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‘And the living Nativity will be perfect!’ says Lara. ‘Sam has asked if he can help out, and I said absolutely.’

‘I’m not too late, am I?’ says a deep voice from the doorway. ‘Wife says I should get out of the house. Can’t stand it now I’m retired and under her feet.’

And the most perfect Father Christmas walks into the barn.

It looks like everything is coming together after all. For the first time, I really believe we may be able to take Christmas Tree World on at their own game.

Chapter 26

The barn seems to have become the hub of the whole farm, with Lara and Luke clearing and stacking boxes. Lara assures me she’s taking some of the huge amount of holiday she’s owed and it’s nothing to do with work, her being here. Luke has been stashing anything useful he finds up in the studio above, which he plans to turn into dressing rooms for the performers.

They run the boxes past me before taking them off to the dump, and in no time the packed-out old barn is becoming a Christmas grotto with puppies feeding and finding their feet, their eyes and ears opening, and Delilah the donkey looking on in a proud, grandmotherly way. She’s being constantly exercised and brushed by Lara, who has wholeheartedly fallen in love with her.

Will is often in there, too, helping Lara make paper chains, and I can’t help but think what a wonderful mum she would’ve made had her partner only been on the same page. I hope she’ll meet someone else one day, who wants the same thing, to be a family. Meanwhile, a background to everything is the continual sound of chopping and mulching as Horse clears pathways through the trees.

‘I’ve got a box of lights here,’ says Luke.

‘That’s where they went to!’ I say, peering into it. ‘These multi-coloured ones always went on the big tree in the middle.’

‘Well, I think we should make that happen again,’ says Luke. ‘And I’ve got more that I’ve brought over from the house. Scarlett will never know they’re missing. She’ll be having new ones this year anyway, when the Christmas planners sweep in and stage this place.’

I don’t want to think about it.

The planners have already been for a look around, tutting and casting disapproving glances. I explained that most of the furniture and crockery would soon be gone, which seemed to please them. Their aim is to create a blank canvas and a Narnia theme, apparently: entering the house through a wardrobe door into a winter wonderland. There are custom props being made, including a large ice sculpture of a lion and Mr Tumnus out of chocolate, sculpted by a specialist chocolatier. And a white paper macramé landscape of Narnia by a macramé master. It’s been planned for a year!

I’m busy still repainting our old Christmas Tree Farm signs, which were old, worn, listing and split with the paint peeling off them. It’s a bright, cold but sunny day today and I’ve been mostly outside the barn, working on a garden table that has seen much better days and will shortly go into the skip. I’m rubbing the signs down and repainting them in a sage green; ‘Christmas Tree Farm’ is lettered with a flourish in cream and there are little trees picked out in darker green, then a gold star on the top.

In the distance, down the valley, Christmas Tree World is already in full swing with music thudding, inflatable snowman and Santa swaying in the cold air, and banners waving by the roadside. I try not to worry about whether anyone is actually going to want to come and see our little farm here, when all of that’s on offer. Despite our best efforts to try and compete, bringing in our performers to jazz things up a bit, it’s still no real competition for what they have going on down there. I sigh as I contemplate this. Well, we can but try.

As I step back to assess my painting, something catches my eye. Just a few feet away, sitting on the fence that leads down to the valley and is covered in a crisp coating of frost that hasn’t melted all day, a full-chested robin is watching me. His fiery red breast makes him look as if he’s wearing his best Christmas jumper. I could swear he’s the same one I saw the day I made the decision not to move in with Gareth.

Now that I come to think about it, that robin’s been around for a few days now, ever since we started getting the place ready to reopen. A part of me likes to think it’s Paddy, here to enjoy the excitement and build-up. He always did love it. I look at my sign and then add a robin, which works so well that I decide to add it to all of them – like a lucky mascot. Because right now, that’s how I feel: lucky. Lucky to be here, doing this, with a lovely group of friends.

When the daylight starts to fade, Horse joins Lara, Will and me in the barn and sits down on a straw bale, pulling off his big leather gloves. He’s covered in sawdust and wood shavings and smells of fresh pine trees. The scent makes me feel more alive than I have in a good few years. There’s something about the freshness, the cold, the season that makes me feel as though I’ve been wrapped up in a huge hug.

‘This is looking great in here,’ Horse says, looking around. Delilah brays. ‘Yes, and you too, Delilah.’ She’s got festive ribbons in her mane and is wearing a purple and gold coat with small knitted baubles like wrapped gifts on it.

‘I’m trying it for size,’ says Lara. ‘The Three Wise Knitters have been working on it.’

‘We were going to make her a shepherd,’ says Will, ‘but Lara told me the whole Christmas story, and I thought Delilah suited being a wise man.’

‘Quite right,’ I say.

Horse stands up and comes over to the table where my signs are laid out; I’ve brought the whole set-up inside for the night so that they don’t blow away. I’m just making a few final touches.

‘These are fantastic,’ he says, standing behind me and looking over my shoulder. His closeness makes me feel like one of the Christmas trees, waiting in anticipation to have all their fairy lights switched on; a sense of building excitement that I try to squash. Because I know that after December 24th we’ll be going our separate ways – all of us. Horse will want to keep in touch with Will, but things still won’t be the same. I feel tears prick my eyes. I rub my cold nose with my knitted fingerless gloves, giving a little sniff.

‘It’s been a long time since I’ve done any real painting,’ I say, thinking about my abandoned craft room.

‘Well, you certainly haven’t forgotten how to do it,’ he says.

His gentle encouragement makes me feel as if something inside me is melting; a kind of barrier I’ve had up. I’ve spent a long time telling myself I was fine, knowing that things would never be the same without Paddy. Believing I could never find what I had with him again, and feeling guilty for thinking that I ever would want to.

I’m getting tangled in sad thoughts, and I try to snap myself out of it.

‘Oh, look at the time – I didn’t realize it was getting so late. I’d better start making some dinner,’ I say, packing up my brushes. After a quick peek at the puppies, who are now boisterous and playing, I go out into the yard. The ducks and Gloria start making their way to the orchard and their houses there, ready to be closed in for the night.

‘I’ll give you a hand,’ says Horse, stepping outside in my wake. I’d hoped he might say that, and also hoped he wouldn’t at the same time.