It was a last-minute May half-term break. We knew the cottage, lent to us by a relative, would be a squeeze for my husband, three teenage daughters and me. “But hey,” I told my unconvinced gang, “it’s near the beach – we’ll hardly be inside anyway.”
One daughter had a party the night before; she promised to be home by midnight, and we agreed we would begin the six-hour drive at 9am. Said daughter arrived back as I was making my morning tea. She was still drunk, and she had lost her phone.
