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‘No,’ I say, ‘and I doubt we’d have many customers even if I could stay open on my own.’ I start grating cheese; it scatters everywhere, and Tegan hoovers it up from the floor. ‘It was hard enough when Paddy and I were running it, and even then we had help. But people really seem to prefer Christmas Tree World now, down on the main road. Apparently they’ve got two different Santas this year in two separate grottoes, working at the same time, and they’re on the lookout for more so they can stay open longer.’ I shudder. ‘And people love to have their photos taken with the guy in the big white polar bear costume that walks around. And there’ll be the reindeer to feed, too. No one wants to just come and pick a tree any more. It’s not enough to be in the forest, within nature; it’s got to be about the experience.’ I lift my hands and use my fingers as quotation marks, feeling unusually scratchy.

Christmas Tree World’s arrival happened just before Paddy got sick. They bought a plot on the main road, where they couldn’t be missed, and lit it up until it could probably be seen from space. Lights, music and street food trucks. Paddy and I had bigger things to worry about at the time, what with his illness, but even if we’d been at full strength they could have driven us out of business. Our last year open saw that. Numbers were down. People didn’t want to just buy a tree any more; everyone wanted Christmas Tree World foam fingers to wave from their car windows as they left, wearing light-up deely boppers.

I take a sip of wine and sprinkle grated cheese all over the bread, dropping more onto the floor for Tegan to gobble up. ‘They’ll have singing and dancing performers next, like something from The X Factor . . . Anyway, I told Lara I’d just go and meet Willow, say hello,’ I add, bringing the conversation back to what’s on my mind.

‘But you’re not actually related. If he’s Paddy’s cousin’s child, it’s not really anything to do with you.’

I pause, thinking about Paddy. What would he do in this situation? What would he have liked me to do? Then I look at Gareth, who is eyeing the cheese scattered over the table.

I know what Paddy would want.

‘I’m definitely going to go and see him. Let him know he’s not alone. I’ll take him a present, maybe. What do nine-year-old boys like? I think Lara said he’s nine – or was it ten? I can’t remember. Either way, I don’t know what they like. I have no idea.’

‘Well, it’s been a while since mine were that young!’ Gareth gives a knowledgeable smile. ‘But I’ll try and think.’

‘Yes, well, as you know, it’s not something Paddy and I ever . . .’ What’s the right word? ‘Experienced.’ And a little veil of sadness drapes round my shoulders. ‘Maybe brownies,’ I say, forcing myself to make a decision. ‘I’ll buy some brownies. Who doesn’t like brownies? Like I say, I’m just going to meet him, show him that he’s not alone, take him brownies.’ Then, more quietly, I add, ‘I think that’s what Paddy would have wanted me to do.’

I look down at the bread and cheese. Hardly any cheese has made it onto the bread, actually. ‘Would toast be okay?’

Chapter 3

I’m meeting Lara at a contact centre, a modern red-brick building about half an hour’s drive from the farm and the little town nearest me. As I approach I can see people dotted around on the steps, some of them talking in little groups, smoking or vaping.

Lara catches my eye and waves, smiling the same kind smile I saw yesterday.

‘Sorry, parking was tricky,’ I say, stuffing my keys into my big shoulder bag.

‘Yes, it’s hard to park around here,’ she agrees, leading me towards the entrance.

She uses the fob around her neck to unlock the door and let us in. As we step inside, there’s a cacophony of sound.

‘This way,’ Lara says, her tone reassuring.

The place smells of disinfectant on vinyl floors. Despite the autumn chill outside, it’s hot – really hot.

‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’ Lara offers as I follow her along a corridor.

‘Um, yes, that would be lovely. I’ve brought some brownies for Willow . . . Thought he might like them.’ I hold out the little container, as if the brownies need inspecting or something. Then I remind myself that this isn’t a prison or a hospital visit, even if it feels a bit like one.

‘That’s kind,’ she says. ‘We’ll give them to him in a bit. The children are just about to have lunch.’ I put the brownies back in my bag.

‘So,’ I say, ‘what exactly happens at this centre?’

‘It’s a place where families can meet safely. So, for instance, children who are in foster care can meet with their birth families, or with parents who have separated and need a neutral place to spend time with them. Or estranged grandparents.’

‘I’ve never really noticed the building. It’s tucked away, isn’t it? I go to the cinema and theatre nearby, and the supermarket. I try to use the farmers’ market as much as I can . . .’ I trail off.

We pause beside a hot drinks dispenser, which Lara uses to generate a plastic cup of unpleasant-looking, sludge-coloured liquid. She hands it to me.

‘Follow me, and we’ll see what Willow is up to,’ she says brightly. ‘You can watch him for a little while before I introduce you. He’s a lovely lad. But he’s, um . . . he’s rather quiet today. He had a difficult evening yesterday.’

She guides me into a big room, like a hall in a community centre. Which it is. Around us are various family groups: two elderly people with a man in his early twenties in a nylon tracksuit, absorbed in his phone, and a toddler they’re introducing to a big fluffy teddy bear that’s practically the same size as she is. On another sofa is a young girl sitting beside a woman about my own age. The girl is cradling a baby and being shown how to feed it from a bottle, then wind it. She looks nervous. The older woman with her seems kind and encouraging.

There’s another young couple, not saying a word to each other, staring at their phones as a young boy trails around the room, hitting the backs of chairs with a plastic sword that no one seems prepared to take off him. And then there’s a tall young man with two little girls, playing Jenga and cheering when the stacks of bricks fall down, the girls squealing with excitement.

We stand by the door. A dark-clothed security officer is stationed just outside.

‘There’s Willow,’ Lara says, discreetly pointing; but I knew it was him before she told me. He has olive skin, curly black hair and dark brown eyes. He’s small, much smaller than I was expecting.