‘No,’ he said, ‘we shop local around here. Now,’ he smirked, ‘you go and sign yourself out with Mrs Anderson and when you return you can tell me if you would prefer to sit in the front or the back.’

I gave his comment the full eye roll it deserved and sauntered back to the reception.

*

I mulled over what Beamish had said on the journey to the timber yard, the ‘shop local’ part that is, and I realised that the ethos most likely extended far beyond buying big stuff like we were collecting. I had noticed there had been a few individual stalls selling homemade and hand-crafted gifts at the switch-on, including one run by the Cherry Tree Café team, and folk couldn’t seem to get enough of everything.

Perhaps I should add local shopping to the Wish List? Or maybe even try my hand at making something myself? But then who would I give it to? I could just imagine the expression on Jonathan’s face if I presented him with a bag of homemade festive fudge or a handmade card. Like me, he might not have gone in for the fun and frolics which made Christmas for most people, but he was always happy to accept an expensive designer gift.

His idea of something special was the latest bit of tech or an aftershave blended to his own specifications. I couldn’t imagine that anything crafted by my own fair hands would cut the mustard with him. Jonathan appreciated the finer things in life, as did I now too. I quickly banished the homespun idea, knowing it would be a waste of time and effort and feeling a little annoyed that I had been sucked into thinking about the list again.

‘How do you fancy a coffee at the Cherry Tree Café?’ Beamish asked, once the truck was loaded with timber. ‘I know it’s still a bit early, but it’s criminal that you’ve been here for practically half a week and not been in.’

I was beginning to feel a little peckish now my first day at school nerves had settled, but couldn’t resist the opportunity to question Beamish’s work ethic.

‘Shame on you,’ I tutted, ‘and during the working day. What would Mr Matthews say?’

‘Thank you for turning up at five this morning to sort out the dodgy boiler again, probably.’

‘Oh,’ I said. I should have known better.

‘I haven’t had any breakfast yet.’

‘Sorry,’ I blushed.

‘It’s all right,’ he grinned. ‘I’m only winding you up. Although, I was there at five sorting out the boiler.’