We set off in the opposite direction to the town centre, and even in my walking shoes, I have to jog to keep up with Kit’s huge strides. The incline of the road becomes increasingly steep the further away from civilisation we get, and after ten or so minutes, I have to stop and lean over to catch my breath.

‘You all right there?’ Kit asks, glancing over his shoulder.

‘I’m fine,’ I splutter, my hands on my knees as I try not to think about how red and shiny my face must be. ‘It’s just the heat – I’m still not used to it.’

He regards me for a moment or two.

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ he asks again. ‘Because this hike is not going to get any easier.’

‘I’m sure,’ I insist, unwilling to appear any more unfit than I have already.

Kit looks as if he doesn’t quite believe me, but he chooses not to comment, instead pointing ahead at a huge, overgrown hill.

‘We’re going up there next,’ he says, watching me for a reaction.

I laugh, certain that he’s not serious, only to realise from his expression that he very much is.

‘All the way up there?’ I repeat, not even pretending to sound anything but aghast.

Kit nods once.

‘Yep, we’re going to take the Tiki Trail and then head right the way to the top.’

‘How high is it?’ I want to know, but he shakes his head.

‘If I tell you, you’ll wimp out on me. And it’s not as high as it looks – you’ll breeze it. You’ll be skipping up there.’

‘I’m not some sort of mountain goat,’ I grumble under my breath, and Kit snorts with laughter.

‘No,’ he agrees, looking me up and down. ‘I reckon goats are way uglier.’