Stephe pulled his phone out and scrolled through it. ‘Two for the doubles, one-five for the single. That’s all meals and activities included. I did double check the offer on the website.’

There’s a website?

‘Right, £200, and £150. I’ll be right back.’

‘No, sweetheart!’ Stephe called after me. ‘Two thousand.’

Crap.

‘We can’t afford to refund them £5,000!’ I whisper-screeched at Becky.

‘Are you even liable?’ Becky was cool as a cucumber. In fact, from the glint in her eye I suspected she might be enjoying herself. ‘If someone who sold you a service has died, surely that’s tough cheese? Isn’t that what holiday insurance is for?’

‘What if that means Hope is now liable?’ I paced up and down, trying to get my head to stop spinning and start thinking. I had a sneaking suspicion that Charlie had taken thousands of pounds off these people, on the back of copious wild promises, without even considering the financial processes involved in setting up a business. If one of those snotty women got wind of this, who knows what the fallout would be? A bad review might be the least of our problems.

‘I think I’m going to have to go ahead and let them stay.’

‘What?’ Becky squealed. No doubt about it, she was loving this.

‘I can pull this off.’ I nodded my head, mentally ticking through a checklist of the basics. ‘We’ve got the bedrooms, I can rustle up some food, pour drinks. Figure out the rest as I go along. I can, can’t I? I mean, I’m not sure I’ve got any other option at this point…’

Clang.

‘That’ll be the remaining guests, then.’ I had to try and get the twinge of hysteria out of my voice.

I re-straightened my jumper, plastered the smile back on and went to greet them.

I was three steps down the hallway when Hope started crying.

So, Daniel emerged from his conference call to find five strangers lounging on his sofas, drinking tea out of his great-grandmother’s best china and eating freshly baked scones with the last of his jam and the cream I’d been saving for a pasta dish.

Becky and I were upstairs frantically chucking clutter into the tiny box room and making up the beds using a mishmash of bedding that we were hoping to pull off as quaint rather than 1980s Argos.

‘We’re going to have to put someone in Charlie’s room,’ I said, when he came and found us.

‘No.’ He scooped Hope off the bedroom floor.

‘They’ve booked two doubles! The only alternative is to squeeze another single in with this one and push them together. But then we’d have to swap this wardrobe for something smaller, and we simply don’t have time to start humping furniture around.’

‘There is another alternative.’ Daniel looked resolute. ‘You can tell them we’ve had an unexpected problem with the drains. Rebook for a later date.’

‘We can’t do that now, they’ve come from London! And they haven’t exactly been impressed so far, they’ll demand a refund rather than trek back up here.’