‘So,’ he says after a long silence, and I realise I’ve just been staring at his hands and the way his forearms flex every time they tighten on the steering wheel. ‘I know why Fiona drags people off for cups of coffee. What strands of gossip do I have to clear up?’

‘Well, the woman who runs the children’s clothing stall’s guinea pig has just had babies but they aren’t sure which male guinea pig is the father, and someone’s hairdresser saw one of her client’s husbands out with another woman, and he said it was his sister but no one believes him.’

He laughs. ‘Yes, and?’

I give him an innocent look.

‘I know Fergus and Fiona. What did they tell you about me?’

‘You were a Londoner once.’

He doesn’t react. ‘Yes, once. And I’m 38, single, my shoe size, the results of my last blood test, the date of my last haircut, the brand of bathroom cleaner I buy every week … I know what they’re like.’

‘You buy bathroom cleaner every week? Who cleans their bathroom that often?’

He bursts out laughing. ‘It was a metaphor for their pushy oversharing. I promise I don’t buy bathroom cleaner every week.’

I laugh too. ‘Oh, thank god. I’d started to get worried there for a minute.’

His tongue twiddles the lip piercing because it moves, glinting in the autumn sun shining through the window, and I suddenly feel hot and flushed. Thinking about Noel’s tongue is seriously hazardous to health.

I force myself to look away and think of something else. ‘What Fergus said earlier – is the market really in trouble?’

‘Yeah, kind of. It’s great at this time of year because it’s a buzzing Christmas market. It’s on a couple of “best of’” lists online so tourists come, people come to the UK and do tours of all the best Christmas markets, and that’s great, but from January to September, it’s not like that. It’s quiet, the only people who shop there are loyal locals and the other traders. It’s a big space and it’s only profitable for four months a year, so the council have been making noises about relocating the traders and flattening it to build a new bus interchange. There’s one in Peterhead that’s being demolished and local councils are competing to be the new location.’

‘Bus interchange?’ I say in surprise. ‘Aren’t the roads too narrow? Your truck barely fitted down the main street. How would that work?’

‘Exactly. How do you widen roads without taking down the houses on either side? There’s already talk of compulsory purchase orders on the people who live there. If we lose the market, Elffield as we know it will literally be flattened.’