I can smell but not see the barbecue; a faint plume of smoke is drifting up from one of the paddocks behind the indoor school. The radio in the office has been cranked right up, and as I make my way over, I spot an enormous Christmas tree inside, its branches covered in a tangle of fairy lights. It has just gone four p.m., and the earlier fug of the afternoon has been tempered by the gentlest breeze. As I always do when I venture out here to the Dart Valley, I take a minute to admire the view of the mountains and the vast, endless blue of the sky.

The skin on my face feels sore from my earlier tears, but I also feel cleansed, as if the weight that has been sitting so heavily and for so long on my chest has lessened somewhat.

David was silent at first, for once allowing himself the time he needed to absorb what I was telling him rather than rushing to reassure. I had feared disappointment – perhaps even anger – but in the end, my adoptive father was pragmatic. His measured response to my tearful confession had been almost a let-down, because in my mind, at least, my crime deserved a far greater punishment. That’s the thing about David, though – he is kindness and forgiveness personified. If only he really was my father, then perhaps I would have inherited those same admirable traits.

As for Anna, she is still very much in the forefront of my mind, but keeping her there is not as painful as I suspected that it would be today. Of all the days, this should be the very worst, but as I am beginning to learn, if that pain is not already there, I don’t always have to go rooting through myself to find it.

I’m just wondering whether or not to drop off my bag of presents in the office, when Tui and Allie emerge from the same direction as the barbecue and, seeing me, wave and head across. Tui is wearing a bright red dress festooned with yards of tinsel – there’s even a piece threaded around her messy ponytail. When I tell her that she looks like a Christmas fairy, she beams with pride, and puts up a hand to self-consciously pat at her updo. Allie, who is looking extremely chic in a skin-tight black dress and flat silver sandals, blushes at the compliment. It turns out that she is responsible for Tui’s hair, while my sister is the mastermind behind the additional tinsel.

‘Where’s Beavis?’ I ask Tui, and she replies with a roar of laughter.

‘Tell her! Tell her!’ she cackles, and Allie raises an amused eyebrow.

‘Beavis is sitting in a puddle of his own drool by Kit’s feet,’ she explains. ‘There are bangers on the barbie, and there is no way that little dude is leaving until he gets one.’