That was a change to our usual back and forth. Ordinarily he just kept ringing until I eventually answered at a date so close to Christmas that it made travelling to Wynmouth for the festive season impossible.

‘You were?’ I swallowed.

‘I was,’ he said, more softly.

Listening to the change in his tone, I felt bad for screening his calls. Generous to a fault, kind, caring and hardworking, Dad couldn’t have picked a better partner to help run the business. I had been so shocked when I lost Dad that I never really took onboard just how selflessly David had stepped into the breach. That said, I still wished he hadn’t picked up the ‘make Liza fall for Wynter’s Trees’ placard Dad had never stopped waving.

‘I really need to talk to you, Liza.’

‘I’m sorry I haven’t picked up before,’ I apologised. ‘This term has been pretty awful.’

David knew I’d been made redundant and subsequently taken the maternity cover contract.

‘But it’s over now?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘School broke up yesterday.’

‘And you aren’t going back?’

‘God no,’ I blurted out, without thinking.

‘That bad, was it?’ he chuckled.

‘Um,’ I conceded.

I had no desire to relive just how bad it had been. Had I been in two minds whether a return to full-time teaching was for me, the students at Elmwood High had hastily settled the argument.

‘So,’ David carried on. ‘Have you applied for another post?’

It was tempting to lie to stave off his attempt to nag me into visiting, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

‘No,’ I said, ‘I haven’t.’ But then quickly added, ‘but I’m very busy. I’m planning a trip and after that…’

I let the words trail off. I still wasn’t ready to tell him about my business plans and the repercussions they would have for my Wynter’s Trees annual reinvestment.

‘After that?’ he asked.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Good,’ he pounced. ‘Great, because there’s something I need to talk to you about.’

I felt my defences crank up a notch in readiness to fend off whatever it was he was going to say.

‘You know there’s no point in asking me anything about running the place,’ I quickly put in. ‘It’s a Christmas tree farm and I don’t know a single thing about growing trees, do I? Whereas you’re a world-leading expert now. Just carry on keeping me up to date via email, and we’ll be fine.’

Of course, I knew that Wynter’s was so much more than a ‘Christmas tree farm’. It was an institution, a local treasure, a much-loved focal point of the county’s festive calendar, but it wasn’t a part of mine and it never would be.