After a rather frustrating walk across the lawn – involving an awkward moment when Barry changed his mind – the groundkeeper was successfully delivered to Chegwin’s office.

‘Thank you, Lawrence,’ said Chegwin. ‘Would you mind closing the door on your way out? Barry and I will need some privacy.’

‘As you wish, Master Chegwin,’ said Lawrence. He shut the door quickly, relieved to get away.

Barry wiggled a finger in his ear, then sniffed the sort of sniff that produces a gurgling sound more suited to science-fiction films. ‘What do you want, mate?’

Chegwin was staring into space. He was wondering if – in relation to cardboard – paper should be called thinboard.

Barry snorted. ‘You called?’

‘Yes, sorry.’ Chegwin sketched something on a scrap piece of paper and slid it across the desk to the caretaker.

Barry picked it up and studied it, his face breaking into a gleeful smile. He sat down on the chair opposite Chegwin. ‘You’ve got my attention. Now tell me, what do I have to do?’

The meeting with Barry couldn’t have gone better. Not once did the gruff caretaker try to talk Chegwin out of spending an entire third of the budget.

‘It’s risky, but if we’re gonna go out of business, we’re gonna go out of business,’ said Barry. ‘At least I’ll get to finish with a bang. This is the best project anybody has ever given me.’

‘Are you certain you can pull it off?’ asked Chegwin, who, despite the outrageousness of his idea, wanted to make sure his plan would work and actually boost the hotel’s profits.

‘As certain as Larry has skinny shoulders,’ said Barry. ‘The idiot nearly dropped me twice on the walk over here.’

Barry phoned Dean, his apprentice, and invited him to Chegwin’s office to share the plan.

Dean’s tanned face radiated with delight when he heard the news. ‘Brilliant bacon.’

Barry agreed. ‘Flamin’ awesome.’

The pair shook hands with their young employer and left the office with new-found enthusiasm. Chegwin managed to catch some of Barry’s instructions before the pair disappeared from earshot. ‘You order the rocket fuel and I’ll start working on the engine …’

Chegwin sat back in his reclining chair and rested his hands behind his head. And, just like that, his thoughts skewed away, this time to a rather profound question – is it possible to measure the distance between east and west?

Over the course of the next week, Chegwin settled into life as the manager of Toffle Towers. Lawrence showed him how to pay the bills, allocate the budget for the kitchen, organise the filing system and oversee the bookings – not that there were any new ones.

‘You appear to be a fast learner,’ said the butler, pleasantly surprised by Chegwin’s willingness to absorb information between daydreams. ‘But we still need guests.’

Dealing with grown-ups was a new experience for Chegwin. Unlike the kids at school (including Mr Bridges, who could be lumped in a category halfway between meat pies and pugs), the staff at Toffle Towers didn’t tease him. They did, however, look upon him with an air of expectation. The need for bookings was great, and they were eager to find out if a change in management would bring about a change in the hotel’s fortunes.

Chegwin met the housekeepers, Mr and Mrs Dusty and Mildew Staines, who told him they’d had very little to do over the past eighteen months. The married couple had instead spent most of their time playing an epic game of Monopoly. Dusty was certain he was on the verge of victory, but Mildew reminded him that he had said the same thing last October. They set to work, but couldn’t hide their bewilderment when Chegwin asked them to prepare the third floor in the left wing for guests.

Chegwin also had time to explore more of the hotel. He peeked inside every room between 42 and 48 on the top floor of the right wing, but the door to room 49 was locked. When Chegwin asked Lawrence about it, the butler told him the key had been lost a long time ago. This bothered Chegwin, because he was certain he had heard something moving around inside the room.

He told his parents about the mystery. ‘I think there might be someone staying in the right wing.’

Mr Toffle shot a look at his wife, who gently held a finger to her lips. Chegwin wasn’t sure what they were getting at, but he soon became distracted wondering about another of life’s great mysteries – who invented butter?

Mr and Mrs Toffle were enjoying the change of pace in a small tourist town. They chose to spend most of their time working in one of the cafes that overlooked the river. Mrs Toffle selected the cafe especially after noticing that it was next to the florist. They talked to Chegwin every day about how the hotel was running, but patiently allowed their son to work things out for himself with Lawrence’s guidance.

There was still the issue of school that needed to be addressed. Mr Toffle reminded Chegwin that he had an upcoming appointment with the principal in a neighbouring town. The conversation made the boy’s stomach twist into a tight knot. Memories of Mr Bridges’ blotched face made sure of it.

But Mr Bridges was far away and Chegwin already wasn’t the same boy that he had been in his old class. For one, he wasn’t being screeched at when he drifted off in thought. For the first time in his life, Chegwin wasn’t scared about being teased. Perhaps the fact he was in charge had something to do with it. But would this change if he started going to a new school? He remembered the plan he had put into place at Mrs Flibbernut’s letterbox and crossed his fingers for luck.

On the final morning of Chegwin’s first week in Alandale, Barry entered his office. He wiped his oily hands on his khaki shirt, snorted loudly and grinned. ‘I reckon we’re ready, mate.’

Early the next day, Chegwin stood at the bus terminal in Alandale, glancing between the sky and a family of four who had just stepped off an overnight coach. They were reading brochures about the local attractions and chatting excitedly about their holiday.

A streak of smoke in the sky told Chegwin it was time to make his move.

‘Good morning,’ he said brightly. ‘Could I interest you in a night at Toffle Towers?’

The father of the family grunted. ‘No, thanks. We’re just about to book a room at the Braxton Hotel. We’ve been told it’s the best accommodation in town.’

Chegwin smiled. ‘At Toffle Towers we offer comfortable beds, delicious food … and one of the best connecting transport services going around!’

The father’s left eye twitched at Chegwin’s untucked shirt. ‘Like I said, no thanks.’

‘Look up there!’ The oldest boy in the family pointed to the heavens.

‘Goodness,’ said the mother.

‘It’s flying!’ exclaimed the younger brother.

The Toffle Towers shuttle bus – refitted, repainted and boasting six small rocket engines – touched down in the terminal. ‘TOFFLE TOWERS’ was painted in sparkling blue letters across the side of the bus – part of the rebranding strategy initiated by Chegwin.

Barry leaned out of the window. ‘Morning, mate. Any bookings today?’

‘Can we go there?’ said the older boy. He was staring, transfixed by the rocket engines.

‘Yeah, let’s go there!’ echoed his younger brother.

‘Oh, come on,’ said their mother, pulling her baffled husband towards the bus. ‘You only live once. We haven’t booked anything yet … Let’s try this hotel.’

Chegwin helped load the family’s luggage into the back of the shuttle bus and closed the doors, then he jumped in the front next to Barry. The engines roared back to life and the bus lifted off the ground, giving the tourists a wonderful view of the river.

‘This is the best!’ exclaimed the oldest boy.

‘Quite spectacular,’ said the father, who had quickly come around.

‘I want to buy a postcard,’ said the youngest boy.

The shuttle bus took a scenic route back to the hotel while Chegwin answered questions – as best he could – about Alandale. ‘Try the coffee at The Corkindrop, Mum reckons it’s up there with the best. It’s cheapest to hire canoes from Curly’s River Rafts, but don’t go skinny-dipping in the river – the water is too clear.’

The shuttle landed perfectly on the driveway. Lawrence, who was as much surprised by the sight of new guests as he was by the flying bus, held the door open for the family as they made their way inside to the reception desk.

‘I’d be delighted to offer you our family suite with the best view,’ said Chegwin, who had ducked around to the service side of the counter.

His curly blond hair poked over the top of the reception desk, which was built too tall for a ten-year-old.

‘Um, we can’t actually see you,’ said the mother.

The presence of new guests at Toffle Towers triggered something in Lawrence. This young boy had delivered visitors to the hotel after just one week on the job. The butler was drawn to his new manager like a tuxedo-dressed moth to the flame. He got down on his hands and knees and crawled behind the counter, his top hat still perfectly in place despite the fact that he now looked like a Friesian cow. ‘If you will, Master Chegwin.’

The boy stepped up onto the butler’s back and welcomed the family to Toffle Towers. He offered them complimentary pastries, which Pepper had prepared earlier. The Danishes tasted so good the family agreed to book an extra night. They also made a reservation for the hotel’s restaurant that evening.

Chegwin tapped the bell and Mikey appeared instantly. He was wearing another one of his brightly coloured Hawaiian shirts and Chegwin wondered how someone dressed so conspicuously could appear unnoticed so suddenly.

‘You’re so fast,’ he whispered.

‘It’s what I do,’ replied Mikey. ‘Plus, I need to be fast to dodge Pepper. She hates it when I try her food. Always gives me a good jab.’ He rubbed his shoulder.

Chegwin was staring into space.

‘Hello? Are you with us?’ said Mikey. ‘Um, we have guests here.’

Chegwin had tuned out. The sight of a Hawaiian shirt had made him think about palm trees. This had led him to wonder about desert islands and what would happen if he ever became stranded on one. He hoped he would be savvy enough to pack suncream and a good book.

‘Err, Chegwin?’ repeated Mikey.

The young manager snapped out of it. ‘Please take this family’s luggage to room two,’ said Chegwin.

He beamed at Mikey. Then he beamed at the family. He also beamed down at Lawrence, whose hands and knees were becoming quite sore. ‘We’re back in business, old chap.’