Almost immediately, the dark chamber is illuminated by hundreds of strings of flashing lights. Eerie singing begins, low and soothing at first, but then, as the lights begin to change from red to blue to green to yellow to pink and back to white, the pitch of the woman’s lilting voice goes up. The three of us are standing one behind the other on a metal platform caged in by two horizontal bars, and the walls, floor and ceiling around us are mirrored, creating the impression of a much larger, higher and deeper space. Upon closer inspection, I see that many of the lights are encased in plastic skulls, the effect hauntingly beautiful.

Tui has fallen silent ahead of me, her gaze on the lights and her hands raised as she twists her fingers together, utterly enthralled. I wish we could stay here in this magical portal, the three of us. Perhaps if we did, it would whisk us away to another time, like Evangeline’s train, a time where there were no lies and no secrets, where I had not lost so much, nor had so much to lose.

I don’t want to lose Tui, not now that I have found her. With a deep sigh, I take a step backwards, only to tumble against Kit. Instead of righting me, however, he simply puts a hand on my waist, steadying me but making no move to distance himself. It’s such a simple gesture, but it almost brings me to my knees.

The music stops.

‘Again, again!’ says Tui, turning to face us as the overhead lights go up. She is unwilling for the show to end quite so soon. For Kit and me, though, the moment has passed.

We grab a very late lunch at a steampunk-style café constructed from rust-coloured sheets of corrugated iron, then make our way back down to the water. In the same way that I can never resist the gently lapping shallows of Lake Wakatipu, Kit appears to be drawn to the sea, and now that Tui is full of burger, fries and an extra-large chocolate milkshake, she’s very happy to skip along beside us, picking up stones and great slimy lumps of seaweed, which she uses to chase Kit around in circles.

Following the curve of the bay, we pause to admire a large stone statue of a penguin, which Kit insists that Tui and I pose beside for a photo. Another yellow sign further along warns us to go slow, because we have entered a Penguin Crossing zone – a fact that prompts a clumsy cartwheel of joy from my sister.

‘The colony is up ahead,’ Kit explains, pointing towards a red-roofed building. ‘The ticket says we should turn up around eight, though, so we’ve got a while to wait yet.’

‘Oh.’ Tui pouts, but Kit simply laughs at her.