His fingers curl around mine and he angles my hand, pressing his head against the side of mine to tilt it sideways. He picks up my second knife and holds it up so both blades touch at the tip, forming a triangle. ‘The branches need to come out in a conical shape from the leader, hold your knives like this as a guide at first, but eventually it’ll be second nature and you can easily eyeball it.’

He lets his knife drop and uses his hand to move mine, pointing out a rough line to follow and the branches that need to come off. ‘Usually there’s much less than this to take off, but you should only have a year’s worth of growth. This time round, you’ve got four years’ worth.’

His voice is barely above a rumble in my ear, and I’m thinking about doing it wrong just so he stays there.

He guides my hand softly until his fingers tighten and he shows me how to angle the knife against the tree and how to judge what needs to come off. All I can think about is the feel of his warm and deliciously solid body pressing against mine.

Come on, Leah. Christmas trees. Knives. Not hot Scottish pumpkin farmers. I think he must wear that aftershave to make sure it’s impossible to concentrate on anything around him.

‘You’ve really got to swing it.’ He manoeuvres my hand in the direction I need to cut. ‘Strong, firm strokes from left to right across your body. Don’t be afraid of getting it wrong. This is something that can’t be taught from a book. The only way you can learn is by doing it. Yes, you’ll lose a couple of trees in the process but that’s part of it. You ready?’

I nod and feel his chin shift against my shoulder. His fingers tighten around mine and raise the knife, bringing it down in a smooth, swift motion, and the tips of the unwanted growth drop to the ground like fallen limbs. He does it again and again, using his feet on either side of mine to gradually shuffle us around the tree, swooshing the knife in downwards strokes, over and over until the overgrown tangle of branches begins to look like a nicely shaped Christmas tree.

Once I’ve got the motion going, his fingers loosen and although his hand stays on mine, he’s no longer guiding the knife, and I’m not sure what feels better – to be doing something worthwhile or to have him standing so close.

When Noel’s satisfied that the tree looks reasonable, he murmurs in my ear again. ‘Now pick your leader and chop the other top branches off. It encourages the tree to grow up nice and straight, and you only need one for the star to go on, so choose the sturdiest and then lop off the rest.’