us, letter in hand. ‘This is ridiculous.’

      ‘Twenty-something.’ Carmen, the amazing chocolatier who runs Nutcracker Lane’s very own chocolate shop follows her.

      ‘This is my biggest earner.’ The tree seller joins the group too. ‘And now what? They’re going to chuck out those of us who don’t make the grade?’

      ‘They can’t do that, can they?’ Rhonda asks.

      ‘This Scrooge-like accountant seems to be able to do whatever he wants,’ Hubert says. ‘He’s been running this place into the ground for years with his continual budget cuts, and now this. He couldn’t sound much more gleeful in his letter, could he? He may as well have thrown us into The Hunger Games arena and told us to have at it.’

      ‘Aren’t we all competition now?’ Mrs Thwaite from the candle shop asks.

      ‘Aww, no, you lot are like a second family. I don’t want to be in competition with you,’ Mrs Brissett says.

      ‘But that’s exactly what it’s saying.’ I scan over the letter again as Stacey appears in the open doorway of our shop. ‘Whichever shops earn the most money will stay, the rest of the lane will be sold off to the nutcracker factory …’

      ‘… who will waste no time in bulldozing it,’ Stace adds. ‘There will be nothing left. And where are our parameters? How many shops are staying? How much do they need to earn?’

      ‘Scrooge can pick and choose whenever he fancies it,’ Hubert says. ‘If we don’t know what the rules are, how can we possibly win the game?’

      Another chill goes down my spine. It’s cold and heartless, just like the rest of Scrooge’s letter.

      ‘And this part of the lane is closest to the factory,’ Rhonda says. ‘So what’s he going to do, move whoever’s left into the entrance court and get rid of this bit entirely?’

      ‘That’s awful,’ I say. ‘How can you have Nutcracker Lane without the lane?’

      ‘And how can he say “earn the most money or get out” just like that? How can he pit friends against each other? And how is it possibly fair? Little shops like you …’ Rhonda points to me and Stacey. ‘You’re selling things that cost two, three, four quid. How can you compete with the chap who sells custom-made snowglobes at twenty quid each? Or whoever this is.’ She points to the dazzling new shop opposite. ‘There’s a £300 price tag on that dancing Santa.’

      We all look at the animatronic Santa who is still moving his hands out in front of him, to his shoulders, and then his hips and back again. ‘One of those gone and this new arrival will have beaten the lot of us. I’ll have to sell sixty hats to outdo one item.’

      ‘No one’s actually going to buy that though,’ Stacey says. ‘Who would want a Hawaiian Santa doing the Macarena in their house, never mind be able to transport the gigantic thing home?’

      A few of us gradually migrate towards the glowing window, which seems even fuller now than it did ten minutes ago.

      ‘Who’s the newcomer?’ Carmen asks.

      ‘I don’t know, do you?’ Hubert scratches his head. ‘Funny they weren’t here before, whoever they are.’

      ‘Funny they’re allowed to sell things that cross over with what the rest of us are selling.’ I nod towards the lit-up snowglobe in the window, which must be plugged in somewhere because the snow is swirling around in it like a lava lamp as it plays a tune that clashes with the one the model nutcracker factory is playing in the busy window.

      That tune again. One that sounds so familiar …

      After a few moments of silence, Hubert says, ‘It seems that a lot of things that once made Nutcracker Lane special have gone out the window this year.’

      The sadness is palpable as all the shopkeepers, people I’ve known for years, people who have been the heart of Nutcracker Lane for as long as I can remember, realise that things have changed, and they’re changing more every day.

      ‘Good luck for opening day, folks,’ Mrs Brissett says as she starts to walk back towards the jumper shop.

      ‘No, you can’t say that now,’ Carmen corrects her. ‘We’re not all working together for Nutcracker Lane anymore – we all have to be out for ourselves and looking after our own interests. This isn’t a normal year – this is a fight for survival now. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to lose my shop. I won’t be sending any more business your way and I don’t expect you lot to send any my way. We’ve got to put ourselves first or we’ll all be jobless next year.’

      ‘I agree,’ Rhonda from the hat shop says sadly.

      ‘I don’t!’ Hubert smacks his hand against the paper he’s holding. ‘I’m not sure I even want to stay and work for this new owner. Anyone who can agree to a scheme like this is never going to be a decent person, are they? Whoever he is, he obviously cares for Nutcracker Lane as little as Scrooge does. You’d have thought any new owner would’ve been keen to reinvigorate it, but it’s screamingly obvious that he’s only interested in the money. The same as Scrooge. Money, money, money.’

      He’s got a point there. The atmosphere on Nutcracker Lane has already changed because of Scrooge. Even as we stand here, a few other shopkeepers have stepped out their doors and come to see what’s going on, and I can see everyone side-eyeing each other, weighing up the competition. It doesn’t bode well for any of us, and Hubert has certainly got a point. Will the new owner be so horrible to work for that no one wants to stay here anyway?

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