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Martin Gallagher from Welston had booked three cabins for seven nights. Cabin one for James Gallagher, cabin two for André and Lizzie Renault. Lizzie . The pregnant woman she’d spoken to yesterday. Emma remembered then that James had a sister. She’d been in primary school when they’d been in high school and they’d never met, and when James had moved back to Welston to open his law practice after living in Sydney, his family no longer lived in town.
    Did Lizzie know who she was?
    There were three guests checking out this morning, and three checking in this afternoon to take their place. The cleaners would be in at ten o’clock to prepare the cabins. Emma ran through her mental checklist. Running the holiday park was a nonstop business. There were always comings and goings, maintenance and repairs of the cabins and the grounds, cleaning galore, enquiries and bookings, and marketing and administration. The job was never boring, though could get overwhelming sometimes.
    Emma checked the answering machine and returned a few calls, then confirmed internet bookings that had come in overnight. The place booked out months in advance, a year or so for the beachfront cabins. The rental caravans were easier to book, often taking short notice reservations for people needing cheap, emergency accommodation, while others brought their own caravans and booked a patch of ground to park their van.
    The office door jingled and a young, tanned, and rosy-cheeked couple walked in. Emma flashed her best feature — so she’d been told — her smile, and stood tall behind the counter.
    â€˜We’re just checking out,’ the woman said. ‘Sadly. This place is so peaceful.’
    Emma had thought so too, until yesterday. ‘I’m glad you liked it. How was the cabin?’
    â€˜Very impressive,’ said the man. ‘And thanks for the bottle of wine and fruit basket you left in the room for us.’
    They must have been the honeymoon couple who’d checked in on Saturday night after hours. As she did for all guests expected to arrive after five, she left the cabin key with the local Mexican restaurant up the road who were open late, seven days a week.
    â€˜Oh, you must be Mr and Mrs Granford,’ Emma said, remembering their name from last week’s booking schedule. ‘Congratulations!’ She held out her hand and shook each of theirs. ‘Are you heading home or is the honeymoon continuing?’
    Mrs Granford smiled wide. ‘It’s not over yet.’ She leaned in close and planted a noisy kiss on her husband’s cheek.
    â€˜We’re heading further south to tour a few wineries, enjoy the fresh country sea air.’ Mr Granford spoke in a way that seemed like they hadn’t a care in the world. A pang of jealousy irritated Emma, and she mentally scolded herself for it. She was lucky. Damn lucky. Just because life had presented her and her family with a few challenges didn’t mean she had it tough. There was always someone worse off. But occasionally, she couldn’t help but feel like she was missing something, and waiting for the day when she could do things she wanted without having to structure her life around other priorities and responsibilities.
    â€˜Sounds fabulous,’ Emma said. ‘Thanks for making the cabins part of your journey.’ She took their key and filed it away in the locked drawer, then settled their account. As was policy for all newlyweds, she gave them a ten percent discount voucher for a future stay which, given their long waiting lists, expired in two years time.
    â€˜Thanks,’ the woman looked at Emma’s name tag, ‘Emma.’
    â€˜My pleasure. Hope to see you again.’
    They walked out all relaxed and smiling and glowing, and Emma was glad that she was able to be a vehicle for someone’s happiness, if only in a small way, by providing a nice place to stay. She missed that about teaching;