‘Speaking of meddling …’ I start. ‘The main thing they’re head-over-heels for is village gossip, and you’re only making it worse.’

‘I’m not doing anything!’ He holds up both hands with a grin, and even though I’m trying to be annoyed, I can’t help grinning at the cheeky glint in his eyes.

‘Are you trying to get them to talk about us so they stop trying to set you up with pigeons or something?’

‘Yes. On my list of possible matches, you are marginally above a pigeon. Only marginally, mind. And only because I think you’re slightly more likely to share your chips.’

He makes it impossible for me to frown at him.

He must notice the expression because he sighs. ‘Look, they’re romantic old sods who believe people need a relationship to be happy. I’ve told them I’m not interested about fifty million times and it doesn’t make any difference. They’re determined to see something that isn’t there. If we have a laugh together, they think it’s the start of something, but equally, if I ignored you and we didn’t speak to each other, they’d convince themselves that we were playing hard to get because we liked each other.’ He winks at me. ‘And where would be the fun in that when there are the drunken antics of trees to discuss?’

‘Maybe they’re trying to get you back for all the meddling you do?’

‘I don’t meddle. That makes me sound like a crotchety old bat twitching the net curtains all day. I don’t even have net curtains. I’m just trying to help two elderly singles enjoy their twilight years together before the pair of them bankrupt themselves by buying each other’s gingerbread and bathbombs that they don’t use.’

I raise an eyebrow. ‘So it’s retaliatory meddling then?’

‘They’re always worried that I’m lonely. A beautiful girl moving in next door to me is the nosy pensioner’s equivalent of all their Christmases coming at once.’

I ignore that. He’s seen me snotty-nosed and mid-ugly-cry, as well as first thing in the morning having vaulted out of bed at 6 a.m, and up to my elbows in rubber gloves, cleaning products, mud, and then the facepaints at his farm on Halloween. No one could think I was beautiful after that. I’m plain and forgettable at the best of times. The only thing anyone’s likely to remember about me is that my hair’s so long I can almost sit on it. In his case, the snot bubble has undoubtedly made me unforgettable for all the wrong reasons.

‘So I’m sorry, but you’ve unwittingly walked into the middle of a powder keg of gossip. It’ll fizzle itself out next time someone accidentally eats tinsel or gets their head stuck in a Christmas stocking.’

‘Are you lonely?’