That doesn’t sound like Noel at all, at least not the Noel I’ve seen so far. I look over at him as he takes money from a customer and puts two pumpkins into a bag for her. ‘We’re not together.’

‘Are you single?’ Fiona demands.

‘Yeah, but …’

Her face lights up like she’s just connected to the National Grid. ‘There you go, then. You won’t find a better man than Noel.’

I can’t help the laugh. ‘Even if I was looking, which I’m not, he’s not … I mean, I’m sure he’s a nice bloke. He makes me laugh, and he’s kind, but he’s made it very clear what he thinks of me and I’ve just got out of a relationship that wasn’t a relationship at all, and …’ I stop myself quickly because I’ve said too much. I don’t want to give these two any more gossip. No doubt my relationship status will be all round the market by eleven o’clock at the latest.

That little hint of personal information sets Fiona off and she starts gossiping again. Fergus hobbles across to serve someone who starts poking through his gingerbread ukuleles, and I start edging slowly back towards the pumpkin stall, feeling a bit uncomfortable with how quickly gossip spreads.

As the hours move on, I can’t believe how busy it is. One crate of pumpkins is empty, and a second one is well on its way there. Of the edible goodies that Glenna made, only a couple of jars of jam are left, and I’ve lost track of how many customers have heard the news about Peppermint Branches and come over to tell me how much they miss it being there on the outskirts of Elffield and how much they’re looking forward to visiting again this year. A little thrill starts burning inside me. If even half of these people really do come to buy their Christmas tree from me this year, that’s a good twenty sales I’ve made already. It’s not a lot, but it’s a start.

I actually get quite into serving customers, watching as Noel carves pumpkins for display and puts battery-operated tealights inside them, enjoying the way people pore over the crates of pumpkins to select the perfect specimen. I wonder about selling Christmas trees here. It’s a gorgeous place, the atmosphere is laidback and cheerful, and there’s Christmas music pumping quietly from a speaker near the back. I’m quite disappointed when Noel’s full-time employee turns up to take over at ten o’clock.

‘Hold on, you two!’

We turn to see Fergus hobbling across the market lane on his walking stick, somehow managing to carry two pies. ‘Have either of you eaten a mince pie yet this year?’

Noel and I both shake our heads.