‘Yeah, he woofed about you all night too. He thought there might have been some really big spiders he needed to protect you from, or maybe a giant ant or something.’

‘They don’t exist, do they?’

‘Dunno. I suppose half the fun is in finding out.’

‘Your definition of fun and mine are quite different.’

His tongue must twiddle the piercing from the inside because the ball starts moving in his lip and my eyes are drawn to it again as the song changes. ‘It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year’ by Andy Williams starts playing, and I wonder if he’s put a festive station on because of what I said on Tuesday night or if he’d usually drive to work listening to Christmas music in October. I don’t think he would, somehow.

At the edge of their farm, as we pass a hand-drawn chalk sign that says ‘Pick-your-own pumpkin patch’ in swirly lettering, there’s a giant pumpkin. It must be at least six foot tall and almost as wide, it’s surrounded by loads of smaller pumpkins, real ones in all shades of orange, yellow, and white. They’re arranged so it looks like they’re pouring out of its mouth in a wave. It’s so striking that I actually gasp at the sight. ‘Did you make that?’

He nods. ‘Wood and plaster and a lot of sandpapering. But it’s stood the test of a few autumns now and everyone comments on it. It’s brilliant for visibility from the road. People love stopping for selfies with it.’

‘Wow.’ I look over my shoulder as we drive past. It’s an incredible sight and I can’t believe anyone could make it. ‘You’re incredibly talented, do you know that? Is there anything you can’t do?’

‘Maintain a relationship? Greet new neighbours in a reasonable way? Crochet?’

It makes me laugh again, and I want to carry on the conversation, but his face is as red as the shirt he was wearing yesterday, and he’s got a look about him that says he’d very much like to hide.

Luckily, I’m distracted by a sign coming up on the right-hand side of the road and I lean forward to see it. It looks like another hand-lettered chalk board, permanently printed on weather-resistant plastic this time, but instead of a nice and friendly pumpkin, there’s a cartoon sweetcorn cob with red eyes and the words ‘GET LOST’ in big capital letters. The sign is positioned outside a field of tall green plants with thick silver chains criss-crossing the entrance. ‘Oh, that’s nice and welcoming,’ I say. It might not even be Noel’s land, but the chalk writing is the same as the sign we passed earlier.