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‘He is!’ I say crossly.

‘A funny, kind, loving boy. Just the sort of boy they’d want for themselves.’

‘He is all of those things! Kind, funny, loving . . .’ I repeat.

‘But Will is not the child for them,’ says Lara.

I’m outraged. ‘Then what were they doing getting his hopes up?’

Lara smiles and puts her hand on mine.

‘We all agreed,’ she says gently, ‘that he wasn’t the boy for them . . .’ and then, sounding less official, ‘because he already has a family of his own. Right here, at Christmas Tree Farm. When I took Will shopping, all he did was talk about you and Horse, Luke and the dogs. Mostly you and the dogs. Adoption Services agree about what’s right for Will. They would prefer he stayed here, with family.’

The back of my hand flies to my mouth and I catch a gasp. This time the tears fill up my eyes and fall.

‘If it’s what you want,’ Lara adds. And I nod, sniff, nod, snort and nod some more.

‘Yes, it’s what I want,’ I say through my tears. ‘To stay here, with Will. For this to be his forever home.’

She stands and smiles, and I see that she is crying too.

‘It’s really true? They agreed? He’ll stay with me? Forever his family?’

Lara swishes away tears. ‘Unanimously.’

‘Thank you, thank you, Lara.’

‘You did all the work, Gwen,’ she tells me. ‘You created a home for Will to put down his roots. Now, if you’re okay, I’m going to go and find Will and tell him.’

As she turns to leave, Luke comes in through the farmhouse door. The two of them look at each other shyly and awkwardly dodge around one another as Luke holds the door open. They both try not to get too close for fear it will betray their own feelings. It’s like watching a choreographed dance as they carefully move around each other in a bubble of unspoken words and feelings.

Lara goes out into the yard and I watch as she disappears into the forest, the lights twinkling, following the paths. She knows exactly where to find Will: by the memory tree where he’s found his own roots.

I look out on the yard and decide to take a walk myself, get some air, try and find Horse in the forest. I know he’ll still be tidying and trimming where the trees have been cut down. I want to let him know the news; I’m excited but nervous, and terrified about Will’s reaction. What if he’s changed his mind, decided he would like to go to another family? What if he doesn’t want to stay in an old house where the plumbing creaks, the radiators tap with air pockets, and you need two duvets and a dog on your bed for warmth?

I walk over to the barn and in towards the puppy pen. The pups hear me coming and are suddenly on their feet, bouncing at the sides of the straw bales, tails wagging. I pick up Will’s favourite, Elf, and hold him to me, putting my nose into his fur.

‘Well, little man, how would you feel about staying here with me? And Will, if he wants to stay?’

I close my eyes and think about the wishing tree, wishing that Horse was going to be a part of this.

Then I follow the sound of the chainsaw towards Horse, thinking about what tomorrow will be like when he’s miles away, at a friend’s house, to be an extra guest with nowhere else to go this Christmas. I wish he was going to be here. With us, where he feels at home.

And then the chainsaw stops. His work in the forest must be done. I pick up the hem of my skirt, tuck the puppy under one arm and start to run.

There are still gentle flurries of snow falling. When I see Horse, he doesn’t notice me immediately; I see him pulling off the ear defenders, dusting off the sawdust and snow. Then he senses I’m there and looks up at me. We gaze at each other for what seems like a long time.

‘Looks like I’m all done here,’ he says at last. ‘Just finishing up, and then I’ll get my things and go.’

‘I didn’t want you to leave without saying goodbye,’ I say.

Horse doesn’t reply for a moment as he shakes off the last of the snow and sawdust.

‘Well, here’s the thing,’ he says then. He stands in front of me, tall, like the strongest and loveliest tree in the forest. ‘Here’s what I’m thinking . . .’ And the usually straight-talking Horse seems to be struggling to put his words in the right order. ‘What I was thinking was . . . If you were thinking the same thing . . .’

A smile pulls at the corner of my mouth.

He takes a deep breath.