Christmas at the Gin Shack

Chapter Five

As it turned out, they didn’t need the formal meeting Olive thought might be required. In Esme’s eagerness to make sure Tony’s mind was put at ease, she’d already sent an advert for a temporary manager to the local paper. The closing date was in a week’s time, so they just had to keep their fingers crossed that someone suitable applied.

In the meantime, they sorted out a rota to cover the week and agreed they’d continue with that pattern of cover until someone was brought in to cover Tony. It meant the number of nights they were all doing was spread evenly and someone was put in charge each night. It was fortunate that, having helped Tony from the ground up, so many of them were familiar with the running of the Gin Shack. They would be a bit thin on numbers with the Salter boys, all of whom were now old enough to work behind the bar, also absent, but they needed to be spending time with Tony. The customers knew what had happened. News travelled fast in the beach-hut community, especially as Tony’s moment had been so spectacularly public. The Gin Shack was an extension of that community so it was no surprise that everyone was aware and being incredibly understanding as a result.

It meant Olive was able to get on with life as usual apart from having to be at the Gin Shack for a couple of extra evenings that week. It was leaving her with a strange sense of loss. She’d not lost Tony, but, somehow, even not having him to call on at the Gin Shack had left her with a strange sense of life being out of rhythm. Like her world had slipped off its axis by just a few millimetres and everything wasn’t the same as it had been before.

Even this morning, Olive was sitting in the Oakley West lobby waiting for Veronica. Olive never had to wait for Veronica. She was a stickler for being on time. It was such an unusual event, Olive didn’t even know what to do with herself.

Currently Olive was doing a very good job at being restless. What was she supposed to do with her spare time? If this was the norm, she would probably settle down with a magazine. Maybe help herself to a cup of water from the water cooler. But it was so uncharacteristic of Veronica to be late, Olive instead tested out five hundred and eighty-two different positions in the chair, none of which was comfortable. Just when Olive was beginning to wonder what her plan of action should be, Veronica appeared from the lift with a huge self-satisfied beam across her face.

‘What have you been up to?’ Olive asked, questioning why her friend looked so like the cat that got the cream.

‘Nothing,’ Veronica said, not letting her grin drop.

Definitely something then.

‘You know we’re not allowed to have secrets from each other, don’t you?’

Veronica peered at Olive. ‘Honestly. It’s nothing you need to worry about.’

‘Really?’ Olive wasn’t so sure.

‘We’ve moved into a double room. Randy and I are roomies. I didn’t want to say anything with everything else going on.’

Veronica had been right. Olive wasn’t going to ask any further questions regarding the details of why she was late. ‘That’s great. I thought there wasn’t one available?’

‘There wasn’t. But they’ve converted some of the previous living area Matron occupied.’

‘Wow. Goes to show how distracted I’ve been. I didn’t even know that was being done.’

‘Yeah, turns out Matron had taken over an entire area that should have been for residential rooms. They’re working on several areas to update them and they’ll be for residents.’

It was strange thinking back on what had happened over the summer. Matron had definitely had it in for Olive and there was a large portion, almost a quarter of Oakley West, which had been out of bounds to the residents as it was allocated to staff. It would seem they’d been using extra rooms for their nefarious activities – rooms that weren’t theirs to use.

Olive was glad they’d seen the back of Matron, and the new staff seemed far friendlier and more professional, although it wouldn’t have taken much to beat Matron’s bedside manner. She was also glad the technicalities of how Oakley West should actually be laid out meant Veronica and Randy had got their room early. She just didn’t want to know what they were doing in there.

Olive liked to think she was wise to the ways of the world, but there was something that made her feel like a teenage daughter cringing about her parents still at it beyond their forties when thinking about the pair. Whatever they were up to that was putting a smile on Veronica’s face, Olive didn’t want to know about it. Not even a snippet.

Instead, they started heading out of the lobby, ready for their early-morning trip to the beach hut. Skipping over the lateness and kooky smile, they chatted about Tony and how well he’d looked despite the massive ordeal he’d been through to save his life.

‘Do you think they’ll manage to get a temporary manager? I can’t imagine there’ll be many people wanting a role that’s only going to last for about three months,’ Veronica said.

They reached the bottom of the slope and wandered along the promenade towards the row of six huts that belonged to Olive’s extended family. ‘Tony was looking for weeks after he got made redundant and he never really found a job, he created his own. So hopefully there’ll be enough people looking for work. We just might not get many applicants, as Esme only put the advert in for one week.’ To be honest, they couldn’t be lavish with advertising for weeks on end. It was less than two months until Christmas and, if they still wanted to continue as planned, they needed to be trading with someone at the helm. Olive just hoped they attracted some decent applicants.

‘How are we going to interview them? Is that down to us?’

Olive took in a breath of the salty sea breeze. She’d never interviewed anyone in her life. She wouldn’t know what to ask, or how to judge the answers they gave. What made someone suitable to run a bar? Tony did it so well and that was mostly down to his larger-than-life personality. If people weren’t sold on the Gin Shack just by its name, Tony’s welcome guaranteed they became regular customers. But it was hard to know how you’d ever gauge if a person was capable of that in a half-hour time slot. Conducting job interviews just wasn’t something Olive had ever thought she’d be responsible for. The realisation gave her an idea. ‘How about the interview isn’t a traditional one? How about we get them to make us a cocktail behind the bar at the Gin Shack? It’ll give us an idea of how good they are at mixing drinks. They can talk us through it so we’ll know if they’ve got any personality and we’ll know how creative they are, seeing as they’ll be helping us with the Christmas cocktail competition.’

‘That’s a great idea. Let’s hope we don’t get too many applicants or we’ll be drunk that day.’

Olive laughed as they reached the hut and she grabbed the key. ‘I think we’ll have to go for tasters rather than the whole thing if we have lots to try.’

Easing the doors open, Olive let her mind mull over a few ideas for the Christmas cocktail offerings. Was it bad that, despite what had happened, she was still eager to beat the others’ recipes? She really wanted to be the one with the promised bragging rights. She just hoped that, whatever happened, they were still able to carry out all the plans they’d discussed. She’d experiment in the beach hut when she got the chance, in anticipation of them still continuing as planned.

Inside the hut, a bit like the rest of the day so far, everything was out of place. Nothing was where it normally would be, but the last time it had been open and she’d been down here was when Tony had attempted to pop his clogs. Someone, she wasn’t sure who, had been kind enough to secure the beach huts after the antics of that day. It was probably Paul or Mark and they would have chucked everything back in so they could catch up with everyone else as they waited for news.

Olive readjusted the space so everything was back as it should be.

‘You coming in?’ Veronica asked.

There was a nip in the air that day. The sea would be bracing and take the wind out of their lungs. After hearing Tony struggle to breathe so recently, Olive wasn’t sure she should be subjecting herself to those kinds of conditions. This past couple of weeks had aged her and she didn’t like to think by how much. Her shoulders still ached from the force of pressing on Tony’s ribcage.

The words “I’m not sure” nearly left Olive’s lips, but then she stopped herself. Didn’t the fragility of life prove that she should be grasping at every opportunity with both hands? Whatever doubts she had, she put aside. Skinny-dipping was on the cards, even if the temperature might see her nipples drop off. It wasn’t like she had much use for them these days anyway.

Grabbing towels from the drawer (it was way too cold to endure the walk back without one ready), she was once again left feeling as though things were out of place.

The towels were folded, not rolled. Olive always rolled the towels. Somehow they fitted more neatly into the draw when they were stacked that way. But for some very peculiar reason, they were folded. Maybe Olive was losing her marbles. Maybe the cracks were starting to appear. Maybe she’d always folded them and her brain was playing strange tricks on her.

It was easy to recall the reason why she’d ended up agreeing to move into the Oakley West Retirement Quarters. It was because of the day she couldn’t remember what a teabag was after a mini stroke. Fortunately, the effects of that hadn’t been lasting. The moment she’d lost all sense of herself was fleeting.

But now all her rolled towels were folded, maybe this was the start of it? Maybe this feeling of being out of kilter wasn’t about Tony being poorly. Maybe she was as well. Because the towels hadn’t been out when he’d become sick, so it wasn’t like she was able to blame Mark or Paul for shoving them back any which way. No, this was a world where she definitely rolled her towels. She’d done it that way for as long as she could remember, but now there was doubt in her head. Perhaps she’d changed how she did things along the way and her brain had forgotten to take note. Whatever it was, it was bizarre and it strengthened the sense of the world being out of kilter. The sooner Tony was back the better. If she told her son, he’d have her up for some kind of psychiatric evaluation. Tony would help her reason what was going on. She needed him back for the world to be in sync again.

Olive ignored the problem and picked two large towels out and joined Veronica on the shoreline. Her friend had already stripped off and was merrily having a swim. Taking off her pink fleece and pulling her yellow maxi dress over her head, Olive practically jogged into the sea to get the hit from the cold over and done with.

They are towels, Olive told herself. Ordinary towels. It really didn’t matter how they were folded. But then again, it really did, when something so silly was making her lose her sense of what was right and what was left.

Dipping her head back to let her hair get wet, Olive floated for a moment, letting the waves rock her in whichever direction they chose. She didn’t normally. The flash of nudity way too much for any sensitive soul. But today was different. Because, yes, everything was out of kilter. She just had to hope it was more a case of getting out of the wrong side of bed, rather than anything actually being wrong.

Chapter Six

For the next few days, Olive wasn’t able to shake that feeling off. She went about her routine as usual. Always awake early, she would usually spend the first part of the morning reading in the early-morning light from her gorgeous seaview bay window. She would have preferred to do this at her beach hut like she always had, but she had to confess to being less hardened to the colder weather conditions than she once had been. She’d then head downstairs for breakfast where she would be joined by Veronica and Randy. She almost always opted for the cooked breakfast. She wasn’t at a point in life where she need ever worry about the consequences of black pudding and bacon fat. Instead, she enjoyed it with a relish that only came without thinking about consequence. It was a nice point of life to be at.

Normally, these days, if she wasn’t interested in the morning activities on offer (and however useful knitting might be, she didn’t have any kind of urge to perfect it at eighty-four), she would head to the Gin Shack. It wasn’t open at that time of day, but Tony would be there getting organised. At least three or four times a week, Olive would head there of a morning to enjoy the morning papers and a coffee with her friend. It kept her brain ticking over far more than the activities programme managed to, and it let the lovebirds have some time to themselves.

It must have been not seeing Tony that was making her feel out of sync. Because even though days at the beach hut were glorious, they weren’t the same when she didn’t get chance to catch up with friends now they were so busy making sure the Gin Shack remained open while Tony was absent.

After realising Tony’s absence was part of the problem, Olive arranged for another hospital visit. This time she braved the journey alone with a taxi to the hospital. He was no longer on high dependency and Esme was hopeful he was near to being discharged. Olive wasn’t a fan of hospitals, and she’d been fortunate not to have many dealings with the place. It was well signposted, so navigating the labyrinth of corridors wasn’t as complicated as it could have been.

When Olive arrived at his bed space, Tony wasn’t there. Typical that, even though Esme had let him know to expect her, he’d been carted off to another part of the hospital for some test or X-ray or something.

‘Hello there.’

The familiar voice made Olive jump out of her skin as she turned round to be met by Tony’s large frame. ‘You’re not supposed to try and give me a heart attack. We’ve had quite enough of them between us. I didn’t think you’d be up and about yet?’ Tony looked as fit as a fiddle. Like nothing had happened. It seemed life had saved up all its miracles for the later years of Olive’s life and it really was about time.

‘There’s no rest here. They like you up and about as soon as possible. I hadn’t realised I’d been feeling unwell before. I had a few crushing pains in my chest, but I’d put it down to lifting and carrying heavy boxes. I feel like a new man.’ Tony led them over to his bed space and took a seat on his bed, allowing Olive the chair. ‘How are you doing?’

‘I think I’m losing my marbles.’ At least with Tony she was able to be frank. If she’d told Richard this, he would have been marching his mother to the doctor before she had chance to explain.

‘I could have told you that… but what makes you say so?’

Olive tapped Tony’s knee in mock admonishment. ‘I know I’ve always had a screw loose, but there’s no need to be cheeky. I had a genuine moment of wondering if my mind was starting to go.’ She was at an age where it was commonplace for people to start losing their grip on the depths of reality. It wouldn’t be so surprising if her memory was starting to contain blanks.

‘Go on.’

Tony was always such a comfort to talk to, Olive didn’t worry about sharing her darkest fears with him. ‘This is going to sound stupid, but I couldn’t remember if I rolled or folded my towels. I swear I’ve always rolled them when I put them away at the beach hut, but the other day, when I went there, they were all folded. And for a moment, I couldn’t work out if it was something I’d done and maybe I’d never rolled them and my mind was playing tricks on me.’ It did sound silly talking about it.

‘You do always roll them. I’ve borrowed one off you enough times to be able to tell you that. So, you folded them by accident?’

Tony didn’t have any wires or drains hanging from him now and looked so extraordinarily like nothing had happened that Olive wasn’t sure she would ever stop staring at him with a sense of disbelief. How incredibly lucky they were that he was still here.

‘No, I haven’t. At least I don’t think I have. I guess that’s my worry… that I’ve done it without realising.’ What a thing to be worrying about. With all the problems in the world, towels and how they were placed in a draw seemed like a pretty pathetic thing to concern herself with. But then, if she did have a screw loose, she would like to be one of the first to know about it, not the last.

‘It’ll be Skylar or Lily or someone that’s done that. There must have been some out when I had my little incident and they may well have used some to help with clearing up. They wouldn’t have left them. They obviously took them to give them all a clean. You’ll have to ask, just to ease your mind.’

It made sense with Tony’s rational thought process. She’d have done the same if she’d been left behind that day. It had gone by in snapshots, much like the traumatic day she’d lost her husband and daughter. That thought made it all the more wonderful that Tony had survived. Balls to being embarrassed. She was going to embrace going all starry-eyed every time she saw him.

‘I knew I was being silly. It’s just been worrying me that it didn’t make sense.’

‘If I’ve eased your mind, can you help do the same for mine? Can you tell me what’s happening with the Gin Shack? Any luck with getting a replacement for me yet? Esme won’t tell me anything. She keeps saying concerning myself with it isn’t going to get me better, but what she hasn’t realised is it’s making me worry more. I keep thinking she’s not telling me anything because it’s all gone to ruin without me there.’

‘There’s not too much to tell. We decided the best way to run interviews would be to get them to demonstrate their cocktail-making skills. Esme has the details of the applicants and is inviting them to interview in a couple of days. We just need to supply the ingredients and see if they have what it takes.’

‘Blimey. You mean you’re carrying on like an episode of Cocktail and I’m missing out?’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll report back. I’m sure I can get one of your boys to set up a webcam or something if you’re that desperate not to miss out.’

Olive would have invited him to come along – sitting and watching people make cocktails didn’t seem that strenuous. But he needed to take it slowly. Plus, Esme would actually kill her because of her bad influence and she didn’t want to fall out with anyone, especially when it wasn’t worth risking Tony’s renewed health.

‘If I’m out of hospital and bored at home, then we need to sort that out. Just don’t tell Esme that’s what we’re doing. She’ll think it’s potentially going to stress me out, but really, it’s no worse than watching Masterchef, only I’ll have a bit more of a vested interest in this episode.’

‘I’d say so.’

‘And Olive, if it really is worrying you, you should go to your doctor. I’m pretty much testament to not ignoring things that don’t seem quite right.’