He looks behind us to check no one’s listening and gives Fergus a wave over his shoulder. ‘Every year, he gives ‘em away to anyone who comes past because he’s long since given up on finding any poor unsuspecting soul gullible enough to actually pay for them. His wife used to do all the cooking and he ran the stall, but she passed away eight years ago, and he took over doing both jobs. He got her gingerbread recipe right, but god knows where he’s gone wrong with the mince pie recipe because each year they’re systematically worse than the year before, bless him. He was thinking of quitting a couple of years ago but then Fiona came along and gave him something to stay for.’

I look behind me to see Fergus and Fiona deep in conversation by the bathbomb stall. ‘Why do I get the feeling you have a little something to do with that?’

‘Me? Meddle in pensioners’ love lives?’ He does a gasp of mock indignation. His truck is on the pavement outside the trade entrance, and he swings the crates up into the empty bed and walks round to the driver’s side. ‘I don’t know where you’d get an idea like that.’

‘Yeah, who knows.’ I hop into the passenger side and grin at the way a smile creeps onto his face while he crawls down the main street in Elffield, which is full of people on the pavements, all heading towards the market.

‘What did you wish for?’ he says, out of the blue as we turn onto a country lane surrounded by green fields.

‘Am I allowed to tell you or will that mean it won’t come true?’

‘Do you really think any wish on that mince pie is going to come true?’

‘For things to get better,’ I say without really thinking about it.

‘What things?’ He pauses. ‘Sorry, that was intrusive and insensitive. It’s nothing to do with me. Most people wish for avoiding a trip to the dentist after one of Fergus’s mince pies. Not getting food poisoning is also a useful wish.’

I grin at the joke, but there’s something about him that makes me feel like I could share anything and he’d understand. ‘I feel like things haven’t been … right … for a couple of years now.’ I struggle to find the right word. ‘It’s why I’m here, why I bought the tree farm. Because I was desperately searching for a way to make things feel right again.’

‘I know that feeling,’ he says quietly.

I wait for him to expand, but he doesn’t, and I’m not sure what else to say without breaking down in tears, and Noel’s seen me cry enough for one forty-eight-hour period.