Eleven soldiers standing

'They've got to be here somewhere,' Mary said, pulling newspaper out of a packing crate and flinging it aside.

'What exactly have you dragged me up here to look for?' Tom asked, digging into another box.

'The soldiers.'

'What soldiers?'

'The Nutcrackers.'

'The what now?' Tom said, glancing at her, perplexed. 'What the hell is a Nutcracker? Besides, you know, the thing that cracks nuts open. And what's it got to do with soldiers?'

'The Nutcracker soldiers,' Mary said as if that made it any clearer. 'Toy wooden soldiers. Papa reminded me of them this morning. They used to go up the stairs when I was a child.'

'You mean they move about?' Tom asked with a frown. 'Well, that doesn't sound creepy at all.'

Mary stopped ferreting around in another wooden box to send him a look that suggested she thought he might be an idiot. 'No, of course, they don't move about – they are made of wood!'

'I have literally no idea what you're talking about, Mary,' Tom said, shrugging.

'Oh, just Google it,' she said, impatiently.

Tom pulled his phone out of his back pocket as she continued searching through the boxes piled up in the attic.

'Oh, right. Yes, I have seen these around and about sometimes,' he said, squinting at the pictures on his screen. 'Just didn't know what they were called. How big are they? What size box are we looking for?'

'Each one is about three feet tall,' Mary said, moving to another box.

Tom did a double-take. 'Really? How many have you got?'

'About a dozen, I think.'

'A dozen?' Tom squawked. 'Jeez, there'll barely be room to move on the staircase.'

'Of course, there will. Look, are you just going to stand there chatting or are you going to help me look for them?' Mary asked, crabbily.

'All right. How much crap have you got stored up here anyway?' he said, pulling open another box.

'Generations worth, probably.'

They worked in silence for a while, opening and closing boxes.

'I think I might have found them,' Tom said eventually. 'There are two boxes here with 'Nuts' written on the outside. I don't imagine it's Brazil nuts.'

'Ah, let's have a look,' Mary replied, dusting herself off and coming to stand beside him.

She opened up the box to see the top of six soldier hats. 'Yes! Finally. Papa will be pleased. He loves these soldiers. I think they transport him back to his childhood.'

'Let's see them then,' Tom said, reaching into the box and taking hold of the head of one of the soldiers. He pulled it out, holding it at arm's length, examining the bright blue and gold of the uniform. 'It doesn't look very Christmassy.'

Mary shrugged, tugging out another soldier, this one with a red and gold uniform. 'They are from the Nutcracker ballet, which is set on Christmas Eve.'

'Shouldn't they all be the same colour? The same uniform?' he asked, setting the first soldier down.

'No, they're all different.'

One by one, they began pulling the soldiers out of the box, setting them down on the floor, a vivid array of rainbow colours. Then disaster struck.

Tom reached for his fifth soldier, lifting it out of the box, and with a crack, the head separated from the body, which landed on the floor with a thunk.

He froze, staring at the wooden head in his hands in shock, then lifted his eyes to look guiltily at Mary.

'Oh, my God, Tom! What did you do?' Mary cried.

'Nothing! I just… I just picked it up like I did with all the others!'

'His head's come off!' Mary said, quite unnecessarily.

'Yes, I know! But I didn't pull it off! It just… came off!'

'Lord, Papa is going to go mad. These are family heirlooms.'

'Are they?' Tom asked, doubtfully. 'Then why have I never seen them before?'

'Well, they've been in the family for generations. That's the same thing.'

'Maybe it's got woodworm,' Tom suggested, examining the head in his hands. 'It smells a bit… foisty.'

'We need to fix it.'

'How?'

'I don't know. Superglue or something, I suppose.'

'I think we'd need a bucket load of Superglue, Mary,' Tom said, sceptically. 'If there are a dozen of them, can't we make do with eleven?'

'Papa will notice there's one missing. I guarantee it.'

'We'll just have to come clean to him then because I think this one will have to retire.'

'What do you mean "we"? You pulled his head off, not me!' Mary said, quite ready to abandon him to his fate.

'Not on purpose!'

'You're still the one who decapitated him.'

'You're totally going to throw me under the bus with Robert, aren't you?'

'Yep!' Mary confirmed, cheerfully. 'Come on, let's take them all downstairs. You can fess up to Papa.'

'Oh, joy,' Tom muttered, setting the severed head aside.

Robert stared at the moustachioed head balanced on his desk, a mournful look on his face. 'Oh, no, not General Wilmot.'

Tom exchanged a look with Mary. 'General Wilmot? You've named them?'

'I didn't name them. My grandfather did. The names just got passed down through the generations.'

'Right,' Tom said, pressing his lips together, trying not to laugh.

'Maybe we could find a woodworker who might be able to fix him,' Robert continued, stroking the head lovingly.

'Oh, I don't know. It looks kind of terminal to me,' Tom deadpanned.

Robert glared at him. 'It's not funny, Tom.'

'No. No, of course, it's not,' Tom replied, desperately trying to school his face into a suitably contrite expression.

'I'll go and call Carson, see if he might know anyone,' Robert said, picking up the head, tucking it under his arm and walking out, heading for his study.

'You do that, Papa,' Mary said sweetly, swiftly elbowing Tom in the side as he started to shake with silent laughter beside her. As soon as her father was out of sight, she turned to scold him. 'What are you laughing at?'

'Oh, come on, Mary. All this fuss over a wooden soldier!'

'It's got nostalgic value for him!'

'It's a glorified doll! I never would have pegged Robert as someone who enjoyed playing with dolls.'

'He's not playing with them,' Mary said, defending her father. 'And that's a very sexist comment to make.'

'Is it? He's a grown man!'

'Oh, shut up. Let's go and get a drink, we've earned one after all that hunting and carrying.'

'Now, you're talking,' Tom said, following her out of Robert's study.

She stopped dead in front of him as they turned into the Great Hall, Tom almost banging into her.

'Why have you stopped?'

Mary pointed silently at the staircase where her father was carefully rearranging the soldiers she and Tom had stood there. From where they were standing, they could hear him talking to them.

'There we go, Major Clinton, that's better, isn't it? That's your normal position for sentry duty, isn't it, old man?'

Beside her, Tom started snickering again. 'What were you saying about him not playing with them?'

'Oh, God, I need a drink,' Mary muttered, shoving him towards the library. 'A big one.'