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like we had a huge battle on our hands. We were on target to make our next rent payment, but we still had a long way to go. What if business was badly affected by the new spa? How would we pay Mr. Vulmer then?
    We all sat round the table, feeling sick and shocked, the coffee going cold and all thoughts of croissants forgotten. The Haven Spa opened on Monday morning and it felt like we were waiting for a hurricane to hit, to find out how bad the damage to our business would be.
    We still had to deep-clean the treatment rooms after that, and look at what stock needed to be made or ordered in, but there was no more laughing and joking. We dragged around miserably, and I hardly felt like I had the energy to do anything. Grace was taking her frustration out on the floor, which was lucky because it needed a good scrub, but Saff seemed to have stopped completely, and was just leaning on the reception desk staring at the stock lists.
    It was Mum who pulled us together in the end. “Come on, let’s finish up and get out of here,” she said. “There’s no point hanging around moping. Let’s walk up to the supermarket and get the ingredients to cook a big roast. We haven’t had one since we’ve been here, and I really fancy it now autumn’s in the air.”
    â€œMum, we can’t cook our way out of this crisis,” said Grace flatly.
    â€œI know that,” said Mum, giving her a nudge, “but I want us to do something together. And a decent meal always makes things seem a bit better. Come on, Gracie, we can have beef. With Yorkshires…”
    Grace’s favourite.
    â€œFine,” said my sister, “but only if there’s pudding as well.”
    So, by half two, after lots of shopping and chopping and peeling and searing and basting and boiling and, erm, whatever it is you do to cook Yorkshire puds, we all sat down around the Formica-topped table and had our first roast dinner on it.
    About halfway through, as I was reaching for more carrots, I noticed that the darkness I’d felt earlier had lifted a little. And perhaps the roast dinner had worked a bit of magic, because when the problem of the Haven Spa came into my mind (for about the hundredth time) instead of just feeling sick and blank and shuddery, I saw a little shoot of hope. “You know, we can’t beat them on price,” I said, “but we could create our own offer, and put leaflets in all the shops too.”
    â€œGood thinking,” said Mum. “We can’t just roll over and let them take our business.”
    â€œNo way!” Saff agreed.
    â€œWe need to think of something that doesn’t cost us too much, though, or we’ll actually start losing money,” Grace warned.
    â€œHow about a free manicure with every massage or other body treatment?” I suggested. “The cost is mainly Saff’s time, isn’t it?”
    â€œYes,” said Grace. “The nail polish and other bits don’t cost much.”
    â€œI’m happy to do as many as you can book in,” said Saff eagerly.
    â€œI’ll sort out the leaflet,” I said. “We can do it at school tomorrow. Summer can help and I’m sure Mr. Mac will let us use the Media Lab if we explain what it’s for.”
    â€œThen we’ll hit the streets and put them everywhere !” cried Saff. “We’ll let that new spa know who they’re dealing with! No one messes with the Green girls!”
    â€œIt’s not about us being against them. We’re simply promoting our business in a professional manner, that’s all,” said Mum, but she did give Saff a proud smile.
    We’d bought a chocolate cheesecake too, which Mum produced from the fridge with a flourish as we were clearing the lunch plates away. It was delicious, and we even had our traditional argument about who’d got the biggest bit, which made it feel like Sundays used to in our lovely house in