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Dear Ms Hall,

I am not normally the type to complain, but (anybody who says this usually is the type to complain, and the but confirms it) on this occasion I feel compelled.

Over the years we have booked many holidays through your travel agency, and your aunt has always made sure we have had the very best. We have even swapped Christmas cards!

‘And whilst I do not wish to place the blame at your door. . . Ouch! Bloody hell, talk about passive aggressive.’ The voice in my ear makes me jump.

‘Don’t read it out, Sam! It’s bad enough just reading it in my head. Anyway, I thought you were busy booking that cruise for the Nifty Fifty’s Gin Drinkers Association?’

‘I was, but you’ve just ripped that drink coaster into shreds, so I reckoned something was up.’

‘It’s that bloody Will Armstrong again, at the Shooting Star Mountain Resort – I want to strangle him!’ We don’t often get customer complaints, but this particular destination, and its grumpy owner, have been attracting a fair few lately. And this particular complaint hurts more than most because it suggests I’m the one at fault, and I’m not. ‘He’s not happy just sabotaging his own bloody business, he wants to drag us down with him.’

‘Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad. This guy can’t actually damage Making Memories, can he?’

I stab at the screen but can’t trust myself to speak.

‘. . . we find ourselves at a loss at to why you should recommend The Shooting Star Mountain Resort, as it is very clearly overpriced and understaffed. Lynn has always ensured we have value for money, and a fantastic holiday to boot.’

‘To boot?’ Sam interrupts her reading. ‘Who says to boot?’

‘Somebody who isn’t happy at all. Keep reading.’

She does. Out loud, in an ‘irate of the Home Counties’ kind of way.

‘You sound a bit like your mum.’

She ignores me.

‘Quite frankly, our room was disgusting. The sheets whilst clean were unironed.’ Sam pauses again, mid outrage. ‘Unironed? What’s the man talking about? I can’t see how that makes it disgusting, can you? I never iron the sheets; it’s like socks or knickers, who has time to iron things that nobody else ever sees? Do you iron sheets?’

‘Doesn’t Jake see your sheets? And the other bits as well?’

‘Well, yes, but I mean, the wrinkles stretch out, don’t they?’

‘I iron everything. I always find crisp, flat knickers with a seam down the centre hold a certain sexy appeal.’

She stares at me, her mouth open.

I burst out laughing. ‘God, Sam, do you honestly think I iron anything? I was kidding. Carry on.’

She gives me a funny look, then clears her throat. ‘You don’t really iron knickers, do you?’

‘No, I really don’t. Come on, before somebody comes in.’

‘The food was of variable quality and lukewarm. The final straw was speaking to the manager, who was abrupt and surly to the point of rudeness and suggested we vacate our cabin if we were not enjoying our stay. How could we possibly enjoy our stay when one of his vicious huskies had attacked our daughter, Ruby? I am sure she will suffer long-term consequences as a result, and now screams whenever a dog (including our own little Pippin, who wouldn’t hurt a fly) approaches her. Little Pippin bit my wife as a result of Ruby’s scream, and is now having to undergo veterinary visits as she is now nervous and snappy, and Ruby is booked in for counselling. My wife, meanwhile, has a bandaged hand which makes playing the piano extremely tortuous – and she is a music teacher!’

‘I have always trusted your recommendations, but am wondering if your lack of experience—’

I squeak as she reads out this sentence, I can’t help myself. Sam and I stare at each other. ‘Lack of experience! I don’t know who I hate more, him or Will Armstrong.’

‘. . . is becoming evident.’

‘As we were unable to book an early flight back, and the nearby hotels were all fully booked, we had to endure the rest of our holiday under a heavy cloud and an even heavier blanket as the heating was woefully inadequate.’

‘Well, at least he gave them blankets!’

Sam always picks up on the positives. I roll my eyes, and gesture at the screen.

‘I am sure that ABTA and Watchdog would be more than happy to investigate my complaints. However, in a spirit of goodwill, I would like to give you the opportunity to offer us a full refund and compensation for the stress this has caused. Please find, itemised below, additional expenses incurred.’

‘I look forward to hearing from you by return post. If I receive no response within 7 working days I will instruct my solicitor.’

‘Yours faithfully,’

‘Stephen Latterby’

‘Blah, blah, blah.’ Sam’s dropped the ‘outraged of Basildon’ voice. ‘Shit, look at that Sarah!’ I look and wish I hadn’t. ‘Is that how much a dog psychologist charges? Wow, I think I need to retrain.’

‘Sam! Just look at that total he’s asking for!’ I feel slightly sick, and faint. ‘We can’t pay that, we’ll be bankrupt. Lynn will kill me!’

‘But it isn’t your fault. I’m going to pop across to Costa and get us a drink and chocolate brownie, this calls for a caffeine and sugar boost. Don’t do anything until I get back.’ She raises an eyebrow at me. ‘I mean it. Promise.’

‘Anything?’

‘Well you can breathe and stuff, but please don’t reply to that email. You need to think about this carefully.’ She knows how impulsive I can be. ‘And talk to Lynn. I mean, what if this guy does actually sue us? I’ll never hear the last of this from Mum if we end up on Watchdog.’

We do the staring at each other thing again. She’s probably thinking about dog psychology. I’m thinking about how much damage you can inflict on somebody without being arrested.

‘I won’t reply.’ Which leaves things nicely open. It doesn’t stop me firing both barrels at Mr Will Armstrong.

This is getting way more serious than advising him to stick some holly up and light the fires (which I have done several times – and been ignored).

I roll up my sleeves. Whatever this guy’s game is, he is not going to drag us down with him. If there’s any suing to be done it will be us, not Mr Latterby, or any of our other disgruntled customers.

We need to be seen to be acting. I glance at the photograph of Aunt Lynn on the wall. She looks happy, she looks inspiring, she looks like we all want to feel after a good holiday. We need to show we care.

Dear Mr Armstrong,

Please find attached a letter we have received from a valued customer.

What do I do now? I google the Dangerous Dogs Act.

I would like to draw your attention to the paragraph concerning your dog. I would be grateful if you could forward your risk assessment regarding the use of these animals. My understanding is that any dangerous dog should be muzzled, and that any contact should be supervised. It would appear, in this case, that neither applied, and this is of great concern as we (as do you) have a duty of care to our clients, and we would not expect dangerous animals to be roaming loose and unattended.

Secondly, our client has expressed concerns about the state of their cabin, and the quality of food served. I would like to refer you to the description in your brochure (and accompanying photographs) which promises ‘cosy and comfortable accommodation, roaring fires and a restaurant offering food and drink that will round off the perfect day’.

Finally, I am concerned about the attitude of staff at the resort. They have, in the past, always been warm and welcoming, but our client complains of rudeness. Your service reflects on ours and I feel that our business relationship is now reaching the stage of being untenable.

This is an extremely serious situation, and I would be grateful if you could respond as soon as possible, before I am forced to take legal advice.

Kind regards,

Sarah Hall

Making Memories, Travel Agents

I hit ‘send’ and stare out of the window. Now what? Will Armstrong never replies to my emails, not even the jokey ‘let’s sort this together’ ones. So why should he respond to a complaint like this? Maybe Sam is right, maybe I need to call Aunt Lynn. But I don’t want to, not this time. I need to handle this.

There is a ping, incoming email. My God, it’s from Shooting Star! Hell, if he’s replied that means this really is serious, that he agrees we need to take action. Oh bugger, we’re going to be ruined. Aunt Lynn will never forgive me.

Dear Ms Hall,

I do feel you are overreacting slightly. The Latterby family have no grounds for taking you to court or demanding a full refund for themselves or their dog (who quite frankly probably does need psychological support if this is what he has to put up with on a daily basis). At the risk of sounding unprofessional, I would classify Mr Latterby as a habitual complainer with over-inflated expectations.

Our husky, Rosie, was in her run at the time of the incident you mention. The Latterby’s child had insisted on going down and feeding the dogs table scraps (of the variable-quality, lukewarm variety) despite clear signage forbidding this, and further signage requesting that no visitors enter the area where the dogs are kennelled without a member of staff.

Rosie, who has recently had puppies, reacted to the intrusion by jumping at the fence and the Latterby child slipped, falling on her well-padded posterior and screaming the place down. No blood was spilled, although I was very tempted to rectify that, as the welfare of our animals is important to me.

As far as rudeness goes, it is hard to remain civil when in the company of clients whose expectations stretch to spa facilities and fine-dining when our brochures and website illustrate very clearly that this is not what is on offer. Further, if they come to Canada in the winter, are icy conditions not to be expected? Much as I would like to play God, I am unfortunately not in a position to alter the weather conditions.

I suggest you use your tact, diplomacy and people skills to suggest they head ‘Down Under’ next year. I am not prepared to offer any compensation or discount but can give you the name of a good solicitor if you so require.

Is that serious enough for you?

Regards,

Will Armstrong

‘Oh my God, what is he like?’

I hadn’t heard Sam sneak back in.

I’m not quite sure how to answer, as I really can’t decide what he’s like. ‘He doesn’t seem to get it at all.’

‘Well, he does seem to care about the dogs.’

‘I know.’ This bit makes me unhappy, not because he cares (who doesn’t like a man who loves and protects his pets?), but because he doesn’t seem to have a clue about where he’s going wrong. ‘But he’s not got the first idea about customer service, has he? I mean, I know clients can be a pain in the arse—’

‘You’re telling me.’ Sam rolls her eyes.

‘But he’s working in the service industry. Even if this complaint is a load of tosh,’ which I suspect it might be, ‘and this guy is pushing his luck, he still does have at least some grounds for complaints doesn’t he? I mean look at the reviews . . .’

‘It’s not me you have to convince, Sare.’

‘I know.’ I groan. ‘Maybe I should just send some of them his way, but I think he’ll bin them before he even reads them, let alone do anything constructive.’ Will is doing my head in, in a way he shouldn’t. He obviously does care about some things, and he does have a point. ‘Maybe he does get pissed off when people arrive expecting spa pampering treatments and ten different variety of gin, but why can’t he see it’s the little things that can make a difference? And,’ I wipe a hand over my eyes, suddenly feeling weary, ‘he doesn’t see what he’s doing to us. Does he? He could wipe our business out! And,’ I stare at the email, ‘he could at least be civil.’

‘Well, he does sound pissed off, but it’s not exactly rude, is it? More frustrated? Or just assertive. Maybe he’s not used to getting it wrong.’ Sam squeezes my shoulder, and hands me a coffee and a massive blueberry muffin. ‘I wouldn’t want to mess with him, would you?’

‘I’ve got a horrible feeling I’ve got no choice.’ Maybe, when you’ve got a pissed-off man, who thinks he’s always in the right, then the only way to tackle him is head on and show him the error of his ways.