Dad smiled. ‘One of our alumni has been extremely busy, and things sort of snowballed.’

I climbed out the car and wound my way towards the house, nodding hello to some of the ex-students I recognised, including a solicitor from a top law firm, a woman who employed several other Charis House graduates at her haulage company, and the most recent winner of a prestigious design award.

I could see the news reporters chatting to different groups of students, and wondered why Mum wasn’t here to supervise it all – until I stepped inside.

The huge entrance foyer had been transformed into a showcase for the school. There were dazzling displays crammed along every wall. Fashion, art, and other creative pieces jostled for space with science and construction projects. Mum was zipping from one exhibit to another, encouraging, adjusting and barking instructions.

The evidence of my parents’ tireless work – which was of course lives changed, wounds healed, faith restored – was all here, in the chatter and the smiles and the serious intent as those who believed Charis House had saved them did all they could to return the favour.

‘It’s eight-thirteen, Bea, why aren’t you in position?’ Mum called, spotting me from across the room. Glancing at my watch, I realised she was right.

‘I don’t know where in position is,’ I replied, causing her to abandon the cake she’d been adjusting and hustle me back outside and down the main steps.

‘Under the banner is best.’ She stopped and looked at me then. ‘Unless… I mean… you’re the expert.’

‘Under the banner is perfect.’ I smiled, hoping to ease the anxiety in her eyes. ‘Who do I need to talk to?’

‘Bea, is it?’ a man asked, who was pure BBC from grey side-parting to his sturdy shoes. ‘You’re well used to this, so we’ll just cue in and get started. Two minutes with you, then a couple of questions with Harley and Cairo, ten seconds of the video, and back to you for a final statement.’

Then, before I could ask about the video, or check whether my weather-vane bobble hat was straight, we were live on national television.

The second we’d finished, I checked my social media feeds to find comments appearing faster than I could read them. I’d set up various posts to appear automatically at eight twenty-five, and my followers were responding in their droves.

Henry called me a few minutes later. ‘We’ve already hit twelve-thousand pounds.’ No hello or well done, but I guessed he was firmly in business-mode. Henry was overseeing the funding page. He’d also been specifically requested by Nana Joy to keep her company in the Coach House while all the chaos was happening out here. ‘Eight of that is from Charis House alumni, but the rest are either viewers or your followers. SaveCharisHouse is trending.’