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‘Now you’re cold.’ He chafed his hands up and down her arms.

‘Maybe.’ She smiled, not really caring about that, especially when he slid his arm around her waist. ‘You know, you couldn’t have picked a better time or place for this conversation.’

‘I don’t know, somewhere a bit warmer might have been nice.’ He snagged his phone from the pillar box. ‘But it is very pretty here.’

‘It’s not just that,’ Angela explained to him. ‘It’s what the tree stands for.’

‘Right, you called it the “wishing tree”. I assume there’s a story in that name somewhere. Some ancient tradition?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t say it was ancient, exactly — but it’s definitely a tradition, if something that’s been happening for less than twenty years can be classed as tradition.’ They slowly circled the tree.

‘It’s not even twenty years old? It looks a lot bigger than that.’

‘We planted it . . . we being the whole village. One of our first group fundraising efforts. It wasn’t exactly a tiny tree when we did it, but we’ve come a long way as a community since then.’

‘You mean the Summer’s Christmas thing?’

‘Yeah. We’ve made some pretty big wishes come true as a community, and it all started here.’ She stroked one of the tree’s branches gently, feeling the cold spike of the fir through her gloves. ‘We had a tree here before, but something happened, some sort of tree illness, and it was declared unsafe and had to be cut down. Apparently there wasn’t enough money to cover a decent-sized tree, and the Christmas tree was a big part of village festivities, so the community came together to raise money for a replacement.’

‘And let me guess, that was the first Christmas Tree Dance?’

‘Yeah.’ Angela nodded. ‘But now it’s a lot bigger, and raises a lot more money. All for charity, of course.’

‘It’s a good event.’ The smile he gave her, even just by the light of the tree, was beaming, flooding her with warmth. ‘Possibly one of my favourite nights out ever.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’ He squeezed her hand where it rested on his arm.

‘If you believe local legend, the tree is on a magical spot. The one before it was big and old, and there were lots of stories. Give them half a chance and Summer and Sarah will tell you all of them, because most of them involve fairies and magic . . . which they love.’

‘And you don’t, of course,’ he teased.

‘Nothing wrong with believing in magic.’ She smiled, thinking it had certainly played a big part in her life recently. ‘And sometimes I think magic comes from inside of people, and all they need is something to help them focus — a symbol to believe in. And that’s what the tree became.’

‘Your wishing tree?’

‘Broclington’s wishing tree. Not just mine.’

‘Go on then, tell me the ancient fairy story.’

‘What makes you think I know it?’

‘Because I know you, Angel. Because you believe in magic, fairies and sometimes even demons . . . even if they do turn out to be balding chicken-butt birds.’

She laughed at that. ‘I suppose you think I’m silly.’

‘No. I think you’re wonderful. And only a little bit silly about your animals sometimes.’ He laughed as she thwacked his arm. ‘Come on. Tell me your fairy story while we head back.’

‘Well, like a lot of the things round here, it goes back to a history so old that it’s practically myth.’

‘A lot of the best stories are.’

‘So, there’s this old, like ancient Celtic old tradition, in which certain trees were beloved by fairies, and people would make offerings to those trees, or the spirits and fairies that lived in them, in the hope they would bless them and make their dreams come true.’

‘Offerings like what?’ He flicked on his phone’s torch as they headed up the street to his cottage. Now they were away from the village centre, it was much darker.

‘Summer or Sarah would probably be able to tell you better than me, but I think people tied ribbons or cloth to the trees to hold their wishes, and when the wishes were granted they go back, untie the knot and leave a gift for the tree. Or the fairies.’