‘So, we’re now on the eastern shore of Lake Wakatipu,’ Griff announces, his microphone crackling slightly as he clears his throat and starts to tell us all about the area.

The view out across the water is staggering. It is the sheer scale of the lakes and mountains here that so enthrals me. They make me feel smaller in size, but stronger in myself somehow. The flat Cambridgeshire countryside back home is isolating by comparison. Anything feels not only possible here, but probable, too. It is, simply put, incredible.

Tui falls silent as we continue further along the highway, passing bleached snatches of grass, dense patches of undergrowth and the occasional dwelling set back from the road. The Remarkables loom grandly above us, their jagged peaks silhouetted against the still-rising sun. I stare, my eyes glassy, trying not to think about Anna, and the clever words she would have chosen to describe this place. I still haven’t been able to face opening her memory book, but with every day that I spend here, I can sense myself becoming braver. Perhaps the fact that my birth mother is not here is fortuitous rather than disastrous. It has meant that I have been able to spend time getting to know Tui without the added pressure of her knowing that we are related, but it’s also given me some much-needed space for myself – something that I did not realise I needed until I had it. David was right, after all – getting away from home has been a tonic for my battered heart, even if the circumstances are a very long way from straightforward.

We stop for breakfast in the pretty lakeside town of Te Anau. Tui takes my hand and practically drags me down the steps into the sunshine, and the two of us wait under the shade of a bakery’s awning while Kit and Griff pop inside to pick up some goodies. She is wearing duck-egg-blue leggings today and a red Mickey Mouse sweatshirt, which she promptly yanks off and attempts to tie around her waist.

‘Shall I help you?’ I offer, but she nods her head and says no.

‘I can do it, Gee-nie,’ she assures me through gritted teeth, but it’s hard to simply stand there and watch while she struggles. When I move towards her to help, however, Tui emits a shrill squawk of indignation and scurries away out of reach.

‘Don’t mind Miss Grumpy Pants,’ says a returning Kit, handing me a paper bag containing some sort of warm pastry.

‘She can be very stubborn, this one,’ adds Griff, who is making short work of an enormous sausage roll. ‘Tui the mule, I call her.’

‘Hmph!’ Tui crosses her arms in an exaggerated gesture of disapproval. ‘I’m not a mule, Griff. Jeez! I’m a puppy, that’s all.’