I went through some more of Anna’s memory book before I rang him. I have been doing so every morning and night for the past few days, and each time I open it, I am edging closer to her final entry, her final memory. Will telling David the truth now help me to face it?

I have discovered that Anna almost always wrote about me. Sometimes it’s just the briefest of mentions, things such as ‘Genie let me plait her hair today. It reminds me so much of when she was a child’, while other entries are full transcripts of a conversation we may have had, with her thoughts pencilled in carefully underneath. Anna was not the type of woman to agree with something just for the sake of it, but she was not argumentative either – not for the most part. That was the thing about Annabel Nash – you had to really push her to make her angry.

David has fallen silent now; for once he is waiting for me to speak. I close my eyes for a moment to steel myself, and am surprised to see an image of Kit, of his wide, kind face and sleepy-edged eyes. What would he say if he could see me here, on the verge of confessing it all? Would he urge me to get it over with, or warn me to keep it to myself? I already know the answer, and just that simple fact alone gives me the final bit of courage I need.

Despite the abundant decorations in Queenstown and the familiar music belching out from the taxi radio as it hurtles along the highway towards Glenorchy, I have yet to feel festive. Christmas with sunshine just doesn’t feel right. I’m wearing a summer dress, for heaven’s sake – with no tights, and no slippers – this is all wrong.

Forty minutes later, however, when I push my way through the treeline at the bottom of the stony pathway and head towards Koru Stables, it looks as if Santa himself has set up his grotto right in the middle of the yard. There are colourful paper chains pinned up above each stall and swathes of fake snow covering the outer walls and windows. Baubles hang from the bolts of the open half-doors, and I exclaim with delight when Keith sticks his whiskery chestnut nose over the top of one to reveal a jaunty Christmas hat, which some enterprising staff member has attached to his headcollar.