The familial tug-of-war was settled, however, by my groin strain. The only place I felt no pain was in the weightless water. And so, having agreed to meet back on deck for a sunset cocktail, we went our separate ways.

Alone on the seashore, I breathed a sigh of relief so huge it was probably mistaken by nearby sunbathers for emphysema. Beyond the palm-tree-dotted beach lay the turquoise bay, distantly semi-circled by the frothy breakers of a coral reef.

Stashing my bag behind a boulder, I donned a sun-savvy rash shirt and, this time, long board shorts, and fixed my goggles and snorkel. Then, pretty certain that I was not in the running for the Ms Mare New Caledonia Style Awards, I plunged into the silky sea and swam effortlessly out into the cove. A warm sense of calm washed over me as I watched the majestic stingrays, with their theatrical Batman capes and stage-villain grins, the shy sea turtles, the giant gropers, with their pouty Mick Jagger lips, and the colourful choreography of iridescent fish darting through coral without a care in their weightless world.

Soaking up the silent grandeur of the majestic reef, I lost track of time. The turquoise water was so warm I practically grew gills. I felt completely at ease, apart from one moment when a blacktip reef shark took a long look at me, then gave an expression that said ‘I already ate’ and slunk off into the deep.

When my arms and legs were nearly numb from exertion, I finally bobbed my head up and trod water while clearing the mist from my mask. Gazing up at the blue skies, with their curlicues of clouds, I felt so happy that I should have had my own cloud to walk upon, marked number nine. I realised, with a jolt, that I hadn’t thought of Harry today, not once. And even remembering that I hadn’t remembered him didn’t make me cry.

A warm breeze rippled across the water. The air itself seemed to waver, the tropical humidity suffusing it with an aqueous opalescence. Blissfully content, I was about to turn back towards the shore when I heard a cry – faint at first, but then a louder ‘Hoy!’ I trod water some more, turning in a semi-circle. Shielding my eyes against the sun’s glare, I finally discerned the outline of a windsurfer on the horizon, and there it was again – an unmistakable cry for help.

Readjusting my goggles, I swam in strong strokes towards the castaway. After five minutes, I surfaced and lifted my fogged goggles to check my direction. The person lying across the stranded board suddenly came into focus as though a binocular lens had been turned.

‘Oh, Jesus. Just when I thought this day couldn’t possibly get any worse,’ the doctor grouched.