Once everything had been unloaded, the driver, who was one of the many locals to have been in class with Dolly during their formative years, accepted a mince pie and a mug of coffee.

‘I shouldn’t really,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘I’ve got so many orders to get through.’

‘You’ll need to keep your strength up then, won’t you?’ said Dolly stoutly. ‘Five more minutes won’t hurt.’

She would brook no refusal when it came to keeping the chap’s blood sugar topped up. She had told me more than once that the new delivery service was a lifesaver to many in the town. The local Co-op was happy to take orders over the phone from anyone who struggled with their weekly shop and the personal service was thriving as a result.

‘Thank you,’ he said, taking another pie. ‘I suppose there’s no harm really, is there? Are you coming to the film night tonight?’

‘Yes,’ said Dolly. ‘We certainly are. I’m very much looking forward to it. I’ve seen both films at least a dozen times already, but never on the big screen.’

I wasn’t sure a screen set up in the town hall warranted the title of a ‘big screen’, but it was going to be quite an occasion nonetheless. The early film was for family viewing. Elf was showing at half three and later on, the adults would have the opportunity for a romantic evening out watching Love Actually.

I hadn’t been all that fussed when Dolly initially pointed out the posters advertising the first ever Wynbridge Festive Film event, but now I was looking forward to it. It would be interesting to see if my change in attitude towards Christmas extended to enjoying festive films.

‘Are you going?’ Dolly asked the lad as he washed down his last mouthful of pie with a slurp of still hot coffee.

‘Yes,’ he nodded, ‘can’t wait.’

‘You’d better get on then,’ said Dolly, her voice full of mischief. ‘It would be a shame to miss the start because you were still out delivering those orders.’

*

The town hall transformation was perfect. There were seats to suit everyone, including beanbags for those fit enough to pull themselves in and out of them and a couple of squishy sofas which hadn’t sold at the last auction. There was even a young woman dressed up as an old-fashioned usherette, selling sweets and treats from the tray she carried around her neck.

I spotted her the second we entered. Most likely because Beamish was standing right next to her, bending to say something in her ear, which made her hoot with laughter. Trying to ignore the uncomfortable sensation in my stomach that the sight elicited, I looked away.

‘Dolly!’ he called, pointing to the front row when he looked up and spotted us. ‘Here! I’ve saved you the best seats in the house.’