The icy fingers of dread that had wrapped themselves around my airways ease off a little.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Well, the only way to find out is to try and break in, and I don’t really fancy being arrested at this time on a Sunday morning – or ever, for that matter. Oh, hang on, Mrs Gilbert is coming.’

Our nosy-but-nice neighbour must have heard the commotion. I can just imagine her padding importantly down the drive in her pink slippers, her Highland terrier Boris taking the opportunity to lift his leg on David’s rose bushes.

‘I’d better speak to her,’ I allow, and Hayley passes me over.

‘Hello, Genie darling – is that really you? I thought you were in New Zealand?’

‘I am,’ I say. ‘They do have phone reception here, though.’

‘Yes, of course they do, silly me.’

‘Sorry to have woken you up so early,’ I begin, ‘but I’m trying to find my dad. Have you seen him this week?’

‘Yes, dear, he popped over yesterday morning to give me his spare key.’

‘Why?’ I demand, aware that I’m perhaps not being as polite as I could be.

‘Well, he always leaves me a key when he goes on holiday,’ says Mrs Gilbert. ‘Didn’t you know he was going away?’

Obviously not.

‘I don’t think so,’ I reply warily, second-guessing my own memory. Did David mention that he was going somewhere? Where would he even go at this time of year – to a friend’s?

‘Is everything OK?’ asks Mrs Gilbert.

‘Yes, of course – thank you,’ I say, wracking my brain for any further clues as she mutters something about time zones.

‘There you go,’ Hayley declares. ‘Problem solved. Can I go back to bed now?’

‘David didn’t tell me he was going away,’ I grumble, standing up as the bus groans to a halt on Shotover Street. It’s odd how much coming back to Queenstown feels like arriving home.

‘Perhaps it was a last-minute thing?’ suggests Hayley, who is now back in her car. I can hear the swish of windscreen wipers.

‘God, I’m sorry I dragged you out of bed. I just panicked when I couldn’t get hold of him.’

‘It’s fine,’ Hayley hushes. ‘Don’t worry about it. You would do the same for me.’

‘I wonder where he’s gone?’ I say, leaning against the wall beside the NZone Skydive Centre, where two girls with Thailand tans and braided hair are daring each other to go inside. Anna and I had a conversation about skydiving once, and she made me promise that if I ever did it, I wouldn’t tell her until afterwards, when I was safely back on the ground.

‘Somewhere sunny, if he’s got any sense,’ muses Hayley. ‘It’s vile weather here.’