‘Sensible,’ I concur, then, holding up a clanking carrier bag, ‘Where shall I put the booze?’

‘Straight into my brother, probably,’ Allie says dryly.

I follow the two of them around the side of the indoor school and find Kit and Griff – both clad in comedy reindeer antlers and snowman aprons – cooking the meat, each with a bottle of beer in their free hand. A table bearing bowls of various salads, sliced buns and condiments has been set up alongside the paddock fence, while another table the same size is groaning under the weight of bottles, cans and a huge ice box. Several groups of people are milling around – some I recognise as staff from the stables, but there are quite a few that I have never seen before, who I presume are Kit and Allie’s friends. Everyone seems to have a drink in their hand, and nobody seems to care that there is a relative stranger in their midst.

I had worried that I might be left stranded on my own today, but of course, that was never going to happen with Tui around. Before I’ve had time to help myself to a drink or say more than a quick ‘hi’ to Kit and Griff, my half-sister is dragging me across to a makeshift seating area built from bales of straw.

‘Daaaaad,’ croons Tui, coming to an untidy halt at the elbow of a dark-haired and dark-skinned man. So, this is Bonnie’s ex – the man she chose to have and keep a child with. Is this my birth mother’s type? And if so, should I expect my own father to look or have looked similar? Or perhaps not, given the fact that he – whoever he is – was presumably found to be lacking. It could be that my real father doesn’t even know that I exist, and I’m not sure whether to be comforted by that notion, or disturbed by it.

When Tui’s dad turns to face me, an expression of adoration already in place for his daughter, the likeness to my half-sister is apparent immediately, and I find myself warming to him straight away.

Simon, as he quickly introduces himself, has allegedly heard a lot about me over the past couple of weeks.

‘Really?’ I’m touched. ‘All good, I hope?’

‘Very much so,’ he says, before confiding in a half-whisper, ‘I think Tui is a bit besotted, to be honest.’

‘Hey!’ Tui is indignant. ‘Jeez, Dad.’

Simon pokes her playfully in the ribs until she squawks. Then, noticing that I don’t have a drink, he suggests to Tui that she fetch me one, ignoring my assurances that I’m fine.

‘This is your first Kiwi Christmas barbie, right?’ he checks, and I confirm that it is.

‘In that case, drinking is a must, I’m afraid. Grab her a beer, Tu – the same as mine, yeah. Sorry, Genie – is beer OK?’