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He shakes his head.

‘It’s difficult,’ he says.

I nod. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s me that should be sorry. It was her who sabotaged you and made you lose your acts. She thought if you didn’t have any acts, you wouldn’t open and would want to leave quicker, push on with the sale.’

‘But instead,’ I raise my eyebrows, ‘she did us a favour.’ It makes me smile to use the word us. ‘Because to be honest, I couldn’t have done any of this without you, Lara and Horse . . . or Will, for that matter. The wishing tree, the memory ornaments and spiced mince pies were all his ideas.’

I look around at the families hanging ornaments on trees and taking the price tags to the till.

‘Paddy would have loved this,’ I say.

‘You must miss him,’ says Luke.

‘I do. But the thing is, I really thought I had to leave to start again.’

I look over at Horse, who is tying a khaki scarf very high up on a tree for a young girl and her pregnant mother. I can hear him telling her that he hopes her daddy will be home on leave in the new year, and how proud he must be of her.

‘And now?’ Luke asks.

I look at the robin sitting on the fence into the forest, overseeing everything going on.

‘Now I’m not so sure,’ I say.

After the customers have left for the day, we sit by the firepit that Horse has built where the bonfire had been by the hut-turned-kiosk. Horse opens a bottle of wine and pours us each a glass. The fire is still smouldering and the seats are warm from where people have sat today, eating mince pies, admiring the trees and taking time to reflect on their memories.

On social media, we have become the #ChristmasTreeMemoryFarm. And I like that.

The following week brings a steady stream of customers coming to choose trees and put ornaments on them. A chilly breeze makes the ornaments tinkle and rustle in the wind.

Before I know it, it’s Saturday again; just ten days to go until Christmas Eve. I know it’s going to be a busy one, and I’ve no idea how we’re going to cope between us if the numbers keep getting bigger like they have done.

‘Horse,’ I say. ‘How are we going to do this today? Loads of people will want to pick up their trees. It’s just ten days to go until Christmas Eve.’

But he just smiles and gives me a wink. Then he goes off whistling, carrying a mug of tea.

Out in the yard, the farm gate down the drive is open. The puppies are fed, and Delilah has been around the forest trails a couple of times with Will to get some exercise. He’s just putting her back in the barn when I hear a noise – a big noise. Tegan starts to bark, as does Dinky. It’s like a rocket taking off.

I step out of the barn and into the yard, where a procession of enormous, shining motorbikes is coming into view up the drive.

‘Oh crikey, we’re barely open,’ I shout over the engines to Horse. ‘And we’re already busy!’

He throws back his head and laughs.

‘These aren’t customers, Gwen, they’re your helpers for the day!’ he says as they park up, one by one. Horse steps forward as they pull off their helmets, shaking hands with each of the riders one by one. And I can’t help but beam as I recognize the group.

‘You’re the ones who helped me find Will that day he got lost. When I was on my own and panicking. You found him!’ I say, recognizing the man with a pink Mohican who brought him back.

He shakes my hand.

‘Good to see you again!’ they’re saying to each other, hugging and slapping each other on their backs, on worn leather jackets and gilets.

‘And Will!’ the man says, shaking Will’s hand, and the others follow.

‘And they’ve come to help?’ I ask Horse. ‘Really?’

‘They’ve heard about our legendary curries and pakoras. Well, I told them! They’ll load the trees into the cars in return for a pot of curry by the fire afterwards.’