‘“Queenstown Hill”,’ I read aloud. ‘“This hill was once known as Te Tapu-Nui, a hill which signifies intense sacredness.” That’s good to know.’

Kit chuckles.

‘Your Maori needs a bit of work,’ he says.

‘Hey!’ I exclaim. ‘I’m trying my best here.’

‘I’m so glad you decided to stay,’ he says then, his finger brushing the gentlest stroke along the underside of my arm.

Taken aback by both the change in subject and the jolt that ricocheted through me at his touch, I mumble something incoherent in response.

Kit drops his hand.

‘Say that again.’

‘I’m glad, too,’ I tell him, wanting to add that I stayed partly because of him, because he helped me to be brave, and to accept the things that I could not control. But it feels wrong to crank the dial around to serious when we’re only just settling back into playful.

After a few contemplative minutes, the trail widens and the stony ground gives way to a fine, sandy dust. We have reached the first stage of Queenstown Hill’s summit, and I can see a bowl-shaped sculpture on the edge of the pathway. It has a circular base made from wide, tightly packed slabs of stone, while its basin-like top has been constructed from twisted strips of metal.

This time Kit reads the sign.

‘“The Basket of Dreams”,’ he announces importantly. ‘“The Basket’s spiral of steel follows you inward, to reflect, to draw inspiration from the mountains, lake, and from those who are with you. Outward, to dream, for the future. Time flies, eternity waits.”’

‘Wow,’ I remark. ‘Sounds serious.’

‘It’s pretty bloody beautiful, don’t you think?’ he asks, and I agree that it is. The truth is that the more I stand here and gaze at it, the more I find pleasing about it. The steel is warm to the touch, and the view beyond it nothing short of miraculous. The green mountainside rushes down to greet the vivid blue of the sprawling lake, while in the distance the Remarkables sit huddled together like giant’s teeth – a great, toothy grin smiling up at the heavens.

‘Let’s go right to the top,’ Kit says.

It is tough going, and my thighs burn in protest as we scale the final stretch of path, but the view alone makes the struggle worthwhile. It feels like we are above the sky itself up here, the two of us. Clouds float across the endless puddle of blue sky like bubbles in a bathtub, and the far horizon shimmers with dancing light.

‘Seat?’ offers Kit, tapping the dry earth with his boot.

I ease my bag off my shoulder and sit down. It is a relief to rest my legs for a moment, and I sigh with pleasure as I stretch them out in front of me.

‘So,’ says Kit, who has lowered himself down next to me.