When I get in, his hand is on the gear stick ready to move, and I cover it with mine, stopping him. I reach across, slide my hand up his jaw and deliberately pull his face down and press my lips to his cheek. I don’t say anything, because he obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, but I see him doing what I’ve done every day before work for the past two years – you gather yourself, steel yourself, prepare yourself to face the day while outrunning the wave of emotion inside you. You prevent yourself from feeling anything in case something as mundane as the bus driver asking you for your ticket is enough to set off a complete emotional breakdown. You live in constant fear of crying in front of someone. Of letting someone see your weakness and somehow use it against you.

I pull away to shift back across the bench seat and busy myself with putting my seatbelt on. His hand leaves the stick and slides across until it touches my thigh. He squeezes gently. ‘Thank you.’ His voice catches and he shakes himself, yanking his hand back and pulling out of the driveway with a sharp jolt.

And I smile to myself because I think I understand him a bit more than he thinks I do.

***

Even before six in the morning, the market is buzzing. It’s busier today than any other time I’ve been here. I’ve noticed a huge increase in customers recently, and there are more traders too – stalls that have been reserved but empty until now are starting to open up, selling Christmas decorations, handmade gifts and cards, and traditional festive food from different countries.

Today, there are cars and vans parked all the way along the country lanes that take us into Elffield, and the main road to the market is choc-a-block with people parked up on either side. Noel performs some impressive driving manoeuvres to squeeze past.

The market looks amazing in the dark. Everyone who works there has clubbed together and bought numerous decorations for the building, and Noel and the others have put in a good few hours of stapling up lights and garlands. The pillars on either side of the main entrance are wrapped with twinkling fairylights, the trees that Fiona requested for the outside are against the walls, laden with multicoloured baubles and sparkling lights. The sparkling continues along each edge of the building and up to the roof. Inside, through the open entranceway, the welcoming main lights of the market give us a glimpse of the Peppermint fir – an impressively symmetrical seven-foot tall specimen that Noel selected as the best – currently standing in the centre of the market, decorated with input and help from all the traders.