After eventually settling the bill, I make my way towards the glistening sweep of Lake Wakatipu, wondering as I do so if my biological mother knows anything about the link between myself and my fictional counterpart – and if so, what she makes of it all. Would the fact that the stories are centred around an abandoned child cause her to feel guilt, or is she too self-centred to be sentimental about the baby she gave away? I have tried so many times to peer into the gaping hole that she left in my life, but never found anything there but emptiness. David and Anna played the role of parents with unfailing kindness and love, but they have only ever been able to fill up half of that wide-open space inside me. The rest remains vacant, waiting to be filled by something – anything – resembling truth.

I reach Queenstown’s main harbour area and stroll down to the narrow strip of beach, where the curved tongue of the lake meets the shore. The sun is at full mast, and I watch a group of girls lay out their towels and strip down to their bikinis. I put on a blue-and-white striped sundress with oversized pockets on the front today, which is long enough to hide my pale thighs, but lightweight enough to prevent an episode of sunstroke. After bending myself into the shape of a paperclip this morning in an attempt to apply sun cream to my back, I gave up and instead unearthed a plain white T-shirt to wear under the dress as a cover-up.

According to the weather app on my phone, it’s close to thirty degrees on this beach – and it feels it, too. Moisture is collecting on the nape of my neck, and I pause for a moment to tie my hair back into a ponytail. When I was small, Anna used to plait my hair for me before bed. I can still recall how comforted I felt under the gentle touch of her fingers, and I allowed my hair to grow longer as I got older in a bid to draw those moments out. Now, I can’t bring myself to get it cut, even though it’s almost long enough to sit on.

I distract myself by staring out across the lake, gazing with unseeing eyes at the jagged light dancing across the surface of the water and the vast irregular shapes of the Southern Alps, which are shimmering in the far distance. Anna would have loved it here. She would have been charmed by the quaint but bustling atmosphere of this town and she would have exclaimed over every little detail, pointing out all the things that I will no doubt overlook.