Page 6 of Christmas Ever After
And they did, for a while. Long enough to build a life together and have me. She could never get the snow globe to move again, but it was a romantic story that was told to every visitor who asked why we had a snow globe out when it wasn’t Christmas. I used to love that snow globe. I used to shake it and watch the flakes fall down over the scene of a snowy street with a couple kissing under a streetlamp, who bore a surprising resemblance to my mum and dad, despite the fact Claude had never met either of them before that day. I used to believe it was magical and that snow globes really could bring people together and help two lonely souls find each other in this crowded world.
But my parents would have been better offnotfinding each other. Their blissful happiness gave way to rows, arguments, and a healthy dose of seething resentment. And now I’m collateral damage of a messy divorce that ended in many, many tears, and a lot of heartache, and the person responsible for that was Claude Dardenne and his definitely-not-mystical snow globes.
‘He’s always seemed okay to me.’ Cleo, who runs The Wonderland Teapot on Ever After Street and has yanked a Christmas jumper on over her blue Alice-style dress, goes back to talking about Raphael. ‘He comes into the tearoom sometimes. He’s got a very silly sense of humour, so Bramloveshim.’ Bram is Cleo’s blue-haired other half in a romantic sense and a co-owner of the Alice-themed tearoom they’ve been running together since the spring.
‘He brings shame on all of us who run genuine, heartfelt businesses, and aren’t out to make a mockery of our customers. You’ve all had enough as well. Last month he matched a twenty-two-year-old male stripper with a partially sighted elderly nun! She was delighted – he was marginally less delighted and madehis feelings known in yet another scathing review.Anotherone star for Christmas Ever After as a whole. We areallstruggling because of his shop.’
‘Yeah, but it’s not personal to anyone else.’
‘It’s only personal to me because the council have pitted us against each other. If I can just find out the truth and expose the snow globe con, all this will be over. The council will throw him out and thank me for uncovering the crookedness that’s been going on right under our noses.’
‘It was Raff’s grandfather who matched me and my Reginald, God rest his soul,’ Mrs Bloom says. ‘Many years ago now. I agree that Raff’s making a mockery of it, but the snow globes themselves…’ She sighs wistfully. ‘They’re just magical.’
‘They’re a con. Snow globes don’t move. They’re faking it somehow. I just don’t know how. My money’s on hallucinogenic drugs in the liquid. I’ve been trying to figure it out for years.’
‘Have you thought of just asking him?’ Cleo suggests.
‘Asking him?’ I make a face like it’s a foreign concept. ‘No, that would involve having a civilised conversation with the dreadful man. And like he’s going to admit it. If you’re doing something dodgy and underhanded, you’re not going to say, “Hello, why yes, Iamdoing something dodgy and underhanded,” to the first person who asks, are you? And now this.’ I shake my hand where I’m holding it above my head and then groan when it hurts. ‘He ruined my chance with Jorge. That could’ve been our moment. He could have saved me like a dashing knight. As I fell gracefully into his arms, our eyes would’ve met, and…’
‘…his breath would’ve magically been freshened,’ Cleo finishes for me.
I huff as the fantasy falls apart in front of my mind’s eye. ‘Yeah, well, there is that.’
‘And who would stop him oinking?’ Mrs Bloom adds, and I huff again. Yeah, there isthattoo.
Being oinked at does suggest it’s time for a new crush. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to think about Jorge again without hearing a sing-song of ‘who ate all the mince pies?’ If I were to have one of his cakes ever again, I suspect they’d taste of oinks and weight jibes.
‘I do feel bad for Raff,’ Mrs Bloom muses. ‘Losing his grandfather wasn’t easy on him. They were very close, and from what I’ve heard, he didn’t intend to take over the shop so soon, but had to step up because there was no one else. Maybe we could have been a little kinder. He’s still finding his feet…’
‘He’s been looking for them for eighteen months,’ I mutter.
‘He hasn’t got anyone to help him though, has he? They say his grandfather only hit his stride when he found love and before that, it was a disaster. Maybe their magic is connected to being in love themselves. We shouldn’t hold it against Raff if he hasn’t found “the one” yet.’
‘The Dardennes don’t have magic, they have a very sophisticated scam. There issomethinggoing on in that shop and it’s nothing to do with love, or magic, and everything to do with money-spinning and taking customers for fools, and one day, I am going to find out what it is. You mark my words.’
She goes quiet at my cynicism, and many, many hours pass before a nurse finally comes out. ‘Franca Andrews? The doctor will see you now.’
Three broken fingers.
I keep repeating it in my head in the hopes that I’ll suddenly be filled with understanding of what to do.
‘But I work with my hands and I’m right-handed,’ I say to the nurse as she sizes up my splint after an X-ray has confirmed that the little, ring, and middle fingers on my right hand are all broken.
‘Only take this off for washing,’ she replies. ‘Use the straps to re-adjust the tightness as the inflammation goes down. Take paracetamol for the pain and keep your arm elevated as much as possible to reduce the swelling.’
My three fingers are encased in a rigid fabric wrap that holds them straight, and the splint has got an internal metal bar that runs all the way down my hand to mid-forearm, and does up with three wide Velcro straps.
‘Keep it on for at least eight weeks and come back if you have any problems.’ She gives me a leaflet about hand exercises I can do when the pain allows and sends me on my way with a sunny smile.
Mrs Bloom gives me and Cleo a lift back to Ever After Street and offers to drive me home, but I refuse. They both offer help with anything and everything, but the biggest problem, the main thing I need help with is the one thing that no one can do but me – fulfilanyof the orders I’ve taken online in the past few weeks that need to be ready before Christmas.
What am I going to do? I’m useless with my left hand, and my job literally revolves around being able to use both my hands on my chisels as the wood spins on my lathe. I work alone. There’s no one who can help. It’s by far my busiest time of year. There might be appeal to a year-round Christmas-themed street, but the mostimportanttime of year is December.
And then there’s the Christmas market at the castle on 21 and 22 December, the last weekend before the big day, and the day of reckoning from the council. How am I going to get social media engagement and excited customers without the ability to makeenough nutcrackers to fill my cabin? No one can engage with a product that’s not there.
Last year, the Christmas market was incredible. A weekend of festive stalls set up in the castle grounds. Hot chocolate. Hot roasted chestnuts. Mulled wine. Mince pies and various other festive goodies, along with handmade gifts and crafts, and the castle was decorated to look like a twinkling winter wonderland. It was an utterly magical weekend. With the increasing popularity of Christmas markets in recent years, it was the only one in this area, and buyers swarmed the stalls so much that queues for each one got muddled together and people ended up in the wrong queue for the wrong stalls, and then bought things anyway. I earned enough money at the Christmas market last December to cover the costs of running the shop for months. I was relying on it again this year.
Without the market… I don’t know how The Nutcracker Shop will survive another year, and that’s only if it gets to stay at all.
