‘Six… five… four…’

The countdown gathered in pace and volume, while I tried to process Erin’s words, an uneasy feeling sliding through my stomach.

‘Three… two…’

There was a dramatic pause, then Ollie pulled the switch and – as if by magic – the tree burst into glittering brightness to appreciative cries from the crowd.

‘I declare this Shipley tree turned ON,’ declared Ollie, twisting his head to admire the tree, the lights reflecting off his shiny hair. ‘In fact, I’m turned on just looking at it.’ He made seductive eyes at the crowd and a woman next to me tutted.

‘Inappropriate. There are children here, for fuck’s sake.’

Erin caught Ollie’s gaze and made a throat-cutting gesture.

His face lit up as he spotted her and he gave her a happy wave, while I surreptitiously glanced at Craig, my heart behaving weirdly. He was staring ahead, teeth clamped to his lower lip, as if chewing over what Erin had said.

So, Craig was the ‘other man’. I wondered whether Ollie had any idea. Clearly not, or there’d have been quite a lot of awkwardness between them.

I remembered the pad of scribbled plans I’d discovered on Craig’s first day, and realised how much he was capable of hiding. Disappointment rose, thick and choking. You barely know him, I reminded myself. Why are you so surprised?

He caught my gaze and seemed about to speak, when another gasp went up.

The tree lights had gone out.

‘Well, that didn’t last long,’ Ollie joked, to a stony silence. ‘Looks like someone’s pulled the plug.’

The councillor rushed forward and grabbed the microphone. ‘Sorry about this,’ he muttered, before pulling the switch himself, several times, his antlers falling over his eyes.

‘First time that’s ever happened.’ The voice behind me was loaded with portent.

‘It’s bad luck if the lights go out,’ said somebody else.

‘It means someone’s going to die!’

‘Don’t say that in front of the kids, you numpty.’

A doom-laden babble of voices joined in, until everyone was more or less predicting the end of the world.

‘This isn’t good,’ murmured Erin, her eyes still glued to Ollie. ‘He should say something.’

But, for once, Ollie seemed at a loss, glancing up at the tree and scratching his chin, as if the action would make the tree light up again.

The camera crew were filming, and the reporter was scribbling in his notepad, and I wondered whether they were going to somehow blame Ollie for this.

‘Ollie Matheson’s brought a curse to this town,’ someone shouted. It sounded suspiciously like Annabel, but when I looked round, I couldn’t see her.

‘Bit harsh,’ someone muttered.

Without warning, the lights flickered back to life and there was a palpable rush of relief from the crowd. As a tentative cheer went up, Ollie sprang back to life. ‘And now for the results of the Maple Hill Christmas Lights competition!’

‘He got the street name right.’ I looked at Craig, the smile on my lips dying when I remembered Erin’s revelation.

‘Can we talk?’ His eyes met mine at last. ‘Away from here?’

‘Not now,’ I said, shoving my hands in my pockets. They hadn’t felt cold, but now I couldn’t stop shivering as I looked to the side of the stage where Barry stood, arms hugging his chest. He’d been joined by Sheelagh, who looked dressed for a night at the opera in a flowing black cloak, and Jane – who I’d spotted earlier, selling Christmas wreaths on the flower stall – had appeared alongside Dennis, the pair of them in matching bobble hats. The Harassed Couple, Bella and Mark, were each cradling a twin, and Mr Flannery had joined the line-up, eyes darting around as if seeking a sniper in the crowd. Only the Jensens hadn’t made it; presumably because their high-powered jobs didn’t allow them an afternoon off.

‘And the winner IS…’ Ollie paused, looking at each of the contestants in turn with an air of barely concealed excitement. He’d either got better at acting or was genuinely enjoying himself.

Jane and Dennis nudged each other like schoolchildren, while Sheelagh gazed up at Ollie with something approaching reverence, apparently unaffected by having a broken night’s sleep. Barry stared at his feet, encased in biker-style boots, and Mr Flannery stared heavenwards, as if praying, fingers toying with a toggle on his duffle coat.

‘Spit it out, my feet are freezing,’ someone yelled.

‘Why can’t they leave him alone?’ Erin whispered, even though I’d been wishing he’d get on with it too. ‘He’s doing a great job.’

I looked at her in surprise. Ollie was milking the moment for all it was worth and – as usual – not reading the mood.

‘The winner IS… The GINGERbread House,’ he boomed finally, in the style of the voiceover man on The X Factor, and the Harassed Couple broke into delighted smiles. They handed their babies to Jane and Dennis, before stepping up to accept their hamper and Hudson Country House Hotel voucher, and then opted for their fifty pounds to be donated to the local hospice, while the crowd politely applauded.

‘Good decision.’ Doris Day had somehow sandwiched herself between Erin and me, a bag of shopping in one of her mittened hands. ‘They deserve it,’ she approved. ‘They need that hotel break. They’ve barely slept in a year.’

‘I thought they might win,’ I said, giving Ollie a thumbs-up, before realising his megawatt smile was directed at Erin.

I was amazed to see Barry and Mr Flannery applauding too, flashing each other oddly triumphant looks. ‘I thought they’d be furious,’ I said.

‘They’re each glad the other hasn’t won.’ Doris gave me a look that said, Don’t you get it? ‘The competition has always been between the pair of them,’ she elaborated. ‘They’re fine with someone else winning.’

‘Ah.’ I clearly had a lot to learn about the politics of the Christmas lights competition. ‘That’s… good?’ I said. Though, if I was honest, a teensy part of me felt a bit let down. I’d been curious to know what Mr Flannery would do if he didn’t win. Especially as he’d been planning to take Ruby Dashwood away for a dirty weekend. Although, judging by the way she was laughing with Bob the Baker, who was selling mince pies from a nearby stall, she wouldn’t have accepted anyway. A blonde-haired girl, who looked like a younger version of Ruby, was trying to attract her attention back to the flower stall, and I heard her shout, ‘Gran, can you tell Dad these red plants have poisonous leaves, because he won’t believe me?’

I turned back to Erin, who was saying to Doris, ‘It sounds like he’s been very fair with his decision,’ as proudly as if Ollie was her firstborn. ‘I can’t wait to see this gingerbread house for myself.’

‘He liked that one the best the night we arrived.’ Craig had raised his camera and was filming the presentation, even though News South-West was covering it anyway. ‘One for the archives,’ he said to me, even though I’d been trying not to look at him. He’d slept with Tattie Granger, for heaven’s sake. How could he act normally around Ollie?

‘Traitor,’ Erin hissed in my ear, as if catching my thoughts. ‘As soon as this is over, we’ll be having words.’

‘In front of Ollie?’

‘No.’ Erin looked to where Ollie was emptying the food hamper, item by item, holding up a jar of goose fat and telling a story about his nanny’s roast potatoes being the best he’d ever tasted, the secret being goose fat, which he’d loved ever since, and how he even took a jar with him to restaurants. The onlookers looked suitably bemused. ‘I’ll get Craig to tell him and if he won’t, then I will.’

‘And then what?’

Erin had a strange glint in her eye that I’d only seen once before: after The Actor had declared his intention to conquer America without her. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted, the glint fading.

‘I’ve seen his fancy woman.’

I looked at Doris, noticing her discreet, Christmas tree earrings. ‘Sorry?’

‘Barry.’ She flashed her eyes in his direction, while Erin moved in to eavesdrop.

‘Where?’

‘Well, as you haven’t been keeping an eye out I thought I’d have a wander past the house myself, while Sheelagh was at school yesterday lunchtime, and I noticed a smudge on their front window—’

‘You noticed a smudge from the pavement?’ I said.

‘Well, I didn’t realise it was a smudge until I got closer, but I know what smudged glass looks like.’ Erin and I glanced at each other, wide-eyed with the urge to laugh. ‘Anyway, I saw her, brazen as anything, half-dressed on the sofa in front of that dreadful Loose Women, flipping through one of Sheelagh’s books.’ Her mouth pursed. ‘I very nearly knocked on the glass to give her a fright,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t want to add more smudges and raise suspicion.’

‘Naturally.’

‘Are you going to tell Sheelagh?’ said Erin, grasping the situation right away.

Doris’s face softened. ‘I’ve written the evidence down, just in case, but I think I should wait for her to come and ask for help,’ she said. ‘She might already know but not want to know, if you get my drift.’

I was impressed by Doris’s restraint. I didn’t want to be the one to tell Sheelagh either, and was praying she wouldn’t ask me again if I’d seen anything.

‘You know, you should put your policing skills to good use,’ I said. ‘The Doris Day Detective Agency has quite a nice ring to it.’

‘I’d call you,’ said Erin. ‘If I thought my husband was cheating.’ She threw Craig a savage look, but the News South-West cameraman had wandered over and they were comparing equipment.

‘Maybe I will,’ Doris said, looking tickled by the idea. ‘I used to help my Roger solve his cases, and Midsomer Murders is my favourite TV programme after Without a Trace.’

‘There you go then,’ I said.

Bella and Mark had stepped off the stage with their booty, looking far less harassed, and Ollie was speaking into the microphone again. ‘In their own ways, all the residents were absolute winners,’ he said, holding up a hand to still the crowd, who were starting to drift away. ‘And as a thank you to everyone at Maple Hill, for putting up with me, I’ll be making a substantial donation to The Christmas Lights Society, towards next year’s festivities.’

‘You shouldn’t be encouraging people to compete against each other!’

Definitely Annabel. Luckily, apart from some tutting, no one seemed to agree and there was a rousing outbreak of applause.

Sheelagh looked overcome with emotion, her hands clasped as though she were praying to Ollie, clearly forgetting – or forgiving – his insults about Barry’s lights.

‘That’s nice of him,’ said Erin. ‘I hope the cameras got that.’

Doris looked less impressed. ‘I was rather hoping there wouldn’t be a competition next year,’ she said, adjusting the knot of her scarf. ‘But I suppose it gives those two something to look forward to.’ Mr Flannery and Barry were squaring up, like wrestlers, testosterone swirling like a cyclone. ‘Pair of big kids.’

Before I could respond, Ollie shouted, ‘Have a wonderful Christmas, SHIPLEY, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t, yah?’ He’d barely finished before the councillor stepped forward, minus his antlers, to announce the Nightingale Primary choir was about to perform, and a clutch of rosy-cheeked children were herded on stage by a smiling Jill Edwards, wearing a holly-patterned sweater beneath her padded coat.

Ollie came over and stopped in front of Erin. ‘Did I do OK?’ he said, groomed eyebrows crinkling. He sounded oddly uncertain.

‘You were fine,’ she said coolly, pulling a compact-mirror from her black, silver- studded handbag to check her lipstick.

He visibly relaxed. ‘If my agent’s happy, then so am I.’ He spoke with an air of solemnity, eyes sweeping her appearance and seeming to find it favourable. ‘Love the hat,’ he said, tugging it forward. She slapped his hand away and I realised she was being playful, which wasn’t like Erin at all. Clearly the Ollie effect hadn’t quite worn off.

‘Isn’t it traditional to repair to the pub?’ he said to Craig, who’d stopped filming and was standing a little way off, looking as if he longed to be invisible.

‘Well, I’ve got a pair of breasts to attend to.’ Doris patted her bag. ‘My Eric is coming for dinner and loves his chicken, and we’re hoping to introduce Erica to a pureed Brussels sprout, so she can get a taste for them before Christmas Day.’ She looked like she’d swallowed a bunch of fairy lights when she spoke about her granddaughter, and as she headed for the parade with a bright, ‘Cheerio,’ I half wished I was going with her. Anywhere but the pub, where things were bound to get awkward.

Plus, I loved Brussels sprouts.