‘I’m fine,’ I sniff, rubbing furiously at my face. ‘Just being a cretin as usual. Sorry.’

Kit takes a deep breath, and I stare down at the ground, willing him not to pry any further. I never know once I give in to my tears how long they will last, or how wretched I will become.

‘I’m a pretty good listener,’ he offers. ‘Obviously, you can tell me to go away and get stuffed, but I would like to help you, if I can.’

His expression is so genuine that for a second or two I waver, imagining how it would feel to tell him the truth – and not just the facts, but the secret. The one that has anchored me here in this harbour of sorrow.

‘Genie.’

I look up, blinking away a fresh batch of tears.

‘Whatever it is,’ he says, ‘you can tell me. I’m not going to judge you or anything like that.’

I almost laugh at that, because how could he not?

‘I know you lost someone that you cared a lot about,’ he continues, his hands resting on the wooden rail of the balcony. ‘It helps to talk about it, you know. I swear on this.’ He raises a pinky finger.

‘Another two hours uphill, was it?’ I say, giving my cheeks a firm wipe.

Kit nods, but his smile is at half mast.

‘At least.’

‘Well, how about I bet you a beer that I can do it in under one?’

‘A beer?’ he exclaims with delight, limbering up in a ridiculously over-the-top manner. ‘Now you’re talking. I will absolutely take that bet!’

24

Kit clinks his bottle against mine and grins before taking a swig.

‘Come on, ’fess up,’ he says. ‘You were hustling me on that first trail this morning, weren’t you?’

I shake my head as I swallow my own sip of beer.

‘Not at all. I just got into my stride, that’s all.’

‘Hmmm,’ he says, one thick, dark eyebrow slightly raised.

‘I’m even faster across a flat surface,’ I joke, and he barks out a ‘ha’ of amusement.

‘A regular little Road Runner, you are,’ he proclaims.

‘Meep, meep,’ I reply lamely, and again he laughs. It’s a nice sound – deep and authentic.

The two of us are sitting on a large patch of grass not far from the lake, a liquor-store carrier bag on the ground between our outstretched legs which Kit has pinned down with the same bunch of keys that he used to prise the tops off our bottles. I left the choice of ale up to him and was surprised when he returned from the shop with a four-pack of the tequila-flavoured variety. I would have had Kit down as more of a standard beer man.