The Christmas tree competition has helped, I know that. The rental fees that local businesses have paid for their trees to be here until January has given the market a much-needed cash boost. There’s been an increase in customers, and there’s a buzz around the place. The trees have been gradually decorated over the past few weeks, and excited children have been following their parents around and ooh-ing and ahh-ing over them. The incentives to shop at other stalls in the market have paid off too, people have been gladly handing in their coupons. I heard a customer say to Fiona the other day that she’d bought a candle and a bathbomb giftbox through the partnership with the candlemaker, and how pleased she was that her whole gift was sorted so easily and that she was going to tell all her colleagues to come here for their Secret Santa gifts. Sales are up for everybody. Stalls that were quiet and half empty of goods last month are full and bustling with customers again. A tourist bus came last week and dropped off a hundred tourists and picked them up two hours later, laden down with bags, and Fergus assured me that this is a bi-weekly occurrence as it gets closer to Christmas.

I slice a Christmas tree shape out of each pumpkin in turn, pop in an electric tealight and arrange them so they form a path up to the Christmas tree. Noel’s always saying he needs a way to make pumpkin season last longer, and if this takes off, the whole town could be lighting their roads and driveways with pumpkins to illuminate the way for Santa. But he needs more than a slight extension to pumpkin popularity. Everyone on this market needs more than a good Christmas season – we need a good year.

When I get back to the stall, Noel is exchanging money for one of the Christmas trees, having already sold a few from the stacks, and some wreaths. ‘You didn’t have to do that.’

‘You didn’t have to do that.’ I nod to the retreating figure of a man carrying one of the small Christmas trees. ‘I couldn’t have done any of this without you, Noel. I’d probably still be sitting outside the house crying in the car. You deserve to win this competition because I want someone other than me to appreciate how creative and talented you are, and before you shrug that off, just shut up and take a compliment.’

He bends down and whispers in my ear. ‘Do you have any idea how much you’re making me want to kiss you?’ He presses his mouth closer so his lips brush my earlobe. ‘And I can’t because Fergus is watching, but I think it’s only fair that you know how much I want to.’