‘No, people can only book the weekends we make it available,’ Axel says. ‘The Marathon is on here so we’re getting three hundred a night.’ That perfect smile is on full beam now, and I wonder for just a second if he had braces to get his teeth so straight. ‘I’ve been telling you Caino, it’s money for old rope.’

‘Three hundred dollars?’ I ask, blinking. It’s a lot; this place is modern and well styled, I guess. More comfortable than a hotel room.

‘It’s booked out for three nights.’

‘You could put Taj up in a penthouse in Sky City for that.’

Claire begins packing up the plates. ‘You guys should rent your lake house out,’ she says.

‘I’ve been telling Cain that for years,’ Axel says.

Cain gives me a look. I know why he’s never raised it, he knows that it is more than a house to me.

‘Have you done it before, rented this place out?’ I ask.

‘Loads,’ Claire says, stepping back towards the table. ‘Probably half a dozen times over the past couple of years. We just go away when they’re here. We set our price quite high.’

‘I don’t know if I could do it at home,’ I say. ‘Have people going through my things. Anyone could be staying. What if they did something?’

Axel swallows a mouthful of wine, he drags his smile up on one side. ‘Lina, Lina, Lina. This is the twenty-first century, you can’t cash a cheque or rent a pushbike without a retina scan, laying down your life savings as a deposit, a blood bond to hand over your first born and nine different forms of ID.’

Cain laughs. They all do. I try to be polite, push a smile to my lips. ‘I know but—’

‘It’s not so simple as just whipping up a profile and making the booking.’ He gestures with his wine glass as he speaks. ‘They hold a deposit, confirm ID and offer a lot of support to hosts. We’ve never had a problem. Hell, I’d even set it all up for you if you wanted.’

‘What about you?’ I say, turning to Cain, hoping for backup. ‘Would you do it?’

Cain chews his lips for a moment. ‘I don’t trust strangers. But it’s good money, and we could do with a little more.’ That’s the understatement of the year.

‘If you’re worried about people going through your stuff, lock it away. You could make a fortune. A place on the lake, market it as an artist’s retreat, or a quiet family weekend away and just get some income?’

‘What if someone, I don’t know, decided to cook meth in your house?’

Axel takes a sip of his wine, pauses with the glass close to his lips. ‘That only happens on TV,’ he says to me.