‘Yeah, my dad always loved this place. We used to come over every day when I was little. In the summer, we’d bring picnics and Evergreene would join us, him and my dad would sit on the riverbank while I paddled in the stream, and then in the winter, it was pure magic. The trees were like a maze and I’d run through them with Dad chasing me. We were always here early in the morning, before it was open to other people, and you know how snow blankets every other sound and makes everything seem soft? Those snowy winter mornings in the Christmas trees, making the first footprints in acres of pure white fluffiness … they’re my favourite memories. If it wasn’t snow, then the whole place would be sparkling with frost. Evergreene used to tell visiting kids there were elves here, that they’d dash in and out of the trees and report back to Santa on who was being naughty and nice and whenever you saw the frost sparkling, it meant he’d been down from the North Pole for an update. I was far too old to believe in any of that stuff, but when I was here, even I started to wonder … This place makes it easy to believe in magic.’

‘It sounds perfect.’

He nods. ‘My dad always said that if Evergreene decided to sell, he’d buy him out and run both farms side by side. It wasn’t meant to be, but …’ He trails off and gives himself a shake. ‘Sorry, I’m being a sentimental sod. But that magic … that feeling that makes all the Christmas stories seem like they could be real … I’ve been to other Christmas tree farms, but that is something that’s unique to Peppermint Branches. You need to recreate that.’

Recreating magic. That sounds easy. But there’s something about the way Noel talks that makes me believe it could be like that again. I wish I could’ve seen it back then, because it sounds like such a special place, and I don’t feel worthy of trying to make it that special again.

There’s another gate hidden in the hedgerow and Gizmo stops in front of it and wags his tail, waiting for us to catch up and let him in. He’s probably excited by the prospect of some more tree trunks to get tangled up in.

‘Peppermint fir.’ I run my fingers over the wood-burned sign. ‘Another tree name I’ve never heard of.’

‘Yeah, there’s a reason for that. Lee, wait. This field … there’s something I need to tell you …’

‘Let me guess, it’s overrun with weeds that have leeched all the nutrients from the soil, the trees have grown wild, and I haven’t got a hope in hell of getting anything back right again before Christmas?’ I unlatch the gate and Gizmo rushes through before I’ve got it fully open.