Welcome in the festive season with love, laughter and the perfect G&T in Christmas at the Gin Shack – the most uplifting holiday read of 2017!

Gingle bells, gingle bells, gingle all the way…

Olive Turner might have lived through eighty-four Christmases, but she’ll never get bored of her favourite time of year. And this one’s set to be extra special. It’s the Gin Shack’s first Christmas – and there’s a gin-themed weekend and a cocktail competition on the cards!

But, beneath the dazzle of fairy lights and the delicious scent of mince pies, Olive smells a rat. From trespassers in her beloved beach hut to a very unfunny joke played on her friends, it seems someone is missing a dose of good cheer.

Olive knows she’s getting on a bit – but is she really imagining that someone in the little seaside town is out to steal Christmas? More importantly, can she create the perfect gin cocktail before Christmas Eve – in time to save the day?

Christmas at the Gin Shack

Catherine Miller

ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

When CATHERINE MILLER became a mum to twins, she decided her hands weren’t full enough so wrote a novel with every spare moment she managed to find. By the time the twins were two, Catherine had a two-book deal with HQDigital UK. There is a possibility she has aged remarkably in that time. Her debut novel, Waiting For You, came out in March 2016. She is now the author of four books and hopes there will be many more now her twins have started school. Either that, or she’ll conduct more gin research on Olive’s behalf.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Author Bio

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Epilogue

Christmas at the Gin Shack Recipes

Endpages

Copyright

This dedication is the other half of the bookend. Because The Gin Shack on the Beach was dedicated to

Randolph, it’s only right that Christmas at the Gin Shack is dedicated to my gorgeous nan, Rose. If she

carries on being nice to me, I won’t let on that’s not actually her first name.

It’s possibly testament to how quickly I’ve written this book that I partly want to acknowledge all the snacks that have got me through. Rest assured, reader, I have consumed enough chocolate and gin samples to make ensure the Christmas spirit was added to this story. I have not had a mince pie, though, and despite it being September as I write this, I must rectify this immediately.

My thanks have to go especially to my agent, Hattie Grunewald, and all the team at Blake Friedmann Literary Agency. Your belief in Olive and the Gin Shack has given me more OMG moments than I could ever have hoped for.

A big thanks to Clio Cornish, the editor who originally encouraged me to write this series and who I’ve had the pleasure of working with for this second book. I’m looking forward to celebrating with a Christmas cocktail soon.

Last, I would like to thank the Olives (and Randys) in my life. I do honestly believe we all have a bit of Olive within us and I am so lucky to have had the love and support of so many beautiful woman like her. The last few months would have been so much harder without them… Mum, Nan, Amber, Eden, Brian, Sarah, Kat, Chrissie, Laura, Barbara, Pat, Lesley, Rosie, Jen, Wendy, Bea, The Romaniacs (Sue, Laura, Lucie, Debbie, Celia, Jan, Vanessa), Stacey, Steve, Gemma, Michelle, Abi, Leah, Diane.

The list could go on and on, but as I’m bound to miss names, I also want to give thanks to some of the groups that I’m lucky enough to be involved with: Twin mums, Southampton Competition Club, SW friends, Mumsnet Get Published FB group, Romantic Novelists’ Association, and all the supportive bloggers and readers. I feel very blessed to have so many wonderful people in my life. I really wish I could magic them on to the same beach and have a wonderful Christmas knees-up.

Prologue

There was something beautiful about traditions. They were rituals that brought comfort in their routine. Olive’s tradition had always been to toast her late husband, John, and their daughter, Jane, with a G&T at the end of the day. She’d lost them way too early and had spent far too much time trying to recover, especially the relationship with her son, Richard.

For many years that tradition had been followed at her beach hut. It had been a private affair without guests. A quiet moment of acknowledging what they’d had and what could have been. It was a ritual; a chance for her to reflect on the past and an opportunity to try new varieties of gin in the hope of finding the perfect combination.

Little had she realised that a lifetime of keeping things to herself was not the way forward. The way forward had been swinging open her beach-hut doors and inviting people in to join her quest. The way forward had been to talk to her son and celebrate life. It was focusing on what she was capable of, not on the limits the world thought she should conform to.

The small Gin Shack Club that had started at her beach hut as a once-weekly affair had soon escalated when it turned out Olive wasn’t the only person interested in discovering the perfect G&T. Never in a million years would she have thought the Gin Shack would become an actual bar, but an entire community pulling together, with her beach-hut neighbour Tony at the helm, meant it had happened with bells on.

And because of the number of places her heart now belonged to, it meant traditions had grown. In the same way some traditions might evolve from generation to generation, Olive’s was changing with the seasons.

As summer turned to autumn, Olive found sitting alone in her beach hut no longer held the same charm it once had. The appeal hadn’t disappeared, but it was hard to ignore the lure of spending time with friends at the Gin Shack or Oakley West so that she was in company when she had her nightly G&T and said her toast to those past and present.

Something else had changed as well. Her son was no longer not available to spend time with his mother. Richard made time every weekend to come and stay at the Gin Shack and help Tony out if needed. He’d also given up his teetotaller status and started to enjoy the occasional drink. So, they’d started their own ritual.

It was fitting that it took place at the memorial bench that lived in the Sunken Gardens on the clifftop of Westbrook Bay. It had been put there for her son’s benefit when he’d been a boy. He’d needed a permanent reminder of the man they’d both loved. Still loved. There was something very pleasing about meeting at a place that brought together the past and the present.

‘Beginning to get a bit nippy for meeting outside, don’t you think?’ Richard joined her on the bench.

‘Son, remind me who is the eighty-four-year-old?’ Olive wondered if it was too early to resort to getting her son slippers and a blanket for Christmas. He definitely had an old soul whereas Olive did not. Her body, on the other hand, was another matter.

‘I just don’t want you getting a chill.’ There was a chance Richard would never give up being the concerned son, but at least Olive knew it was always with her interests at heart, even if it had caused her much frustration in the past.

‘I’ve got three layers on, Richard. I’m hardly likely to perish. It’s October in Westbrook. We’re hardly facing an arctic freeze.’ Olive’s uniform of kaftan and linen trousers was finished off with a waterfall cardigan and bright pink fleece. She’d wrapped herself adequately enough to house fifteen bottles of gin if she’d chosen to. There was plenty of insulation to be keeping her warm.

‘Maybe it’s me that needs to layer up then. I should maybe practise what I preach.’ Richard was in a shirt and trousers. Less casual than he’d managed in the days when he always wore a business suit, but still not casual enough to lay testament to the fact that he’d in any way learned the art of relaxation. It was progress, though, at least.

‘What’s on the menu this week then?’ Richard said, their new weekly ritual already set in stone.

‘We can’t start until Tony gets here. You know that.’ Olive undid her fleece. Okay, so there weren’t nineteen gin bottles in there, but the internal pockets served very well for thermos flasks.

‘One day I’ll get a sneak preview before he does.’

‘Now we can’t go breaking with tradition and, as Tony runs the Gin Shack, it does seem fitting that he should get to taste the menu he’s going to be serving.’

Sourcing and trying new gins had always been Olive’s “thing”. It was rather lovely that her hobby had become so much more, and yet she was still able to indulge in her love of exploring upcoming varieties. Even though it had been Tony’s idea to turn the Gin Shack into an actual bar, he’d been happy to leave Olive to the sourcing.

Olive did it from her room at Oakley West Retirement Quarters with the help of fellow residents Veronica and Randy. The trio tried the new gins out, choosing what to pair them with, before Olive presented them to Tony and Richard on a Sunday morning.

They met before all the beach-hut neighbours had their weekly group picnic. It was the day the Gin Shack didn’t open until the evening, so it gave them a chance to all get together and catch up.

The menu was always changed on a Monday and they worked a week in advance, so if the two gins Olive had today were met with approval, then Tony would put in a bulk order ready for the coming week. No gin selections had been rejected to date.

Olive loved that her main role was as gin taster. It was a hard job, but someone had to shoulder the responsibility. She felt, at her age, it was about the level of burden she could cope with.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Tony said as he reached the entrance of the gardens and jogged down the steps towards them. ‘Esme asked me to move some stock. I think that’s my workout for the day complete.’

‘Mum wouldn’t let me try them out until you arrived. That’s favouritism, that is.’ Richard spoke to Tony like he was a sibling and, even though they weren’t, there was very much a family feel between Olive and her beach-hut neighbours, even more so considering what they’d been through over the summer. Moving to Oakley West had provided her with more entertainment than she ever could have imagined.

‘She knows my palate is better than yours. We can’t have you signing off on gins without supervision,’ Tony joked as he joined them both on the bench.

‘If you say so.’

Olive ignored the banter as it continued and got to the important task of pouring them all a drink. This week they’d selected a raspberry gin and a bathtub variety. They were both clean and refreshing on the palate and she’d enjoyed both very much.

Tony and Richard demonstrated their agreement with the noises they were making and the expressions on their faces as they took sips from thermos lids. It wasn’t quite the refinement of the Gin Shack, where they prided themselves on presentation, but this was just for the purpose of a taste test.

‘These are perfect before we head into Christmas season.’ Tony admired the liquid as if it had taken on female form. ‘Then it’ll be time to get festive.’

‘What have you got planned?’ Olive asked, like an excited schoolgirl.

‘I could tell you, but just as you’ve insisted with Richard, I can’t be giving away preview information until everyone is gathered. I’m going to arrange a planning meeting.’

Olive realised she was going to have to start being unbearable so he’d relent and give some information. ‘Plllleeeeeesssssssseeeee?’

‘Let’s just say it should be ginspirational.’

‘Give that man a drum,’ Richard said.

‘Now drink up. We’ve got a picnic to get to.’ Tony wasn’t going to say any more on the matter right now.

With the final dregs, Olive lifted her thermos lid to the clouds. ‘To John and Jane, wherever you are.’ It was the toast she always whispered.

‘And to family and friends,’ Richard said.

‘And to the Gin Shack,’ Tony added.

They all three chinked vessels and it always made Olive happy. This new weekly ritual. This nod to how all things change, but how that was sometimes for the better. It didn’t stop her wishing John was there with them. That she could be gifted the knowledge of how he would have aged or what profession their daughter would have taken up. But those thoughts no longer stopped her from appreciating the here and now. The fact she got to sit with her son and her closest friend every week, continuing the legacy she’d started with her husband, was a blessing. One she hoped always to continue. Family. Friends. Gin. They were the most important things in Olive’s life. She felt unbelievably lucky to have a life filled with all three.

Chapter One

Olive loved Christmas. There was no element of it that she didn’t like: the gift-giving, the chance to wear Christmas bling, the time spent with others. This year she was looking forward to it more than usual. Living at Oakley West Retirement Quarters meant it would be more of a celebration, with lots of people about (with no need to be the one cleaning up afterwards), and there were plans afoot at the Gin Shack they were due to discuss this morning. Tony was being very secretive about them and at long last she was going to find out.

It was the reason she was hotfooting it from her beloved beach hut earlier than she would normally choose to. She wanted to get to the Gin Shack on time, ready for them to discuss ways to keep trade up during the quieter winter months, especially as she had some ideas of her own. The opening of the new bar during the summer had been more of a triumph than they could have hoped for, but there was every chance the early success might fade with the tourists not about.

It was a crisp October day as Olive attempted to rush along the promenade. There was an early chill, proving that the best way to dress would be with many layers. She pulled her pink fleece tighter around her as she ambled along. Not for the first time, she considered whether she should invest in a skateboard to get her eighty-four-year-old backside along the concrete walkway quicker.

When Olive finished working her way up the slope towards the Royal Esplanade, she glanced across to the Gin Shack, the sun glaring off the silver signage. It would look pretty when it was decorated; all tinselled up and shimmering like a star on top of the Christmas tree. Maybe she should mention a few decor ideas at the meeting. If there was one thing Olive believed in, it was totally overdoing it at Christmas. It was perhaps an overcompensation that had developed over the years, but when Richard had been young and they’d been alone in those first few years, throwing herself into the season had been what got her through.

It wasn’t tinsel reflecting from the windows today. It was the sunshine creating quite the dazzling effect. There was something different about the frontage of the building, but she wasn’t quite able to see what.

Moving across the green to get a better view, Olive noticed the streamers hanging in front of the door from the sign. She knew something was different. Maybe Tony had decorated after all. But streamers weren’t very Christmassy and they’d not hosted many private functions yet, apart from a birthday party a fortnight ago, and they’d only had balloons for that occasion. There’d been no streamers, at least not that she’d noticed, and she was pretty sure she wasn’t senile enough to have missed them entirely, especially as they obscured the doorway. And she’d been through the door several times since without noticing them.

Olive shielded her eyes from the reflecting light and went to take a closer look.

It wasn’t just streamers that had been attached. Someone had gone to the trouble of decorating the entire sign. There was now a 3D pink mould attached to it, which looked odd. Unless someone was planning on converting it into a snowman, she didn’t know what was going on. Maybe Tony’s sons, who’d made the sign in the first place, had redesigned it for the winter season. It was probably part of the agenda for this morning’s meeting.

Olive couldn’t read it from the angle she was at, so she ventured towards it, and because of the glaring light, opted to cross the road to get a better look.

When she was finally able to focus on the new adjustments to the sign, she had to read it five times to make sure she was seeing right.

The added details of the sign meant it no longer said The Gin Shack. Instead the additions meant it read: The Gin’s Shite.

‘The gin bloody well isn’t,’ Olive said to no one in her astonishment. ‘We serve the best varieties in the world,’ she continued, wanting to put this invisible force to rights.

And what was worse, if the slur wasn’t enough, there was a rotund pink decoupage bum with brown streamers waving out of it. Never had diarrhoea been depicted so creatively.

If the Gin Shack was having any rebranding for the winter season, Olive was pretty certain this wasn’t it. Even Tony’s sons wouldn’t horseplay about like this. Olive thought they’d left all the antics of getting the Gin Shack running behind them. The additions to the sign told her otherwise. As things went, it was a pretty grotesque way of pointing out someone’s dislike of the place. One that made her feel uncomfortable when she considered the deliberate nature of the sign.

This really wasn’t how Olive had been expecting the day to go. She was early to the meeting because of her uncontained excitement for all things Christmas. Not because she wanted to be the one to discover they’d fallen victim to some kind of prank. Now she had to be the one to go and tell Tony he had an arse, complete with diarrhoea-brown streamers, attached to his building.

One thing was for certain: being involved with the Gin Shack would never let her become a boring old fart.

Chapter Two

It was hard to stick to any kind of agenda when there was a papier-mâché decoupage bum sculpture resting on the table.

‘I mean, why? Why would anyone go to all that effort? It seems so… pointless,’ Esme said.

Everyone had arrived for the meeting, but they were all too busy gawping at the butt for them to have gained any ground on the matters they were supposed to be discussing. Veronica and Randy had joined them, completing the Oakley West trio, and all of Olive’s beach-hut neighbours were there for the meeting: Tony, Esme and their three boys, along with Mark and Lily, Paul and Skylar.

Tony and Randy had been able to remove all signs of the vandalism with relative ease, but did it still qualify as an act of defilement if it was so easy to take off and hadn’t left any permanent damage to the actual sign? It was still plain rude, whether it was against the law or not.

‘And so deliberate,’ Paul said. It had even riled the quiet person among them. ‘That would have taken some effort. You’re talking weeks. And for the level of accuracy with how it covered certain letters and not others, that would have taken some research.’

Perhaps Paul knew more about paper crafting than Olive ever would have thought. But he was right. To have aligned it up correctly with the sign currently in place would have taken some measurements or knowledge of what they were adding onto.

‘Should we contact the police?’ Skylar asked.

Olive had really had her fill of police over the summer. The comings and goings at Oakley West Retirement Quarters had been shocking to say the least. She really thought they’d seen the back of anyone trying to put a stop to the Gin Shack. Why would anyone want to stand in the way of a place that she and many others considered to be a source of pure happiness? And this deliberate act appeared to be a clear signal that someone wasn’t in favour of the establishment. Even though she wasn’t keen on any involvement from the law, she was shaken up enough to consider the idea.

‘I don’t think they’ve really done anything wrong. The sign itself isn’t damaged and, unless anyone took a picture, there are no lasting effects. Maybe it’s a bit like yarn-bombing. We’ll have to see if anyone else gets the same kind of craft-fiti,’ Tony said.

‘What’s yarn-bombing?’ Randy asked, most of the room looking just as perplexed as he was.

Despite Tony’s explanation of the relatively harmless act of adorning postboxes or similar with decorative knitted extras, there was a hush in the room that proved none of them quite got it.

‘I still don’t see the point. Why go to all this effort, knowing it’ll be destroyed as soon as someone sees it? At least with those knitted hats for postboxes, they’re harmless. They’re just creating a kind of community spirit. This was spiteful with what they’ve said. Whoever they are.’ Veronica crossed her arms, signalling her disapproval of the act to everyone in the room.

‘I don’t think we need to involve the police,’ Tony said with some authority. ‘It’s a prank, no doubt by some local youth with nothing better to do, who wanted to flex their funny bones. We’ll ignore it and hope we hear nothing more on the matter.’

‘I’m not so sure it was a prank. This was done with intention,’ Olive said, not able to dismiss what the others seemed to be regarding as a practical joke.

‘It does seem like it’s been planned, but we’ll hold off reporting it and hope that’s the last of it. Is that okay for now?’

Olive nodded. She didn’t want to waste police time, but sensed this wouldn’t be the end of the matter.

To put a close to the buttocks being the major topic of conversation, Tony slid them off the table and propped them away in the corner.

Olive wasn’t able to stifle a quick giggle as a couple of brown streamers snagged off, leaving skid marks across the floor. She wasn’t the only one to notice as the room was taken over by various titters and Tony had to call order to proceedings.

‘On that bum note, I’d like to get round to talking about what we actually came to discuss. Is that okay with everyone?’

‘Just peachy,’ Randy said, not missing the opportunity for another pun.

‘I really want to make sure the Gin Shack continues to do well over the winter season,’ Tony said, after the giggles in the room settled. ‘The local paper has launched a Christmas cocktail competition and I really think we could win if we come up with some gin-based recipes between us. I thought we could get the customers involved and get them to vote and feature the cocktails on the menu in the run-up to Christmas.’

The Gin Shack was famous for featuring different gins. Every week customers got to try two new gin varieties and a cocktail featuring one of those gins. They were already known for their cocktail specials so it made sense that they should try and become award-winners to give their reputation some official gusto. Plus, it would be a fun way to keep attracting customers. Having had such a struggle in its early days, they needed to make sure the Gin Shack club was here to stay.

‘If it’s Christmas cocktails, does that mean they’re looking for Christmassy flavours?’ Olive’s mind was already sparking off all sorts of ideas. Christmas food was definitely in the top three of her favourite parts of Christmas. There were so many tastes they could play with, although she wasn’t sure turkey with stuffing would work as a cocktail.

‘Yes, it needs to have a name and represent the taste of Christmas. It’s open to all the pubs and bars in the Thanet area. I think it’ll generate a lot of interest. Winning won’t be easy, but, more than anything, it’ll be a fun way to keep attracting custom. I think if our clients feel involved with the decision as to what we enter, they’ll be up for trying all the recipes we come up with.’

Olive figured they would probably be doing that anyway, the popularity of the bar not having lessened despite the summer season ending. But it didn’t hurt to keep things fresh.

Tony moved on to other matters he wanted to discuss. Things like whether the staffing levels were working and the menu for the coming week.

Contemplating whether savoury flavours could ever possibly work as part of a cocktail made Olive zone out. There was every chance a turkey-and-cranberry-inspired cocktail would be repulsive, but she would only find that out if she experimented a little – and she knew the perfect place to do that – down in the original Gin Shack – her beloved beach hut. It would be fun to play with some of the ideas she had and they would need testing before being offered to the general public.

‘Was there anything else we needed to discuss today?’ Tony asked.

Surely the meeting wasn’t nearing an end already? Olive had been off in a world of her own, wondering how you turned Christmas puddings and mince pies into cocktail flavours. ‘Yes, yes, there is.’ Olive launched out of her seat, popping up like a cork with the realisation that she’d nearly missed her bus stop.

All right, not a bus stop, but the opportunity to talk about something she really thought was a missed opportunity, and wanted to try and get Tony and the others onboard with.

‘The floor’s all yours, Olive. What do you want to talk about?’ Tony sat down, letting her take over.

All eyes were on Olive now. She’d not meant to catapult herself into the spotlight with such lack of grace, but there was nothing like standing up to be counted.

‘Hummmmppphhh.’ Olive cleared her throat, not sure where to start. ‘I’ve been thinking and we should be making more use of the hotel. I know it was losing money for the previous owners, but I really think we could offer a lot more going into next year. I’m thinking hen and stag weekends, GINspirational weekends teaching the finer details of cocktail-making. That kind of thing. I know it would be a lot of work, but maybe we could do a trial one and see how it goes.’

‘I’ve been thinking about that too,’ Esme said. ‘The Gin Shack is Tony’s baby, but it runs well without much input from me these days. With the boys not needing their mum so much any more, I’d love to spruce the accommodation up. Opening it up all the time would be a big commitment, but I really like the idea of running occasional weekends. What do you think, Tony?’ Esme turned to her husband to see what he thought.

‘If you and Olive are happy to take it on as your project, then it’s fine by me. Maybe some of the others will want to help?’

There were enthusiastic nods from the rest of the room, especially from Randy and Veronica. It was fun to think the Oakley West trio would have something to keep them occupied. Life at their retirement quarters wasn’t as restrictive as it had been before, but Olive still wasn’t enthralled by the activities programme on offer. They were far better at providing their own entertainment.

‘That sounds like a plan then,’ Tony said. ‘Only question is what kind of trial weekend are you going to run?’

It didn’t take long for Olive to decide what she’d like to do. However much she fancied the idea of running a hen weekend, the chance of getting a group with the right number of people just before the end of the year was slim. ‘How about a Christmas Sparkle weekend? We could tie it in with the search for the perfect cocktail.’

‘That sounds like a great idea,’ Esme said, and there were several nodding heads agreeing with her. ‘It’ll be a Christmas gin-inspired weekend.’

‘That doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue though, does it?’ Randy said. ‘You need something catchier.’ Randy’s bushy eyebrows folded in thought.

‘Any ideas?’ Esme said.

‘How about a Jingle Bell retreat? But not Jingle, I mean Gingle,’ Veronica offered.

‘Gingle,’ Tony repeated, having his own proper laugh-out-loud moment. ‘GIN-gle, get it? That’s brilliant.’

Olive found herself laughing at the silly play on words and was delighted to be able to combine her favourite time of year with her favourite drink. She just hoped there wouldn’t be any more arsing around. Because, however funny the bum on the sign had been, it seemed more like a threat than someone larking about, and she didn’t like it one bit.

Chapter Three

Weeks went by too quickly in Olive’s opinion. With so much going on in her life these days, she wanted to be able to slow down time. There wasn’t much chance of that happening, though. She hadn’t even had time to start trying out recipes for the Christmas cocktail competition and they were going to start previewing them on the weekly menu soon.

It was rather exciting because it meant that, this Sunday, Olive wouldn’t be the only one turning up with a thermos flask. Tony was also bringing one to showcase the first Christmas cocktail they’d be featuring at the Gin Shack. It was nice not to be the only one having to do homework during the week.

‘What is it then?’ Olive asked when they were all gathered. She was impatient to know, especially as she had agreed to come up with one of the recipes. Several other members of the Gin Shack crew had also volunteered, but rather than share their ideas with each other, they were all being very secretive over the matter. Anyone would think they were in competition with each other, which Olive wondered if, really, they were. Even if just a little.

Olive was worried that, by not confiding in each other, they would all end up coming up with pretty much the same ideas. Her own light-bulb moment was hopefully something a bit different, but she would need to carry out some experiments to check it wasn’t completely rank.

‘This is Paul’s recipe. Don’t tell him I’ve let you have a preview. He’ll think there’s cheating going on.’

‘You do know there’s no competition going on between us?’ Olive needed the point clarified.

‘Not officially, but the customers are going to be choosing a winning cocktail, so I think whoever creates the winning recipe that ends up representing the Gin Shack will win gloating rights for a long time to come,’ Tony said.

‘What’s your recipe, Richard?’ Surely Olive’s son wouldn’t be keeping his concept a secret.

‘That would be telling. No trying to get ahead of the game, Mum.’

Olive definitely wasn’t ahead of the game. If anything, she was behind it if the others already had their cocktail creations in hand.

‘This is the chocolate-orange cocktail,’ Tony said. ‘Paul said the flavour always reminds him of Christmas as he always cracks one open as a treat.’

The drink did taste like the classic segmented chocolate and, for Olive, it worked. The annoying thing was that Tony wasn’t letting on about what all the ingredients were, or how it would be presented. She was sure there was chocolate Baileys, but she wasn’t quite able to identify the flavour of gin or what the other ingredients were. She was sure she’d be able to with more chance to taste the drink, but Tony was restricting her intake and they needed to pack up, ready to head down for their weekly picnic.

‘Orange-blossom gin?’ Olive put in another guess.

‘My lips are sealed.’

It was frustrating, but at least the idea she had wasn’t in any way similar.

‘I’m going to go ahead if that’s okay with you two? It’s been such a busy week, Esme and I haven’t had much chance to touch base.’

‘You go ahead. I’ll walk with Mum,’ Richard said.

It made Olive sound like a dotty old dear who wasn’t able to manage by herself. She was a gazillion times slower than these young sprats, though, especially when Tony jogged off, demonstrating how practically the whole world was younger and fitter than her. Aging really was a bugger at times.

‘What’s going to be in your cocktail then, Mum?’

‘Like I’m going to tell you.’ Olive found herself grinning. This cocktail competition was going to be fun.

Rather than a standoff silence as they ambled along the promenade, they both took to playing a game of guess the ingredients for the sample they’d just tried.

This was one of the best things to have emerged from the opening of the Gin Shack: the renewed relationship Olive had with her son. They’d spent far too many years treading on eggshells around each other and it was nice to have a new sense of being comfortable in each other’s presence.

Before, Richard had always been too busy for her. His London-based lawyer business took up most of his time and she’d become an inconvenience in his life. But the opening of the Gin Shack had made both of them realise that family time was important, however fractured the past may have caused the present to be. They could never bring the rest of the family back, but they had each other – mother and son – and it was important to hang on to that in whatever way possible.

These days Richard no longer worked like a dog and actually took his weekends off like any normal person would. He ventured down on a Friday and was helping Tony out at the Gin Shack on the busier Friday and Saturday evenings. Olive would get to see him when they weren’t too busy and then, on a Sunday, they had their gin-tasting ritual followed by all of the beach-hut residents getting together for a Sunday picnic feast.

The beach-hut neighbours took it in turns to cook a meal, with each of them contributing something in terms of sustenance. Today it was pulled pork on the menu. Esme had perfected the recipe and it was one of Olive’s favourite meals.

There was a mishmash of tables from each of the huts gathered together to provide a dining area, and the troops were gathering with pasta, salads and all sorts of treats to go with the main dish. Olive and Richard had the easy task of providing bread rolls this week. On the whole they were offered the easier-to supply ingredients, which, given that neither of them had access to a kitchen locally, was probably for the best.

Olive greedily filled her plate with everything that was on offer. There was something so special about these Sunday afternoons. Since the opening of the Gin Shack, she didn’t see her neighbours here in the leisurely coming-and-going way of old. Most of the time she would see them at the bar rather than down on the sands. So it was nice that they kept this up, keeping their sense of community spirit strong. Along with Richard and Olive, there was Skylar and her seven-year-old son, Lucas, in the next-door hut, and Richard would often spend time with Lucas, making extravagant castles in the sand. There was Paul the fisherman, who still said very little in the way of conversation, but when he did, it was always worth hearing. Tony and Esme were basking in deckchairs, although there wasn’t much sun about to be basking in. Their three boys, TJ and the twins, were playing a game of cricket as they so often did, and Mark and Lily, the lovely couple on the end of the row, were being a bit gooey-eyed and romantic with each other. Next to them (although not with their own beach hut to boast of) were Randy and Veronica who always tagged along, giving fair competition in the most gooey-eyed couple category. Along with Olive, Randy and Veronica completed the Oakley West trio made famous by the media when the Gin Shack had opened. They had hit the headlines for escaping from their rest home at every given opportunity to form the secret club that soon became public news. Nowadays, Olive occasionally felt like a bit of a gooseberry since the pair had become a couple. But they were all pretty good at finding a middle ground between spending time together as friends and allowing the couple all the alone time they might require.

Everyone here was as different from each other as it was possible to be, and yet, there were friendships that would last through many a season. Indeed, through many a storm, as had already proven to be the case.

Perhaps that was why the lazy lounging of a Sunday afternoon was so pleasurable. Everyone came without any expectations or agenda. Here, they were most at ease with each other and the world had a tranquil glow when they were together at the beach. It was a shame they couldn’t manage it more often, but the bar was a going concern now. It was providing an income for the Salter family and everyone wanted to support that. It was, after all, possibly the most exciting thing to have ever happened in Westbrook Bay and its appeal hadn’t faded yet. Not for any of them. Hopefully it never would.

Olive’s eyes were clearly bigger than her belly as she struggled to work her way through the plate of food she’d helped herself to. Cramming another mouthful of pulled pork-filled baguette into her gob, she relaxed on her seat, taking in the scene. It was as blissful as could be.

Everyone was merrily munching, too busy filling their faces for chat. It was only Tony who wasn’t eating, clearly too tired from long hours at the Gin Shack. He was leaning back on his deckchair with his sunhat covering his face.

It was a shame because Olive liked nattering with Tony on a Sunday. The business took up so much of his time that they didn’t get the chance to chat the way they had during his brief period of unemployment.

Richard was too busy chomping away at his food to talk, and more engaged with keeping an eye on Lucas than wanting to make conversation with his dear old mother.

Too stuffed to carry on eating, Olive decided to relax a bit more on her deckchair, allowing her stomach to stretch out. If she was lucky, if she rested, she might find her second wind to enjoy the rest of her plateful. The pulled pork was too yummy to want it to go to waste.

There was comfort in listening to the sea. In the way it could drown out the thoughts that sometimes overcrowded the mind. Olive’s mind was calmer these days, now her son was in her life more. There were still the shadows, but the present-day was more apparent and she herself more content than she’d ever been. Today it was the stupid crafted arse that was troubling her. If there was anything she didn’t like in life, it was bullying and viciousness. However harmless a manifestation the craft-style-graffiti had taken, it still stunk of both. It was possibly the most passive-aggressive form of insult she’d ever come across. It had obviously been planned and meant with intent, and Olive was certain this would not be the end of it. Whoever had placed that sign would be back to cause trouble again. The only questions left were: why had they and why would they even bother? But so far there’d been nothing more, so it was hard to put a finger on why it was still bothering her. She certainly seemed more concerned than anyone else.

There was a new pitch in the air. Above the sound of the waves and the boys playing cricket. It was such a unique sound there was nothing to compare it to. It was somewhere between the sound of snoring and the slurpy noise the bath plug makes when the last of the water exits.

It was the death rattle.

Olive sat up immediately, unable to fathom why she was hearing the sound. Maybe it was an echo. A memory. She’d worked at the hospice for many years until her retirement. She’d lost count of the number of people she’d observed as they passed away. She remembered the last lady she’d been with when she’d died. The family lived an hour away and had opted not to stay overnight. Typically, when the time came, it was during the night and too quick for the family to be by her side. As it was Olive’s last shift, she’d volunteered to stay with the lady to make sure she was comfortable in those final hours. It was more like minutes, and Olive had held that lady’s hand while the warmth remained, but life did not. Her death rattle had been short and sharp, those gasps where the body was grasping for air, but the heart had weakened too much to help the lungs in their battle.

That noise didn’t belong here. Olive glanced over at Randy and Veronica, wondering if the sound of old codgers snogging might create a similar sound effect. Fortunately, despite their obvious affection for each other, they’d not started French-kissing like teenagers at every given opportunity, but there was always a chance they would.

They hadn’t. Instead, like pretty much everyone else, they were busy enjoying the feast on offer today.

Olive told herself she must be imagining things. There were plenty of odd noises to be heard here. Even the seagulls could squawk in a way that made it seem like there was a mass bird strangulation occurring. Maybe they were having a spat over a chip.

And then there it was again.

The rasp. So distinct. So clear. A sound that etched on a soul if heard. That throaty gathering of air that was barely doing its job of keeping the person alive.

Without thinking, Olive moved quicker than she had in the longest time. She knew exactly where the sound was coming from and it was so entirely out of place.

She was old. She should be making that noise. It should be her. Or Randy. Or Veronica. Not Tony. They were so much closer to death than he was. He was barely in his fifties. He had teenage children. He’d started a new career with the Gin Shack. This wasn’t his time.

With two quick manoeuvres, she batted away the hat that had everyone else thinking he was snoring, and did something she’d never had to do before in her life. Whereas previously she’d only had to hold a hand to make sure someone wasn’t taking their final journey alone, this time, there was no way she was letting life exit without a fight.

So, despite its being nearly twenty years since she’d left the NHS, and having never performed it on an actual person, Olive found it within herself to pummel Tony’s chest like life itself depended on it. Because it really did.

And, with every compression, Olive willed it to be the other way round. It should be her trying to die on them in spectacular fashion. Not Tony. It was way too early for Tony.

Chapter Four

Entering the hospital doors two days later, Olive let a tremble shake through her still-aching arms. Things could have turned out so differently. Everyone at the gathering had genuinely believed Tony was snoring. Had it not been for Olive’s astonishing actions, Tony’s death rattle stopping might have gone unnoticed.

Olive took Richard’s arm. All at once she felt frail. It hadn’t been long into her CPR efforts that her son had taken over the harrowing task, and he’d done it all while on speakerphone to the emergency services. And while she’d looked on, all the shock and adrenaline had caught up with her.

The history of her past meant emergencies terrified her. The loss of her husband and daughter in an accident had seen to that. But it would seem she had less of an aversion to blue lights than she used to. In fact, since the start of the Gin Shack Club she’d had run-ins with all the emergency services, and some of them now frequented the Gin Shack on their days off.

With Tony, that sense of terror hadn’t been there. It had been instinct. She knew what to do and she’d been the only person aware there was a problem. It wasn’t until they had him in the ambulance – barely alive – that the sense of fear had started, and it hadn’t let up yet. And being eighty-four, having something concern her enough to age her was always going to take its toll.

Tony had needed emergency surgery as soon as he’d arrived at the hospital. It had been a massive heart attack and a triple emergency bypass had been required to get everything working as it should again. The hours of waiting to find out how he was were the longest Olive had ever experienced. They took the decision not to open the Gin Shack that evening, and instead, while Esme and the boys were up at the hospital, the rest of them sat in the snug area of the bar at a loss as to what to do.

It had been a strange period of time, with little said, and Olive had spent most of it cuddled in a blanket with Lucas, Skylar’s boy, appreciating what a blessing it was that he was happy to snuggle with her. Admittedly, he was mostly agreeable over it because his mum was letting him play on his tablet, giving him unprecedented screen time, but even this young boy was feeling the effects of what had happened. And as she had the biggest soft spot for him, she was glad to be distracted by making sure he was okay, even if she was useless at helping with the game he was playing.

And, quite frankly, even though she’d been hiding it well, Olive had also been terrified. Tony was one of her closest friends. She’d watched his family grow. Together they’d somehow taken an idea of Olive’s and turned it into so much more, and the Gin Shack was thriving under his guidance. Olive couldn’t imagine life without him. She’d never wanted for another husband after losing John, but Tony had become her work husband, for want of a better term. He was the one she chatted to enthusiastically about new limited-edition varieties of gins coming out. She was the one he grumbled to about the quotes he’d been given for upgrading the bathrooms. They’d become more than friends. They were a work team. They shared a passion and were making it into something so much more. She couldn’t imagine life without him.

So, it was no surprise to find she was shaking as Olive entered the lift with Richard on their way to the High Dependency Unit.

‘Are you okay, Mum?’ Richard asked.

The lift was empty apart from them. Olive was able to answer sincerely. ‘I’m just worried about how Tony’s going to be.’

‘He’s alive. That’s the important part. And he wants to see you.’

Considering how Tony had appeared when they last saw him, Richard was right. Anything would be an improvement. But it didn’t take away the worry that had been with her since she’d heard that ominous sound and realised it was coming from her friend.

Olive took a deep breath and prepared herself for the state Tony would be in.

As it stood, her concerns were eased the moment she saw him.

Rather than being half-comatose in bed like she’d imagined, he was sitting up in a chair. If he hadn’t been topless, with a fresh surgical scar along his sternum and various tubes coming from various places, he wouldn’t have looked so different from when he was chilling in his deckchair.

‘Here she is! The hero of the hour.’ Tony beamed when he spotted Olive.

There was nothing more reviving than hearing Tony’s voice when it had been so close to extinction.

‘You could have just asked if you wanted a snog. It really is despicable to go to such lengths to grab my attention.’ Feeling sturdy again for the first time since it happened, Olive let go of Richard’s arm and went to give Tony a peck on the cheek.

‘Olive Turner, you are not allowed to make me laugh at the moment. It bloody hurts.’ Tony held a towel against his chest as if the act of laughing might split him in two.

Olive could quite imagine it would hurt given the surgery he’d undergone. ‘Sorry. I’m just glad you’re okay.’ It was horrible to think how close they’d come to an entirely different scenario.

‘And all thanks to you two. Esme has filled me in on what happened. It would seem you two are my guardian angels. I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough.’

‘By getting better. That’s the only thanks necessary.’ Olive didn’t need any more scares like that at her age.

‘Yes, getting better is definitely on the agenda. That was the other reason I wanted to talk to you, other than thanking you for the kiss of life. I’m not sure what to do about the Gin Shack while I get back on my feet. With what the doctors are saying, I won’t be up to full-time work this side of Christmas. We’ll need someone to be in charge while I’m away.’

‘Don’t be worrying about the Gin Shack. You and Esme need to concentrate on you.’ All Olive had done for the past couple of days was worry about Tony. Of course that was all her brain would consider when he’d been carted off in an ambulance with one foot in the grave. Trust Tony to not only be up and smiling, but also worrying about the business already.

‘Mum’s right. This heart attack has been your body’s way of saying you need to slow down. Take things easy for a while and allow yourself to recover your strength gradually. You shouldn’t be here, barely two days post-op, worrying about the bar.’ Richard was talking sense. He always did, but for once Olive was agreeing with his sensible side.

A nurse came to check on Tony, carrying out observations and filling out a form with all the correct information. She did it discreetly so as not to disrupt the conversation, and it was clear she was keeping a close eye on her patient. Watching her, it was clear that, however chipper Tony seemed, he wasn’t out of the woods yet. There were chest drains doing their job, a catheter bag making up for the fact he wasn’t up and about yet, and various monitors beeping in therapeutic harmony. It was amazing how hearing the rhythm of a heartbeat in the background was a comfort in itself.

‘I know I need to recover. It’ll be six weeks minimum before I can get back to work.’

‘No running before you can walk, Tony,’ the cheerful nurse said. ‘The physios will be here shortly to help you with that when visiting is over.’ Seemingly satisfied with her checks, the nurse returned to the nearby desk.

‘Honestly, you’ve got to not worry about work.’ Richard was being far sterner than Olive could ever hope to be.

‘It’s just…’ The smile on Tony’s face ebbed away and his voice lowered to more of a whisper. ‘…With being self-employed these days, I don’t have the same perks as my old job. I’m worried about how we’ll get by if we don’t keep the Gin Shack going, especially with Christmas coming up.’

Olive hadn’t really thought about the incredible financial strain it would put on the Salter family if the Gin Shack was out of action. She was only involved with it for pleasure and to support the Salter family in their new venture. Just because Tony couldn’t be at the helm for a while didn’t mean it should stop running. There had to be a way. She just wasn’t sure how a bunch of OAPs would manage it and, for now, Esme and the boys, who were heavily involved with working at the bar, should be allowed the opportunity to spend time with Tony, given the scare they’d all had. ‘You’re not to worry about it. We’ll sort something. As soon as I get back we’ll have a meeting with everyone and come up with a plan.’ She had no idea what that plan would be, but with Tony worrying it paid to sound confident even if she wasn’t.

‘Mum’s right. There’ll be some way to get through the coming months without closing the Gin Shack. We’ll work out a way. You concentrate on getting better. Leave the rest to us.’

A monitor started beeping and it was quite a contrast to the rhythmical sounds Olive had been enjoying. Alarm pricked through her like she was going to have to start the kiss of life for a second time that week, when once in a lifetime had been quite enough.

The nurse came over and adjusted one of the leads attached to Tony’s chest. Thankfully the beeping stopped. ‘Time we sorted getting you back into bed, Tony. I’m afraid you’ll have to say goodbye to your visitors.’

It was a surprise to find they’d been there over an hour already. Olive and Richard left the experts to it as they carefully moved Tony with his wires and his tubes, and, as they left, Olive took a moment to listen to that glorious recording of a ticking heart. It really was frightening how quickly something so essential could be taken away. And she knew how lucky they’d been that Tony’s had been revived.

And, in an odd way, the Gin Shack was the beating heart of their community. It had certainly revived Olive’s life in ways she’d not thought possible at her age. There was no way they could allow it to close. They just needed to work out how to keep it running. And quickly.

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.’

Olive nodded. If even Tony was telling her she needed to, then she needed to consider it. ‘I will. If anything else happens, I will.’

Chapter Seven

It was two days later that most of the Gin Shack crew were gathered in the bar making sure everything was ready for the interviewees. Esme was there, looking flustered, the strain of taking on the role of employer alongside her worries for Tony showing on her features. She was a woman in desperate need of a good sleep, preferably followed by a spa break. Olive would have to talk to Tony and see if they could arrange something as a surprise.

Besides Esme, all three of the Salter boys were there: TJ, Aiden and Noah. Randy and Veronica were there for the show along with Skylar and Paul. Mark and Lily weren’t able to join them, but, to be fair, the interview panel was already larger than most people would be used to dealing with, so it didn’t hurt that those working conventional hours weren’t able to make it. They were lucky Richard was coming down from London a day early to cover a shift, but he couldn’t leave early enough to join them for this.

Olive was missing Tony being there. Somehow it didn’t seem right making decisions about the Gin Shack without him. Although, with Aiden’s assistance, Tony was going to get to view proceedings if they got the angle right. She stole a glance at Tony’s son, who was sitting on a bar-stool at the end of the bar, apparently uninterested in what was going on, too busy with his phone. Olive knew he was setting it up ready to do a Messenger call with his dad so Tony could watch the interviews from the comfort of home. Although, knowing Esme, he wouldn’t be allowed to hold it during the interview (too right, really), so Aiden was finding a way to angle it correctly without it being obvious what was going on. It looked like he might end up propping it up against the till.

‘Who’s in charge of asking the questions then?’ Skylar asked.

‘I haven’t really come up with any formal questions.’ Esme took a pew at the bar next to her son. She had a clipboard ready to take notes. ‘I thought I could bring them in and introduce them to everybody then let them get on and do their thing. I was hoping you lot would ask some questions almost like you were customers at the bar. Just ask whatever you think is appropriate. Nothing rude.’ Esme gave a motherly stare at her twin boys. They might both have reached adulthood now, but the two eighteen-year-olds still had the essence of being teenagers running through them. ‘Do you all want to take a seat? The first interviewee should be here soon.’

There were enough bar-stools for all of them and Olive wished she could take a photo of them all lined up, their reflections a picture in the mirrors behind the bar. If anyone had ever told her this was what she’d be up to at this stage of life, she wouldn’t have believed them. The Gin Shack constantly made her feel like she was getting the chance to live all over again.

The first candidate arrived and they all carried out their introductions. He was young, probably early twenties, and a little too sure of himself. When he was asked to produce his cocktail recipe, he replied with: ‘What? You really want me to make a cocktail? I thought that was a joke.’

He went on to make a martini with no flare whatsoever and Olive would have taken a bet on its being the only drink he could muster. She took an instant dislike to him, but there was every chance he was the best of a bad bunch. Young and cocksure might be as good as it got.

‘Well, he was rude,’ Paul said, once he’d left. ‘Who takes a request to present a cocktail as part of an interview as a joke? Talk about a timewaster.’

It made Olive smile. If Paul was saying aloud what she was thinking, it really had been a poor interview. It was funny to think that Paul, who hadn’t even liked gin before, was now becoming quite the expert.

They waited another ten minutes for the next candidate to arrive and in that time mulled over which cocktails they would produce to impress at an interview. A Negroni was the popular choice and one that would definitely win Olive over, especially if someone managed to give their own twist on a classic.

The next interviewee was a woman, and having a woman at the helm was something Olive fully supported.

Esme brought her through to the bar and, like last time, introduced all of them by name. ‘Right, Helen, if you’d like to make your cocktail.’

At the name, Olive immediately paid more attention. It couldn’t be. She was a blonde for starters.

This Helen was busy gathering all the things she wanted to create her cocktail and hadn’t turned to face Olive. Leaning forward, she tried to gain Randy and Veronica’s attention, but they were busy chatting to each other, possibly having the same moment of recognition Olive thought she was having.

Surely she wouldn’t have the audacity? But when she turned around with her array of spirits and mixers, Olive drew in her breath sharply. ‘You can’t even be in here. You’re barred.’

Sure enough, it was Matron. The woman who’d been in charge of Oakley West and made the residents’ lives a misery, all while turning a blind eye to the fact that her stepdaughter had been breaking the law in the rafters of the building. She’d been arrested, but never charged, as there wasn’t enough evidence to point to her involvement. She’d lost her job and the living quarters as a result, though, but showing up here after everything she’d done, and given how she’d never liked Olive, was just rude. Or desperate. Whichever, she was never going to be welcome here.

‘That was before. I was hoping, now Tony’s gone, it could all be water under the bridge.’ The woman in front of them didn’t look like Matron. She’d dyed her hair and it was cut into a cropped bob. She was a sixty-year-old trying to be thirty, and while Olive was all for not letting age define a person, she did think looking in the mirror to work out what suited always helped.

‘You really do have a screw loose.’ Randy got up from his stool, obviously getting ready to escort her from the premises. Hopefully they wouldn’t need to involve the police this time.

‘Too right.’

Olive heard a familiar voice followed by coughing from Aiden. Clearly Tony had forgotten that he wasn’t supposed to talk during the video chat. Hopefully Esme hadn’t noticed and there was some way of muting him without her noticing.

‘Time to go.’ Paul also stood up, in solidarity with Randy.

This was the woman who’d effectively stopped them from coming and going freely when she’d been in charge of Oakley West. All under the guise of caring for the residents, when really she’d been helping (not that it had been proven) with underhand criminal activities. She really must be a little bit out of her mind if she thought they were going to welcome her with open arms and put her in charge.

‘I’m going, okay. There’s no need to get the heavies involved.’ Matron moved from behind the bar, leering at Randy and Paul as she passed them. It was fortunate their old Matron had enough sense to realise that staying would only get her in trouble.

‘And don’t come back,’ Esme said. ‘You are barred from the premises. Just because Tony isn’t here, doesn’t mean it doesn’t still apply.’

Leaving, Matron closed the door with such a thwack it left the whole premises rattling, possibly even a few of Olive’s bones.

‘Please tell me we have some better prospects than that coming to interview,’ Skylar said.

It really wasn’t going well if this was all the advert had come up with.

‘There’s one more candidate. But they didn’t give all the correct details on the application so that’s not very hopeful. If they haven’t managed that, I’m not sure they’ll even turn up.’

Olive was pretty sure she heard some mutterings coming from Aiden’s phone, but she figured it was better not to pay it any extra attention and risk getting Tony and his son into a whole heap of trouble.

There was another twenty minutes to wait until the next interviewee arrived and Skylar set to making them all teas and coffees. It really was a disappointing substitute when Olive thought she’d have tried twenty cocktails by the end of the day.

Aiden fiddled with his phone while Esme was in the toilet and hopefully he’d muted any further outbursts from his father.

Before everyone had returned, the door that had been shut so violently creaked open as if the woodwork itself was letting out a sigh of relief at being better handled.

‘Hello, Richard. Would you like a coffee?’ Skylar offered.

It was Olive’s son arriving for his extended weekend stay. He looked so much more relaxed than he had. Even in the last few weeks there’d been a difference. No longer did he always turn up in his formal shirt and tie – a lawyer unable to switch off from his daytime job to the point it ran twenty-four-seven. These days he seemed to enjoy his weekends down here among their friends. And they were their friends. They may have started off as Olive’s, but Richard had been such a support all during the whole Oakley West fiasco, and since Tony had been poorly everyone had warmed to him. He had a well-deserved hero status among them after everything he’d done to help save Tony’s life.

‘Yes, please, that would be lovely.’ Richard offered Skylar a smile, and who could blame him when a beautiful woman had offered to make him a drink as soon as he entered the building?

Olive got up from her stool to give her son a hug. She couldn’t have him forgetting his own mother, not that he would. ‘But hang on…’ The cogs in Olive’s brain really were slower to function of late. ‘Why are you here this early? I thought you had to work today.’

He wasn’t due until the evening. Or at least that’s what Olive had thought. Was Olive getting confused again?

‘I am early. You’re right.’ Richard checked his watch. ‘Ten minutes early by the looks of things.’

It didn’t take much to confuse Olive. ‘About eight hours more like it.’

Esme returned from the loo and broke into a broad smile at seeing Richard. ‘You’re early.’

‘I’m glad everyone’s noticing,’ Richard said.

The pair embraced while Olive returned to the bar, wishing she could openly talk to Tony and ask him if he had a clue what was going on.

‘You’ll never believe who turned up to interview for the job before you arrived,’ Skylar said when she handed Richard his cup of tea.

They filled Richard in on the cheek of the woman they all knew as Matron. She was a blast from the past none of them had ever expected to encounter again, least of all with her waltzing through the doors like nothing had ever happened. Knowing she was still local made Olive wonder if she might have been responsible for the bottom craft-fiti. She’d certainly have the time on her hands and reason to cause upset.

‘Time for our last interview, if they even turn up,’ Esme said, also joining everyone at the bar.

‘Well, they’re late, so that’s not exactly a good start,’ Randy said, glancing towards the door.

‘There I was thinking I was early. You lot even said I was,’ Richard said from his position at the bar with the rest of them.

‘What? So you’re here to interview?’ Skylar asked.

Olive had reached the point in life when sometimes it hurt her brain to put two and two together.

‘Of course.’

Olive furrowed her brow in a way she knew would be most displeasing to her permanent wrinkles. They didn’t need temporary ones joining the fold. ‘But what about your business? The Gin Shack won’t manage when you’re only here at the weekends.’

‘I wasn’t proposing on being here just at the weekends. I figured, if I got the job, I’d take some time off from my business, which can pretty much run itself without me, to make sure this one stays afloat.’

‘Job’s yours then. That was easy. Couldn’t think of anyone better,’ Randy said, raising his mug in a toast.

‘Hold your horses,’ Veronica said from the furthest position on the bar. ‘He hasn’t had his interview yet.’

‘We know he can do the job,’ Randy said

‘Yes, but can he make a cocktail?’ Aiden said.

Olive wondered if it was Tony who really wanted to know if Richard could make one. It wasn’t like the entertainment programme he was watching had provided him with much cocktail-making so far. And as her son had been a teetotaller until the opening of the Gin Shack, was it possible for him to mix cocktails without the knowledge most would have? Had he managed to learn that quickly?

‘What do you say, Esme?’ Veronica prompted.

Esme placed her mug down and stared at it for a moment. ‘I guess it’s only fair Richard should interview like everyone else.’

‘Of course I should. Besides, I’ve come prepared. Don’t let me waste my efforts.’

Olive was just about catching up now she knew she was right about him being here earlier than he was due to be. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Richard coming here to take over, though. There was no doubt he had a bit of a controlling nature and, while much of it had been with her welfare in mind, she wasn’t sure he’d be able to help interfering in her life given the opportunity. She pushed those thoughts away, though. She’d deal with that if it ever came to it.

‘Did you know Richard was coming to interview, Esme?’ Veronica asked.

‘Nope. There wasn’t a name on the application. I thought it was a no-hoper who wasn’t able to manage the most straightforward question there was. Anyway, as we’ve agreed, we can’t fairly give you the job, Richard, without your demonstrating your cocktail-making skills.’

‘With pleasure.’ Richard went behind the bar and took a few extra ingredients out of his weekend bag.

It was really nice to think Richard had gone to some effort. Olive wasn’t sure of his motives for wanting to work there, but she knew it would be a great comfort to Tony if someone capable of doing the job was left in charge.

‘Right, I must confess that having some insider knowledge of what the Gin Shack has featured has helped make my decision easier. I’m not sure even my mum has tried this one before.’

Richard carefully poured out measures of gin with some fresh lemon juice, adding them to the cocktail shaker. He then raided his own supplies again, adding sugar and runny honey. ‘This cocktail is called the Bee’s Knees and it dates back to Prohibition. So it’s a bit vintage, but we could say that about some of our best customers.’

Richard offered Olive a cheeky smile. The cheek of it, referring to his mother and friends as vintage. But then he might have a point and, quite frankly, there was nothing wrong with that. As far as she knew it was the “in” thing and she had no problem with being in.

‘I’ve been practising this next bit. I don’t think even Tony can do this.’ With his cocktail shaker fully charged, Richard did an impressive little routine, including a throw in the air as he spun round, ready to catch it. There were delighted shrieks from everyone, the loudest coming from Skylar.

Richard took a little bow and Olive couldn’t help but lead a round of applause. It was hard to believe that her uptight son, who used to get his knickers in a twist over the thought of Olive enjoying herself, was now here delivering quite the spectacle. He had hidden depths and it would appear they were more alike than she ever could have imagined.

Richard passed them all a sample of the drink to try. The cocktail was a gorgeous golden colour, like a rich champagne only without the sparkles.

Her son had been right – Olive hadn’t tried this before. What a gorgeously simple recipe and how was it she had never thought to try something similar.

Olive always tended to close her eyes on the first taste of a new drink, as if cutting off the sense of sight aided the tasting experience. The Bee’s Knees cocktail was sweet and sophisticated all at once. The sugar cut across the sour and the outcome was delectable.

‘What do you think?’ Richard asked.

For a moment, Olive was so taken away with the flavours, she’d forgotten where she was. The murmurs from everyone else were in agreement with Olive’s own thoughts. ‘One of the nicest cocktails I’ve ever had. The only thing is… it’s not very Christmassy, is it?’

‘Ah. I knew you’d say that, so, in true Gin Shack tradition, that was just a sampler, trying it in its true form. I had to think about what would go with it and make it more festive. The Bee’s Knees Christmas-style coming up.’ Richard showed off his skills with the cocktail shaker again. Once he was done, he placed their drinks in front of them and, unlike the last one, this was ruby-red in colour.

‘What have you added in here?’ Randy asked, holding it up to the light.

Along the rest of the bar everyone else was sniffing or peering at the drink, trying to work it out before having a taste.

Olive was pretty sure she knew what it was and how pleasing it was that her son might have inherited a feel for good flavour combinations. She went in for a taste to confirm whether she was correct. Just as she thought, Richard had added a cranberry liquor. Not too much so the honey wasn’t apparent, but enough to give a taste and, although it didn’t sing Christmas in the way mulled wine might, it did say seasonal with a slight twist on a classic.

‘I thought cranberry counted as a Christmas flavour,’ Richard said, confirming the taste to anyone who’d not worked it out.

‘This is gorgeous,’ Veronica exclaimed, with everyone else agreeing.

‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ Randy said, glancing along the bar to catch everyone’s attention.

And as if they’d all practised it, in a very Apprentice-style manner, they all said (including Tony, if it was possible to identify the tiny voice)…

‘You’re hired!’

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