I ignored the large envelope, some charity begging letter, it was us that needed charity.  It soon disappeared beneath lunch boxes and homework books. Our tiny kitchen was always cluttered. I opened the back door and the children rushed upstairs to open all the bedroom windows. They knew the drill, at least this unseasonably warm September made it easier to air the house out from the smell of damp and mould.

It was five o’clock already, we had stopped at the swings to get some fresh air before being cooped up for the evening. Time to get on with dinner. I checked their homework books and started clearing space to cook. The colourful envelope had written in large letters across the top, DO NOT throw away, contains important information for the addressee. Definitely rubbish. I put it aside to read the more important looking letter in a white envelope from a solicitor?

I ripped it open, what on earth could it… notice our tenancy would not be renewed… my mouth went dry, I leaned against the narrow work top. We had assumed we would renew our tenancy again next month. That wasn’t the only bad news today, the announcement that the Wilko chain of stores could not be saved had been the only topic of conversation at work that morning. Hope was no longer an option for we staff.

When Mark walked through the door I could not read the expression on his face.

‘Do you want the good news or the bad news first.’

‘Bad’ I replied automatically.

‘Derek has had a heart attack.’

‘Oh that’s a shock, is he dead?’

‘Not quite, intensive care.’

I was relieved on two counts, the bad news wasn’t ours and at least Derek was not dead.

‘So what is the good news?’

‘I’m taking over his job, supervisor at last.’

‘Oh great’ I tried to sound enthusiastic, Mark’s good news cancelled out by me losing my job and of course The Letter. I grabbed it off the counter top, knocking the junk mail envelope to the floor. Dream House in big letters on the back, probably full of raffle tickets I could not afford to buy…

‘Cheer up Chelle, I heard about Wilkos, we knew it was coming, my pay rise will help till you find something else.’

I held out the dreaded white envelope but at that moment the children came rushing down the stairs and the door bell began ringing frantically.

‘I’ll go, if that’s Maggie I need the money she owes me, but I don’t need her coming in for a chat.’

I opened the door to be confronted by a young man and woman dressed very smartly.

‘Good evening, Mrs Michelle Gallager?’

‘Erm yes…’

‘We have some very good news for you.’

‘I’m sorry, I have my own beliefs and I’m trying to cook dinner.’

‘No, no we’re not bringing you news of eternal life, something much better. You have won your dream home. Did you get our letter today?’

‘Mark, Mark, bring that letter from the kitchen.’

They waved identity cards in front of me, but I was not going to let them in, this was obviously some kind of scam or trick, perhaps we were being filmed for reality TV.

It was not a scam, not as far as we could tell. Mark and I sat up after the children were in bed tapping on the iPad, checking the charity running the competition and the solicitor assigned to us. I go in for lots of competitions; I once won a family ticket to a third rate theme park and another time a year’s supply of washing powder that gave our youngest a rash. I didn’t recall the dream house, the second prize was a holiday to Bognor Regis, maybe that’s what had drawn me in. Apparently I had neglected to tick the no publicity box, but they were holding off on that for a week until we had decided what to do. What was there to decide, the house looked fabulous and right on the seashore.

‘…and we can sell it and buy our own sensible dream house where we want to live.’

I tuned back in to what Mark was saying.

‘Sell… no it’s our chance to have a new life.’

‘Chelle, we still have to eat and pay the bills and there’s my job. We’ve never been north of Watford and we know nothing about Northumberland.’

‘Room for relatives to stay, fresh air and scenery and the children can have a dog and I can get a job in a seaside café, it will be one long holiday…’

On Sunday we travelled up in a mini bus with ‘our team’ to visit the house. They looked shattered by the time we got there, excited children munching through happy meals at motorway services and talking non stop on the long drive ‘Will it have a drawbridge… and horses and a helicopter pad?’

It was a dream house, exotic looking at the front with picture windows upstairs and downstairs at the back, looking over the sea on a lovely evening. The children rushed round screaming with delight, slipping on polished floors and turning taps on in the various bathrooms. The team seemed eager to get away.

‘Now we will leave you alone for a week, it’s fully furnished as you see, bed linen and everything provided and a week’s worth of food. Don’t rush into any decisions, but we will be back next Sunday with the film crew.’

Mark and I stood on the balcony of the master bedroom looking at the stars. We could hear the children still chattering, faintly as their bedrooms were at the other end of the house.

 ‘I am so glad we haven’t told anybody yet Mark. Let’s enjoy this week, who cares if the children are missing school.’

‘We’ll have to watch them on that open staircase and that information brochure says to watch out for rip tides.’

The next day the sun shone on the sea and we went exploring. Glorious sand dunes and rolling heath, no sign of civilisation. I loved it.

‘Mummy, when can we go to the shops?’

‘We don’t need anything yet.’

‘But I want to go to the pet shop, you said we could have a puppy.’

‘…and you said I could have a pony.’

On Tuesday we realised there was no Broadband. On Wednesday it started raining, by Thursday most of the food had run out, our team obviously did not know how much food a family eats and we still had not found the shops. On Friday there was a power cut and the cinema sized television did not work. At least on Saturday the sun came out and we found a field of sheep and walked along the shore till we came to a fence that said Ministry of Defence Keep Out.

‘Daddy, can we go home now?’ said our youngest that evening.

On Sunday we waited anxiously for the charity team to return.