‘The news is certainly out of the blue,’ said Mr Toffle. ‘I expect you’ll have some questions.’

‘How many rooms does –’ Chegwin stopped himself. Despite the thoughts bubbling inside his head, he opted for a more systematic approach to his line of questioning. Logic had won out this time. ‘Who did I inherit the hotel from?’

‘It’s all here in the letter,’ said Mr Toffle. ‘Your mother and I received a duplicate copy, but you may want to open yours and read it for yourself.’

Chegwin took the envelope from his father and tore it open.

Chegwin stopped reading and looked at his parents. ‘Did you know I had a great-uncle?’

Mrs Toffle shook her head. ‘This is as much a surprise to us as it is to you.’

‘There were rumours of a runaway in the family,’ said Chegwin’s father. ‘It appears your great-uncle Terrence may have just solved that mystery.’

‘But why did he leave the hotel to me?’ said Chegwin. ‘He’s never even met me. Why not you or Uncle Blackbeard? I’m the only Toffle child. Don’t inheritances usually go to the oldest surviving relative?’

Mr Toffle shrugged his shoulders. ‘Your guess is as good as mine, son.’

Chegwin turned back to the letter.

Chegwin read the letter a second time. Then he read it a third time for good measure. He would have read it again, but he was beginning to think about other things like the apple and muesli bar on the kitchen bench. Plus, something in the letter was bothering him. ‘People could lose their jobs if I say no.’

‘Aaaaw.’ Mrs Toffle sighed. ‘You’re worried about the workers at Toffle Towers, aren’t you, my baby cucumber? They won’t have anywhere to work if you don’t go.’ Her voice was sugary and delicate. It was easy to see how she’d earned the nickname Lovely Lucy at high school – a name that had managed to stick well into her mid-thirties, as well as lend itself to the title of her stock trading company.

A fire lit in Chegwin’s brown eyes. It was a different flame to the one that had been in Mr Bridges’ stare earlier that day. This fire burned with compassion. ‘Yes, the letter says the hotel will be sold and liquidated if I don’t take charge. I don’t want it turned into a drink.’

‘Liquidated doesn’t mean the hotel will turn into a drink,’ Mr Toffle explained. ‘It means it will be collapsed.’

‘Flat drinks are even worse!’ said Chegwin. ‘All I know is there wouldn’t be a hotel left to work in. I don’t want people to lose their jobs because of me.’

A powerful silence followed Chegwin’s words. Dreamer or not, the boy’s thoughtfulness for others often left his parents speechless. Though this was something they were quite prepared for. Prior to Chegwin’s arrival home that afternoon, Mr and Mrs Toffle had had a lengthy heart-to-heart about the letter. They had guessed their son would feel this way.

‘Where is Alandale, anyway?’ asked Chegwin.

‘The other side of the country, dewdrop,’ said Mrs Toffle.

Mr Toffle looked at his wife. She smiled and nodded, giving him permission to share what they had discussed earlier. ‘Chegwin, your mother and I want you to know something very important … I finally found the perfect electric guitar for those seventies sounds I’ve been trying to emulate. It comes with a wah-wah pedal and –’

‘Ahem,’ interrupted Mrs Toffle gently. ‘Perhaps you could tell him the other thing we talked about.’

‘Ah, yes, of course. Bo-diddly-do-bop. Skeet-skettle-beep-beep!’

‘Now is not the time for one of your jazz songs, my love,’ said Mrs Toffle.

‘Yes, sorry, right you are,’ said Mr Toffle, who had been known to break into freestyle scatting without warning. He was often distracted by musical thoughts – no matter the genre. ‘Now, Chegwin, we want you to know something else too. Whether you choose to stay here or move to Alandale and manage the hotel, the decision is yours and we will support you either way. We are lucky enough to have jobs that allow us to work from home, so moving is not a problem at all. We’ll be behind whatever choice you make. I remember my own father once told me …’

But Chegwin wasn’t listening. He was already planning how he would save those people’s jobs. That, and the best way to cut an apple into tiny pieces.