‘Don’t worry – I have to drive this latest group back into town in an hour or two, so you’re welcome to hop in the gas guzzler at the same time, if you like?’

‘Thank you,’ I rush out, relief at his offer colliding with humiliation that I should have done something so dumb. ‘That would be really helpful – if you’re sure it’s not a problem?’

As much as I want to get away from this discombobulating place and back to the relative safety of my little apartment, where I can lock the door behind me and pretend that this afternoon never happened, I’m surprised to find that I also feel forlorn at the idea of leaving. I really must be cracking up.

‘No worries,’ Kit replies cheerfully, standing up again before I get the chance to say anything else. ‘I just need to head out into the yard and get a bit of graft done – you happy to hang out in here for a bit? Or,’ he adds with a wry grin, ‘you could always shovel some dung?’

I’m just about to reply when sounds of a kerfuffle filter in from outside, followed by high-pitched giggling, and the next second the teenage girl from the minibus erupts noisily into the room, the little caramel-coloured dog following closely at her heels.

‘He’s after me! He’s after me!’ she yelps, darting behind Kit and collapsing into peals of deep, throaty laughter. The little dog sits back on its haunches then springs forward straight through Kit’s legs, and starts attacking the girl’s shoelaces.

‘B-B-Beeeea!’ she cries, swatting half-heartedly at the puppy between bouts of mirth and loud hiccups. ‘Don’t bite me, Bea. Don’t you do that. Naughty boy.’

Kit is evidently very amused, and I remain mute on the sofa as he bends over and scoops the offending mutt up from behind his ankles.

‘Are you chewing Tui’s shoes again, little mister?’ he says in a mock-stern voice, waggling an authoritative finger as he lifts the dog up to his face. ‘Now, what have we talked about?’

The girl stops laughing and gazes up at the puppy, her attention fully focused and her feet shuffling from side to side on the dusty floor. I had guessed her to be in her mid-teens when I saw her earlier, but her childlike behaviour suggests she is far younger. She hasn’t looked at me once since bursting into the office.

‘Oh, B-B-B Beeea,’ she croons, holding out her hands for the puppy and then beaming when Kit lowers him gently into them. The dog looks up at his mistress and wags his stubby tail, licking her on the tip of her nose until she starts giggling all over again.