‘Ben Lomond is a good three or four hours’ walk away, but I reckon it will only take us an hour or so to reach the point where the hang gliders take off. Maybe two hours at your pace …’

‘Oi!’ I admonish, and he grins at me.

‘Oh, come on – I’m only pulling your pisser.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ I reply.

Why does my frightfully posh voice keep insisting on coming out?

‘Pulling your pisser. You know – tickling your tootsies, taking the royal mickey.’

‘Tickling my tootsies?’ I repeat incredulously, and Kit’s wide mouth lifts into another smirk.

‘Could have been worse,’ he says. ‘I could have said titties. Now, I dunno about you, but I reckon I have earned myself an ice cream.’

Once we’re inside a small café area, I offer to treat him, and after grumbling half-heartedly about chivalry being a lost art, he agrees, making me laugh when he promptly opts for a triple-scoop cone with extra lashings of fudge sauce.

‘I’m a growing man,’ he quips, patting his flat stomach.

I choose a small ice lolly the shape of a watermelon slice, which starts to melt as soon as we step back outside. I have no real choice but to insert the entire thing into my mouth, but it doesn’t seem to faze Kit in the slightest. He merely grins, and then devours a good third of his own in a single bite before leading me around the café to a narrow wooden gate. Pushing it open with his foot, he waits until I have passed through the gap to follow.

‘Wow,’ I breathe, strolling across the wide platform to take in the view. Low-slung clouds drift like soapsuds across a clear, bright sky, while far below, the vast deep-blue puddle of Lake Wakatipu plays affable host to their reflections. Houses as small as Monopoly pieces sit strewn around the shore, and thimble-sized boats chug across the water, each leaving a faint sliver of white in its wake. What really draws my eye, however, is the Remarkables, so mighty and self-assured as they stand like sentries on the far horizon.

‘Quite something, right?’ says Kit, his gaze following my own. ‘And they look even better topped with snow in the wintertime.’

‘I can imagine,’ I mumble, lulled into quiet by the scene spread out below us. There is something undeniably ethereal about New Zealand – it has a spiritual atmosphere. There is so much space and apparent peace up here, and I feel all at once uncaged, as if I could step over the railings and simply float away into the endless blue, up and away from all the confusion and the hurt.

I only realise that I have started to cry when Kit’s concerned face blocks out the view.

‘Hey, what’s up with you?’ he asks, crinkling his pale-mint eyes in sympathy as I accept his proffered napkin.