‘It’s all so beautiful,’ Charlie breathed as he looked around at the grounds of the ruined Priory, and as his gaze alighted back on her, Holly smiled at his wonderment. Hanging from the broken lumps of the former building were strings and strings of amber-coloured lights, and atop the tallest pillars and arches were huge altar candles, burning into the darkening sky. They were sitting on a picnic blanket, sharing the last of a bottle of Monk’s Mead from one of the stallholders. They’d spent the day nibbling and sampling their way around Willowfest, but they’d also walked what felt like miles, as well as danced to a variety of different bands and singers in the grounds of the Priory itself. The concert – the headline event of Willowfest – consisted of several of the UK’s biggest folk acts, including a final set by Alan Somerville himself, who was now belting out his biggest hit on the makeshift stage that had been set up in the ruined nave of the Priory.

‘It’s like nothing else, ever,’ Holly replied. ‘Willowfest has its own charm, its own energy. It’s like someone managed to distil all of the best bits of living here into one evening and put it on show for everyone to enjoy.’

‘That’s a great way to put it,’ Charlie took another sip of his mead. ‘It’s like the air itself feels alive. Of course, that could just be the mead!’

‘It’s got quite a kick to it,’ Holly warned. ‘I wouldn’t drink much more after this one, if I were you.’ She drew a little closer to him. It was a warm evening, but she was at the point where she wanted there to be as little space between their bodies as possible.

As Alan Somerville approached the end of his set with a couple of acoustic guitar songs, Holly found they’d finished their bottle of mead. They’d also finished most of the picnic they’d brought with them, as the fresh air had stimulated their late-evening appetites.

‘Snap for the local paper?’ A cheery voice broke into her thoughts. Kyle Jones, the junior reporter for the Willowbury and Stavenham Gazette was standing in front of them with his smartphone and a smile.

‘Sure,’ Holly said. ‘If you don’t mind, Charlie.’

Immediately, she saw Charlie’s back stiffen. ‘That’s fine,’ he said.

Holly felt him shift slightly away from her and, as she watched him, he composed his features into an expression suitable both for the occasion and for the face of the local Member of Parliament.

Holly, amused, turned back to the reporter and gave her best, unguarded smile.

‘How have you found your first Willowfest, Mr Thorpe?’ Kyle asked, tapping his phone to record Charlie’s answer.

‘It’s been a great day,’ Charlie replied. ‘I’m so impressed by everything that Willowbury has to offer.’