The pumpkins jump around centimetres above his head on their springy stalks. It’s like some sort of demented tiara from Tim Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas, and his whole face breaks into a grin as he shakes his long hair back, which shouldn’t be nearly as sexy as it is. He dips his head towards me, amusement dancing in his blue-green eyes that never leave mine as the flashing pumpkins rattle around. How does he still manage to look gorgeous? I never believed that someone as rugged and effortlessly sexy as Noel would wear neon flashing headgear, but he manages to pull it off and still look hot.

All thoughts are cut off by a squeal from the bathbomb stall next to us, and a lilac-haired lady in her seventies appears at my side and clamps her hands around my arm.

‘This is Fiona,’ Noel says to me and then turns to her. ‘And this is—’

‘Leah’s coming for a coffee with me and Fergus!’ Her hands tighten around my arm and she drags me away, surprisingly strong for her age. I can’t help smiling as I follow her in all her pastel-coloured glory, complete with bright lilac bob cut, a lemon blouse and pale pink skirt, and neon plastic jewellery.

Iain has left and Fergus has disappeared from his stall as she pulls me across to the far end of hers. It smells like the best Lush shop I’ve ever walked past, and is full of rows of gorgeous-smelling bathbombs, fizzers, butters, and bubblebars.

Fiona sits down on one of her stools and starts filling me in on every bit of gossip about every person in the market, despite the fact I don’t know any of them. She manages to cram an impressive amount into the few minutes before Fergus appears behind us and makes me jump with his sprightliness because I hadn’t heard him approach. Despite the walking stick, he’s managing to carry a tray of three cardboard cups and a biscuit from his stall. ‘Hello, lass. I’m so glad my Iain’s going to be working for you. He missed that place so much when it closed.’

Before I have a chance to reply, he pushes one of the cups into my hand and bashes his own against it like he’s making a toast. ‘A coffee to welcome you to Elffield Christmas market.’ He also hands me the gingerbread biscuit, wrapped in a paper bag and covered by cellophane, and I try to work out what it might be without showing my surprise at the sight of a gingerbread … trombone? It might be a trombone. I’ve never seen biscuits in the form of brass instruments before.