Christmas at the Gin Shack

by Catherine Miller

  If she’d been hoping for anything exciting, there wasn’t a unicorn-nesting zone or fairy village taking up residence. Instead her towels were there, in exactly the same way she’d placed them. Rolled, as one would hope.

  Olive wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it didn’t in any way help to explain what had been going on. The pattern of towel disruption tended to be fairly random. And after they’d “discovered” someone there, it had only happened once.

  But in the same way the drawer had winked at her when it hadn’t, Olive also felt there was something amiss. That if she were a betting woman, she’d predict something happening again soon. But that was ridiculous. There was nothing other than a sixth sense telling her so. Maybe a shift in the atmosphere in the hut telling her she should be aware. Or more likely the lateness of the hour causing her to worry more than usual.

  Perhaps it was the events of the night. Attending the opening of a rival bar, falling and discovering Skylar’s ex had turned up out of the blue was quite enough for one evening. It was enough to leave her feeling out of sorts enough to start imagining things. At least she hadn’t actually seen pixies or unicorns. That really would have been worrying and warrant another trip to the doctor.

  Instead she had towels that were perfectly in place and nothing to worry about, which didn’t go any way to explaining why she was still concerned.

  Deciding tiredness was playing far too much of a part in her muddled thoughts, she knew it was time to head back to Oakley West. Really, she should get someone to escort her. Richard had said he’d come back and walk her home, but if he was going to have the chance to chat to Skylar, she didn’t want him to have to rush back because he was obliged to. Besides, she had her Segway. If anyone was going to pounce on her, she’d go ahead and run them over.

  Only when she went to turn her wheels on, there was no response. It didn’t switch on like it normally did and it didn’t take long for Olive to realise she’d left it on and drained the battery.

  Great. It wasn’t exactly the type of thing she was able to lug up the hill herself. And it was as she looked towards the slope to calculate if there was any way she’d manage to roll it up there by herself in the middle of the night that she noticed someone making their way down.

  And there was that instinct again, kicking in like a wild brushstroke that waved its way with its guidance and misdirection. It was based on something and nothing all at once. Olive knew she should hide. That she had nowhere to run and certainly no wheels to run with, and instead should disappear as quickly as she was able. And there was only option for her to take.

  Because, however much she would have liked to will her body into quick decisions and fast reflexes, the only thing she could do was wheel the Segway in and lock the door securely behind her.

  In her rush, the Segway toppled over and made a sound so loud she was sure they’d have heard it over on Margate beach.

  If she hadn’t felt the need to hold her breath, that was enough to make her do so without thought.

  So, when the door to Olive’s beach hut started to rattle, it took all her strength not to scream. And because all her strength was gone, there was nothing left to help her with what to do next.

  Because, at that exact moment, running was no longer an option.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

  There was nothing more terrifying than when it was possible to hear the sound of your own heartbeat. Olive’s was so loud it was all she was able to hear. And the pounding became louder with every jiggle of the door handle.

  When the door opened, the sound of her heart constricting was so acute, Olive did wonder if it was possible she might end up hearing her own heart attack, the rush in her ears making her think it might already be happening.

  Olive waited for the moment. The moment her heart would constrict so tightly it would never beat again. For the stabbing pain to come and take her. And if not that, then the intruder might get all stabby on her instead. Either way, there was a very real chance that in the next few minutes something sharp and sudden would finish her off. At least this way it would be over quickly.

  The horror of it all was made worse by the fact she was rendered incapable of defending herself. There was nothing nearby to grab hold of and, even if there was, she didn’t think her arms would operate quickly enough to do anything about it.

  Instead, all she could do was watch and wait and will her heart not to go into cardiac arrest at the point she was going to have to defend herself.

  Despite being locked, the person had a key and the door opened with a thud.

  Another thud.

  It took a few seconds for Olive to realise the reason it wasn’t wide open with someone coming in was because the door was butting against the Segway.

  It had fallen at such an angle it was stopping the door from opening.

  Trying not to make a sound and thankful she was in a non-jingly Christmas jumper, Olive used her foot to gently nudge the Segway closer and held her weight against it to ensure the person didn’t manage to get in just by using a little added force.

  Then nothing.

  No shoving the door in an extra attempt to get in. No indication of what they were doing.

  Olive willed the sound of rushing blood to quieten down in her ears. If there were any noises giving her a clue as to what was happening, she wasn’t able to hear them. It was tempting to move to get something to defend herself with. A gin bottle, perhaps? A batch of the mince-pie gin would do it, but if she moved, they were bound to push the door with force at that moment.

  Not hearing anything for another couple of minutes, Olive opted to have a seat on the Segway and immediately regretted the decision. It was designed to be upright, not on its side, and it certainly wasn’t supposed to hold any weight at this angle.

  For the second time that evening, Olive went and slipped. Once again, she did so without style or grace and ended up with her bum wedged between the wall and the Segway.

  It was the most spectacularly awkward position to have got herself in. Her legs were folded up against her stomach and the only people who tended to adopt that kind of pose were divers and she was no Tom Daley.

  She was also not in possession of the six-pack usually required to adopt this stance. So, getting out of it was also going to be a problem.

  There was the other small technicality of someone still trying to gain entry to the beach hut. If they were still out there, they were bound to have heard her and, at this point in time, Olive wondered whether she should just ask for help. There was every possibility they might have plans to finish her off, but she was doing a pretty good job of attempting to do that herself.

  Giving up any concerns about making noise, Olive did her best to wiggle herself out of her trap. It wasn’t going to do her any good if she ended up stuck here and was only discovered once the rigor mortis had set in. If she was going to meet her end, she planned to do so in a more ladylike posture.

  Despite her best jiggling (and let’s face it, her best jiggling years were way past her), the Segway wasn’t moving. Nor was the wall, and as she could barely see in the dark, there was no way of telling if there was an easy way out of this.

  One more jiggle and no joy, just a creak.

  The door. The bloody door was open.

  Whoever had been outside attempting to get in obviously hadn’t bothered to lock it. That meant two things. First… that if someone had left it open, it was likely they would be heading back. Whoever had been using her hut was in the habit of leaving it as close to normal as they could, albeit apart from the towels. And second, and rather more obviously, the door was open.

  What was she doing titting about trying to lever herself out when there was an open exit?

  Not caring too much about attackers any more, Olive pushed at the door and, to her immediate relief, it opened outwards.

  The only problem was that she followed suit, flopping out of the opening as well. It wasn’t ide
al, but at least she could breathe again now she wasn’t folded in half.

  What was life coming to?

  It was actually quite a nice view. She didn’t do enough lying on the floor looking up at the sky these days. And certainly not at this time of night, when the earth was still and the stars were jewels on a dark canvas.

  It was probably one of the most beautifully surreal moments of her life. The calm of the world around her, the glorious view, all as a result of turning herself into the human wedgie of the century.

  At least she wasn’t still stuck in that position, but that didn’t mean she knew how she was going to get up. Nor did she want to right at that moment. The view was too perfect to want to leave it without allowing it to embrace her for as long as they both could allow. Peace and tranquillity were such rare finds in the mayhem of life, it was important to embrace every second.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  The upside-down face of Matron put an abrupt stop to any zen Olive was capturing from the stars.

  It didn’t take much effort for Olive to realise this was the beach hut’s intruder. ‘It’s my hut. The question should be what are you doing here?’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  With only a few weeks left till Christmas, it would seem the spirit of goodwill was already spreading across Westbrook Bay. Because, rather than carry out the early morning brawl they should have, Olive and Matron were being nice to each other.

  Rather than leaving Olive to it, Matron helped her to her feet and walked her back to Oakley West to make sure she got there safely. And when Matron (who was insistent on being called Helen) told Olive she was occasionally sleeping on the beach-hut floor, Olive didn’t get angry about her beach hut being used when it shouldn’t, and instead vowed to do something to help.

  It was why she was at the Gin Shack now, hoping to speak to Richard. Although as none of the doors were open, it didn’t look that hopeful that he was up yet.

  If he was even there?

  With the whole intruder at the hut/getting folded like a sandwich/being rescued by homeless Matron saga, it would have been easy to forget the earlier incident in the evening when Skylar had run away.

  Richard would have escorted her home if it hadn’t been for her insistence that he make sure Skylar get back home okay. Was it too much to hope that his absence from the Gin Shack this morning was a positive sign that things were okay between the fledgling couple?

  It left Olive at a bit of a loss as to what to do. Her Segway was still stuck in her beach hut with no battery charge. She’d have to get someone a bit more fit and able to wheel it up the slope for her so she could get it somewhere ready to recharge it. The closest place for that would be the beach café, and of course that wouldn’t require any dragging it up any slopes, but she didn’t think she wanted to start getting friendly with her friend’s ex, who’d already shown his behaviour was poor.

  It was something to sort out another day because, right now, she didn’t have the energy to fetch the charger let alone anything else. Last night had left her so tired she was ready to sleep for thirteen years, and that really was a problem at her age.

  Olive whizzed off a couple of messages in the hope of locating her son and, as the outside seating hadn’t been popped outside yet, went in search of a seat.

  There was one obvious place to go and she was glad of an excuse to. She’d missed it in the weeks since Tony had been poorly. She’d have to make some special visits to her husband’s memorial bench until they reinstated their weekly meetings. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too much longer. As it stood, she knew the next cocktail on the menu was Tony’s and he’d gone for a mulled wine theme. Olive hadn’t tasted it yet and wasn’t sure if wine and gin worked, if indeed they were the ingredients. She would have to wait to savour that one.

  Olive would be privy to all the cocktail recipes soon. She needed them for the Gingle Bells retreat as she was in charge of the cocktail masterclasses. She’d decided with Esme that, as it was a Christmas-themed weekend, teaching their Christmas cocktails would be the best type of tutorial to include. Esme was also planning a big Christmas lunch and the classes would be fitted around that, with one in the morning and one in the afternoon.

  Now the plans for the weekend were firmly in place, Olive was looking forward to it and it would be a welcome distraction from everything else that was going on. Rival bars being opened by less-than-savoury characters was the last thing they needed in Westbrook Bay.

  Olive smoothed a hand over one of the weathered wooden slats of her husband’s bench as if the gesture somehow brought them closer together. Oh, how she wished it would. There were so many things she would tell him if he were here. And so many questions she would ask.

  ‘What would you make of it all?’ Olive asked out loud, truly wondering and hoping the wind would bring an answer.

  There was no one about. Not a soul was stirring on the beach, seeing as it was before breakfast time in the average household. There was a chance there might be some dog walkers about on the clifftop, but would they hear her when she was surrounded by bushes and the garden was below the clifftop level? Hopefully not.

  ‘Why do I still feel uneasy?’ The doctor had said everything was okay. The TIA clinic appointment had revealed the same. It wasn’t illness causing her to feel like this. It was too many uncertain changes occurring all at once.

  Of course, John couldn’t answer, but if he was in another realm, hopefully he would hear her and keep an eye on all of them. After all, it was because of their shared love of gin that Olive had continued her search for the perfect G&T after his death, and that the Gin Shack had ever come into existence. She was pretty sure, if he was still about (in whatever form), he’d have a vested interest in making sure all of the Gin Shack crew were okay.

  ‘I can’t even explain it,’ Olive said, still chatting to herself and not sure what she hoped to gain from doing so.

  Knowing Matron was the person using her beach hut for her own purposes should have alleviated Olive’s worry. They’d chatted about it on the walk to Oakley West and Helen had explained how she had a job at another local care home as an overnight carer. It was a sleeping job, getting up as required, so in order to save money she’d remained of no fixed abode as she’d lost her living quarters at Oakley West when she’d lost her job. It meant there were a few nights when she’d not managed to get a cheap room at the local TravelStop, and that was when she’d taken advantage of Olive’s hut. Getting in had been easy as she had a copy of the key back from the days when Oakley West had been put in charge of the beach hut. She’d just failed to hand that one item back. She’d been using Olive’s towels as a pillow, and her disappearance the morning Olive had discovered an intruder had been easy as Olive hadn’t been paying attention when she’d been awaiting the arrival of Randy and Veronica metres away from the hut.

  They were all logical explanations. They provided the reassurance that Olive wasn’t losing her marbles after all, but still there was unease resting in her thoughts.

  Partly it was the thought of Matron – sorry, Helen – being homeless. Despite how horrid Helen had been when she’d worked at Oakley West, in part it had only been in an attempt to protect her family, and Olive could understand that. Who wouldn’t do what they were able to for the ones they loved? She certainly didn’t deserve to be without a home as a result. And Olive hated to think she might have had a part in the poor woman’s falling on hard times.

  The thought of family made Olive realise exactly what it was that was leaving her feeling so ill at ease. It was the man who’d shown up out of the blue: Pete. He was undoubtedly responsible for the bottom stunts, and how heartless not to have mentioned his arrival to the mother of his child. It was not the kind of behaviour Olive expected from any decent human being.

  What would happen was yet to be seen. It wasn’t something to welcome at any time of year, but especially in the run-up to Christmas. It made Olive even more flustered to think that someone would try
and ruin a special time of year. It made her want to make it up to Skylar and Lucas and surprise them by turning her beach hut into a little grotto, like she used to do for Richard when he was a boy. It was years since she’d done it and if she could find the time it would be fun to do.

  Strangely, thinking about her little beach hut made her realise it wasn’t just Pete making her feel uneasy. It was three pieces of paper. Three brown scraps of tissue paper attached to her beach-hut sign. She wanted to know who’d put them there and why. Matron had sworn it wasn’t her. That just left the question of who had.

  Olive stroked the bench again, this time for reassurance. She had nothing to support the notion, but the opening of Bottoms Up seemed to spell trouble, and she was sure those streamers were linked to the place. And if they were, it was very unsportsmanlike. And it meant it was more than likely Pete knew where Skylar’s beach hut was. And if that was the case, there was no way the opening of his business on the bay where Skylar spent most of her time was an accident.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  When Olive returned to the Gin Shack, having received a message from Richard to say it was now open, she didn’t like to pry too much about what had been going on. Partly because she was his mother, and partly because it was none of her business. Instead she regaled him with the story of how she’d ended up finding out who her beach-hut intruder was.

  ‘I know it’s a lot to ask, but do you think she could stay here on the odd occasion? I feel so uneasy knowing she’s having to resort to sleeping in a beach hut.’ Considering the woman had made Olive’s life a misery when she’d first moved into Oakley West, it seemed an unlikely gesture to help her out, but she couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the woman. It was nearly Christmas, and if she wanted others to demonstrate charitable behaviour, it was best to lead by example.

  ‘I couldn’t promise anything without asking Tony. And are you sure?’

  There was a time when Olive thought Matron was in cahoots with her son to try and do everything they could to knock the life and soul out of her. Back then Richard had been so overprotective it was silly, and he’d failed to see that, despite her age, there was still lots of life in the old girl yet. These days his outlook on life was far more in keeping with Olive’s. She didn’t imagine Helen held the same power as Matron once had.