The rain hurled itself on the port side of the camper van; the headless mountains loomed, the leaden lake looked hungry.
‘Hold on!’ I shouted.
‘What?’ said Small.
The wind growled and the camper van took fright and lifted. I took my foot off the gas.
‘Easy girl,’ I said. ‘Down.’
‘I’m going for a poo.’
‘No you’re not.’
‘Come on. It’ll be fun.’
‘Let go of the door. You are not going in there.’
‘Someone has to christen it.’
‘No someone doesn’t. The camper van toilet is for emergencies only — between the hours of ten pm and six am.’
‘This is an emergency. I need to christen it.’
‘There is a flushing toilet thirty metres from here with hand dryers and soap dispensers. Go and use that.’
‘Step away from that door.’
‘Why are you so grumpy?’
The honeymoon was over and we were still at Queenstown Airport.