When I’ve had enough sips of caffeine to feel like a functioning human again, I put the cup down and go over to the small pile of Norway spruces that he hasn’t already loaded, pick one up, and follow his footsteps through the snow to heft it up onto the bed of the truck. It’s surprising how quickly you get used to handling trees, but with all the cutting practice, pulling them through the netting machine, shearing, and everything else, it’s hard to remember a time when I wasn’t flinging around Christmas trees.

He jumps up onto the bed of the truck and lets me pass the trees up to him while he stacks them safely.

The snow has stopped for the moment, although it carried on falling for a long while after we went to bed judging by the depth of the drifts around the side of the house and along the grassy verges of the road. Footprints and tyre tracks where Noel’s reversed in are all that’s visible of the driveway. Even the few pumpkins left in his fields are lost under a blanket of white.

‘Did you sleep okay?’ I ask as I hoist the last tree up to him and he jumps out of the truck and closes the tailgate.

He makes an incomprehensible grunting noise, jangles the keys out of his pocket and walks around the side towards the driver’s door, then he stops and comes back. ‘I don’t know why I said that. I slept better than I have in months because of how you made me feel.’ Even in the dark morning, I can see his cheeks are burning red. ‘Sorry, I don’t know why I said that either. I’m delirious from spruce needle inhalation. Come on, we should go. Fergus has promised gingerbread trees to mark the occasion, which will probably be the most normal thing he’s baked all year. Of course, knowing him, they’ll be pink dragonfruit trees.’

He’s in the truck before I can even blink, with the engine revving and the exhaust pipe puffing warm fumes out into the cold morning air. I sigh and walk around to the passenger’s side.