‘Thank you. That’s really kind.’ I hadn’t got as far as figuring out what I was actually going to do with these yet, but I’m genuinely touched by how welcoming the stallholders are here and how quickly they’ve accepted me.

‘Leave me some postcards too. I’ll pop a little stack of them on the stall for people to take. Ask the other stalls too. I’m sure everyone will be more than willing to help you out.’

I thank her and we move on to the baker’s stall, where Fiona shuffles round the back with a stack of flyers and asks him to hand them out too, getting a similarly enthusiastic response.

‘I’ve been getting my tree there every Christmas since I was a boy,’ he says to me. ‘’Twas devastated when it closed. I’ll be your first customer this year, you mark my words. And let me know if you need anything else.’

Fiona shows him the postcards and he asks for some of them to display on his stall too, and honestly, I have to turn away for a minute because everyone’s kindness is enough to make my eyes start filling up.

‘You okay?’ Noel steps nearer and ducks his head to whisper as Fiona hands out business cards and postcards to the bookseller, stopping for a well-earned gossip.

I swallow and paste a smile on, and turn back just in time to catch Fiona furtively pointing a finger towards the two of us.

I elbow Noel in the ribs even though he was watching anyway. ‘We’re being talked about.’

‘You’re new round here. What I’ve learned is that there will always be gossip in a place like this, and the more you try to fight it, the more you make everyone think you’ve got something to hide. Don’t worry about it. Someone’s budgie will escape tomorrow and go and mug some parakeets and it’ll all be forgotten about.’

I snort and we get raised eyebrows from both Fiona and the bookseller.

‘You’re not helping,’ I hiss at Noel.

‘Nah, if I wasn’t helping, I’d do this.’ He strides across the aisle to the flower seller, picks up a bunch of pink roses and makes a loud clang of change as he hands the bloke a few coins, ensuring every eye in the vicinity has turned in our direction. He comes back and presents them to me with a flourish and ends with a bow. ‘To brighten up the stall,’ he says close to my ear. ‘You can carry them.’

‘You know no one heard that, right? They just think you bought me flowers.’

‘Why’d you think I said it so quietly?’ His eyes are dancing with mischief, but he makes up for it by talking the florist into popping a postcard inside the wrapping of every bouquet.