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“If we go on as we are,” Sarah continued matter-of-factly, “with the bookings we currently have, we’ll be just about completely out of money by the end of March.”
“By March!” Ellie stared at her in dismay. “But that’s less than six months away.”
“I know.”
How could this have happened? How could she have let it? The truth was, Ellie knew, she’d been a bit head-in-the-sand about it all, letting Sarah be in charge without thinking much more about it. Gwen and Matthew, she suspected, had been the same. They’d all preferred the practical work of making sure their guests had a good time. And then there had been their own family life. At fifteen, her oldest, Jess, was having a seemingly never-ending round of friendship dramas and boy crises. Ben, at thirteen, was in possession of a tireless amount of energy, and needed a fair amount of redirecting, as well as support and encouragement, to make sure he stayed on top of his schoolwork as well as out of trouble. Ten-year-old Josh was in his last year at the local primary and they’d been touring the comprehensive in Abergavenny as well as a few other schools, to figure out the best fit for his interests and quiet disposition. Then there was Ava, at only six, who still liked cuddles and stories and elaborate bedtime rituals. There simply hadn’t beentimeto worry about the state of Bluebell Inn’s finances, especially as whenever Ellie turned around, there was another booking… if only one, admittedly, or maybe two.
“So, if we don’t have the money to up our marketing,” Ellie asked, still trying to be pragmatic, “what do you think we should do?”
“I don’t know.” Sarah frowned. To her credit, she’d been diligent about the inn’s accounts, and this wasn’t the first warning Ellie had been given, so she knew it shouldn’t come as so much of a shock. Last spring, Sarah had suggested increasing their prices, but Ellie’s mother-in-law, Gwen, had insisted she wanted the inn to be an affordable holiday for everyone. This summer, Sarah had cautioned against their plans to turn the old pond at the bottom of the garden into a swimming hole, insisting there wasn’t enough money to install a pump and filtration system, or a pool liner, and so Matthew had reluctantly put those plans on hold.
No, Ellie acknowledged with a sigh, this shouldn’t have come as a surprise. It was just her blithe determination to tackle what was right in front of her and nothing else that had made her ignore all the warning signs her sister-in-law had so dutifully given.
“There must be something, Sarah,” she insisted now. “We can’t just…endthings.” Not after all the work they’d done, all the energy and emotion they’d invested in this place, thislife.
“We can raise prices,” Sarah suggested, “like I’ve said before, or find a way to increase bookings without increasing our budget. Those are the only options I can think of, and they have to be enacted sharpish.” She paused. “If you’d taken my advice a few months ago—”
“I know, and we didn’t,” Ellie replied quickly. “We should have, absolutely. But those are two good suggestions.” She tried to smile, although anxiety was now churning her insides. If the inn went bust, what would happen to them? To Gwen? As much as Ellie had initially resisted the move to Llandrigg, she knew she was now just as resistant to the idea of leaving it. The children were settled, she was settled, Matthew loved being the inn’s maintenance man and general director. They’d all found a purpose as well as a happiness here. They simply had to find a way to make this work. “I could go on social media a bit more,” she suggested. “Post about it on various sites and blogs and things.” She’d done that at the beginning, to drum up business, and it had seemed to work; their first summer, they’d been fully booked every single week. But, Ellie supposed, she’d trailed off because she’d felt as if the inn was established, and life had, inevitably, become busy. “I’ll contact some magazines, as well,” she added, “maybe ask them to run some features.”
Sarah looked decidedly dubious. “I’m not sure why they would run a feature on an inn that has been quietly running for two years already,” she remarked. “But I suppose it’s worth a try.”
“You don’t want it to close, do you, Sarah?” Ellie asked impulsively.
Although she didn’t think she’d ever be best friends with her sister-in-law, for their temperaments were simply too different, they had come to respect and even like each other. At least, she hoped they had. Sarah had certainly become more involved in the running of the inn; she was here several times a week, checking in on things, chatting to guests, taking part. Her two children, sixteen-year-old Mairi and fourteen-year-old Owen, had also often come along; Mairi was one of Jess’s best friends and Owen loved to kick a ball around with Ben. The inn really had been a family endeavor.
“Of course, I don’t want it to close!” Sarah looked affronted, and even a little hurt. “I’m just trying to berealistic, Ellie. I suppose, like you, part of me was hoping we could just trundle along for a while longer, but it really is time to face facts. If we don’t do something fairly drastic soon, I don’t think we’ll have much choice in the matter, and we might just have to shut our doors.”
“Have you spoken to your mother about this?” Although the inn had originally been Gwen’s idea, back when her husband David had been alive, she’d taken more of a back seat in its operational running and decision-making since Ellie and her family had arrived. Gwen was happy to bake treats for the family teas and manage the garden, but the bigger decisions she left to Matthew, Ellie, and Sarah, with seeming gratitude and relief. Still, it was her house, her dream, and Ellie knew she would need to be informed… and involved.
“I’ve tried,” Sarah replied, “but, like you and Matt, she’s been a bit tricky to pin down.” She sighed, her face drawn into somber lines. “I know it’s not easy to face something like this, and to be honest, I haven’t wanted to face it, either. Perhaps I should have a been more diligent about getting us all to face the music a bit sooner, as it were, but here we are. It’s time.”
“Yes, here we are,” Ellie echoed. And it wasn’t a very good place to be. She knew Sarah had her doubts about how a few Facebook posts might help, but Ellie was determined to try. “Maybe we should have a meeting,” she suggested. “A family conference, of sorts. Everyone can pitch in with ideas about how to help.”
“Maybe,” Sarah allowed, sounding skeptical, “but we’d better do it soon.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry, but I need to get to work.” She worked part-time for an accountancy firm in Abergavenny, in addition to her work for the inn. “Let me know if you schedule a meeting.”
“All right.” Ellie stood up, following Sarah to the door. “Thank you for your hard work, anyway,” she said, and Sarah gave her a fleeting smile.
“Sorry it’s not better news.”
As Ellie watched her sister-in-law walk briskly to the car, she couldn’t help but think that while Sarah might not want Bluebell Inn to close, such an event wouldn’t affect her nearly as much as it would Ellie and her family. Sarah lived in a smart executive-style home in Llandarth, the next village over, and her husband Nathan had an important, corporate job in Cardiff. She did the inn’s books as a kindness, and she and her children wouldn’t suffertoomuch if the place went under.
But what would she and Matthew do? How would they manage for money? Since they’d moved to the Bluebell Inn, they’d muddled along, managing their expenses with a combination of savings from the sale of their house—which hadn’t gone for nearly as much as they hoped—and chipping in with Gwen for groceries and bills, without worrying too much about who paid for what. They hadn’t drawn an actual salary from the business yet, and it hadn’t seemed to matter too much, because, so far, their expenses had been minimal. But, Ellie acknowledged, that wouldn’t always be the case. Her parents had come to visit last summer, but she’d been hoping to travel to see them in the States the week after Christmas—six airline tickets would not be cheap. Now she wondered if they even had the money for such a trip.
She took a deep breath. If the inn went under, she told herself, still trying to be pragmatic, it wouldn’t be the absolute end of the world. Matthew could look for a job in Cardiff or even Birmingham, which was only a little over an hour away. She could find work too. As for their plans to buy a house in the village, to make more space for guests and give themselves some breathing room… well, they would just have to be put on hold. That wasn’t the end of the world, either. They’d been living in the inn’s attic for the last two years. They could keep doing it, even if Ellie sometimes dreamed of having her own kitchen, an ensuite bathroom, a house that didn’t need fire doors or signs reminding guests of the Wi-Fi passcode.
No, Ellie realized as she turned away from the door, it wasn’t the loss of their livelihood, such as it was, that was bothering her. It was the loss of the inn itself, as a functioning business, a way of life. The dream she and Matthew had made together, along with Gwen and Sarah and the children. The dream she’d cherished.
Slowly she walked through the downstairs rooms they’d transformed over the last two years—the little games nook with its shelves of board games and puzzles and a few squashy armchairs; the cozy sitting room with its deep sofas framing the fireplace, the comforting scent of woodsmoke lingering in the air; the dining room with its table that seated sixteen, the glass-fronted cabinets with Gwen’s family silver and porcelain. All of it felt so familiar and beloved now, even though it had been strange when she’d first moved in here.
The whole family had pitched in and worked hard—Jess with her American-style treats and traditions; Ava as chief egg collector; Ben running the children’s assault course in the garden with Matt; and Josh organizing the games room with its assortment of games. Ellie had managed social activities and Gwen had planned the menus, while they’d both chipped in with the cooking. Really, everything about this place had been a joyful, joint effort, and one that had been Ellie’s brainchild, something she was inordinately proud of, simply because it had been hers. Itcouldn’tgo under just two years in. Ellie wouldn’t let it.
Filled with determination, she marched back to the kitchen and started clearing the tea things from the big, rectangular table of scrubbed oak, moving around the cozy, cluttered space as she had a thousand times before, and yet somehow finding everything precious—the ancient Aga, the Welsh dresser full of china, the big, battered tins of flour and sugar that Gwen used just about every day.
“Was Sarah here?” Gwen asked as she came into the kitchen, still wearing her gardening gloves, her silver hair tucked back in a neat bob, her blue eyes crinkled in query. Petite and trim, she looked younger than her sixty-nine years. “I was just trying to tidy up the flower beds… you have to keep on top of them, even at this time of year, or everything looks too rampant.” She shook her head ruefully, smiling, and Ellie managed to smile back. The inn’s garden was a delightful jumble of flowers and shrubs, raised beds and wild spaces for children to explore, welly boots required.
“Yes, she just left,” Ellie replied. “Cup of tea? I’m afraid the pot’s gone cold, but I can brew another.”
“That would be lovely, Ellie. Thank you.”
