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Will is giggling. One hand is holding onto Horse’s forehead, the other outstretched with the ornament in it.

‘Forwards,’ he laughs. ‘Over there, a bit more . . .’ he says, reaching. ‘A bit more . . .’ The rest of us start to chime in with instructions.

‘Left,’ calls Luke.

‘Higher,’ Lara says.

‘Straight ahead,’ I say, which probably doesn’t help at all but makes us all laugh.

And then Will has hold of the branch he was aiming for, near the top of the tree. He pulls it towards himself and after a couple of attempts, hangs the decoration on the branch and then slowly lets it go. It swings and spins and catches the lights from the tree, which make it sparkle and shine.

‘All good?’ asks Horse, looking around at us all but addressing Will.

‘All good,’ confirms Will, and Horse carefully bends, lifts and lowers him to the ground.

Will thanks him and comes over to me, his face glowing.

‘I’ve never been so high up!’ he whispers. ‘It felt a bit like how flying must feel. Like being a bird up in the treetops, keeping an eye on things.’

I glance round for my chunky robin, wondering if that’s exactly what he’s doing. Just keeping an eye on things.

Will puts his hand in mine.

‘Now we have a little piece of Ayesha and her kitchen to remember this Christmas,’ he says.

I squeeze his hand.

‘Where’s yours?’ he asks, looking at my coat pockets.

‘Yes, come on, Gwen,’ says Luke, clapping his hands. ‘You go next.’

‘Well, I’ve got one,’ I say. ‘But I don’t want to go on your shoulders,’ I say to Horse, and we all laugh.

I pull the angel out of my pocket: a knitted one, with long legs and little silk ballet shoes made from an old petticoat. I’ve added wings from a lace handkerchief that may have belonged to Paddy’s mother, and glue-gunned some tiny pearls from a broken necklace. In my other pocket there’s one made from an old CD cut into triangles, like a Christmas tree, decorated with clear and coloured beads from old costume jewellery that Paddy bought me over the years.

I reach up to hang them both on the tree, as high up as I can reach. My hands are shaking a little, and I can’t quite get the strings over the branch endings.

When I tut with frustration, I feel Horse standing behind me, just like he did when we tied the ribbons to the trees – reaching around me like the long branches of a pine, making me feel safe. It reminds me of how, after Paddy died, I used to come into the forest and lose myself amongst the trees and branches, feeling their needles as the branches wrapped around me. That made me feel safe and grounded, because it was where my roots with Paddy were.

I feel Horse’s big hand taking the loop of string between his thumb and forefinger, over mine, and then guiding the string onto the end of a branch until it’s secure. Then he helps with the second decoration in just the same way, guiding my hand. When he slowly takes his hand away, mine follows inside it, steady and safe. And it stays there, my hand inside his.

‘Thank you,’ I say quietly. I stand for a moment and look at the decorations, both sparkling and catching the light.

‘You don’t have to tell me, or anyone if you don’t want to,’ says Horse quietly. I feel his breath on the side of my face and just below my ear, leading down my neck. I can smell his smell, the pine and the woodsmoke.

‘I do,’ I say, the words catching in my throat. ‘I want to tell you. They’re . . . for the children we didn’t have.’

I hold the back of my hand over my mouth and try to hold in the little sob caught in my throat.

The lights twinkle and the fire from the bonfire burns brightly.

‘The ones we lost before they were born,’ I add, my voice steadier now. I feel a sense of peace at having recognized the babies we made but never got to hold. It feels right.

I turn to Horse with a grateful smile, and he puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. No words needed. Then I turn to Lara and Luke.

‘Lara?’ I say.

‘For my dad,’ says Lara, stepping forward, finding a branch for her ornament. She’s made it out of cogs from one of Paddy’s old pieces of machinery, polished up and gleaming.