Christmas at the Gin Shack

by Catherine Miller

  ‘Hold on a second,’ Randy said, stopping before she went to pick it up from where they now let her store it in the lobby.

  ‘There’s not a problem with it, is there?’ As Olive hadn’t ridden it since the battery had given out, she was worried there was something more terminally wrong with it. Randy had said he’d sorted it, but now Olive wasn’t so sure he’d been able to. Maybe he’d replaced it with a skateboard.

  ‘Here we go, here’s your one,’ Randy said, rolling the Segway out.

  It looked pristine and unscathed from its adventures and Olive was happy to be reunited with it, hopefully with a fully charged battery and in working order.

  Randy returned to the cupboard. ‘And here’s Veronica’s and mine.’ Both of theirs had been adorned with big capitals V and R respectively. ‘I’ve got you an O, but didn’t want to add it without permission.’

  Olive laughed. She really was a trendsetter. She couldn’t believe her friends had been daft enough to get Segways as well. ‘Of course I want mine added. I can’t have you two outshining me.’

  ‘Give me a minute then.’

  It took Randy a few minutes, but before long they were cruising along the street in single file until they were across the Royal Esplanade and able to ride alongside each other.

  They spent a hilarious few minutes on their way down, trying to work out if they were able to spell anything rude with their initials. But ORV or ROV was as exciting as it got and even the acronyms they were able to come up with weren’t that offensive: Only Red Varieties or Rarely Organised Vegans. They were sure they would be able to say worse things, but they refused to use V as a variant of lady garden so managed to amuse themselves while maintaining an ounce of decorum.

  They were so busy giggling as they came down the slope, they nearly missed out on the fact that there was a small crowd waiting for them along with a photographer.

  Olive would have thought they were for someone else had it not been for them chanting, ‘We love the Oakley West trio.’

  It was all a bit beyond anything any of them had ever expected and for a moment they had to cope with fans screaming delight and the paparazzi (if it was possible to class one photographer as that) taking multiple photos. They were even asked to re-enact the scene so Rory (the journalist who’d broken their story in the first place) was able to get the best shots possible.

  It was quite comical really, but it turned out that this being an organised weekend with the chance to actually meet the Oakley West trio meant more than a few fans from Veronica’s Facebook page had turned up, including three girls all the way from Japan. It delayed the start of the masterclasses no end, but no one there seemed to be too worried.

  Richard at some point managed to get a hold of proceedings and managed to direct everyone to where they should be. As there were six cocktail recipes to teach, in the end they’d split who was going to teach what so they had about twenty minutes to go through each drink in smaller groups.

  It meant going through the same drink three times, but it would give the participants a chance to learn all the recipes, and moving them about hopefully meant it wouldn’t be too boring and send any of them to sleep.

  Olive had the Japanese girls as her first class. They were incredibly sweet without a great deal of spoken English apart from gin, which they liked to repeat loudly and enthusiastically whenever it was mentioned.

  ‘There’s one person who hasn’t made it yet. Hopefully they’ll get here before lunchtime,’ Richard said as he went between organising tasks and making sure everything was okay. Thankfully they’d told him how they wanted the huts set out and everything they’d needed was already there.

  Olive was doing her Mince Pie gin recipe. It turned out it wasn’t a flavour they were particularly familiar with in Japanese culture, so, despite some language barriers, the masterclass also turned into a taste-testing experience as well. She would have to make sure, if mince pies weren’t part of the Christmas lunch, that she got hold of some for the girls to experience.

  For her next teaching session there were more fans, only these ones were far nearer to Olive in age. Apparently they were visiting from Sunny Days Retirement Quarters in Brighton, another of the homes run by the owners of Oakley West. They’d heard about their story in the quarterly newsletter, followed them ever since and thought this weekend sounded like the most fun they would have in the run-up to Christmas.

  Rory followed this group in and took discreet pictures while Olive carried on explaining about the preparation involved with the recipe. When he started taking notes, she started to worry.

  ‘Don’t be printing this. It’s going to be our winning cocktail.’ Richard was going to announce the winning cocktail that evening, so Olive didn’t know for certain if it was a winner, but confidence and her son’s expression told her it stood a pretty good chance.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m noting it down for personal use only. Mince pies are my favourite.’

  ‘You’d best try a sample then in that case,’ Olive said, offering her version of Blue Peter’s “Here’s one I made earlier”. She’d be very squiffy if she had an entire drink with every demonstration.

  The last group was a very jovial group of retirement-age friends who often went away on weekends together. When they’d seen this advertised they thought it sounded like the perfect excuse for their monthly get-together. They were a very merry group and Olive got the impression it was because they liked to get the most out of life and have a laugh as they went. There was every possibility this impression was brought about because they were indeed already squiffy, but really, if they weren’t, well, the weekend wasn’t doing what it said on the tin.

  Hopefully all the different groups were getting on okay and, if so, it would make the Christmas dinner they were setting off for a really fun affair, which was just as it should be.

  Richard was checking to see that all the tutorials were finished before ushering everyone along the promenade back towards the Gin Shack. That wasn’t going to happen without the group of girls requesting that everyone get together and have their pictures taken in front of the beach huts shouting out “GIN GROTTOS” and making peace signs for a multitude of photos with personal cameras and phones and Rory taking all of them, along with his own snaps for the paper.

  ‘I made it.’

  It was Pete talking to the gathered group.

  Olive really wanted to swing her peace signs round to signify a different message entirely.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Richard asked.

  Most of the people present, of course, had no clue as to why they weren’t pleased to see the man who’d just announced his arrival.

  ‘I spoke to you earlier to say I’d be late.’

  ‘But I didn’t know it was you.’

  Olive was pretty sure Rory was still taking photos. He knew the Gin Shack tended to create headline news, so wouldn’t want to miss out on any drama.

  ‘Hils booked the weekend up. She might not be coming, but I thought I’d still take advantage. It’s not a problem, is it?’

  There were a hundred reasons why it was a problem. Olive listed at least ten without even thinking on it. She was sure she would be able to come up with the other ninety given half an hour.

  ‘Well, I’m not sure.’ Richard seemed a bit lost. No doubt he was thinking about the law and how it would stand up in a court of law. This man had played dirty, attached bottoms to their establishment and tried to desecrate the name of the Gin Shack. But Richard was bound to be thinking, did they have any evidence to back it up?

  ‘I’m sure,’ Olive found herself saying. ‘I am absolutely one hundred per cent certain that you are not welcome at this weekend or on the premises of the Gin Shack. Richard can refund your money, but I am not having bullies coming and spoiling the enjoyment of others. You’ve done quite enough of that in recent weeks and I for one will not stand for it.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Veronica said, really having no idea what it was all about,
but backing up her friend all the same.

  And in a succinct chorus of unison, even though none of them knew the complete story of why this man was a bully, everyone there carried on the chant of “Me neither”.

  Olive was pretty sure the young girls didn’t actually know the meaning of what they were saying, but everyone else was helping them stand up against a man who’d turned up in Westbrook Bay expecting to get his own way wherever he went.

  ‘I better bloody get my money back. And this is going on Tripadvisor.’

  ‘Oh great,’ Richard said. ‘Yet another attempt to sabotage our business for your own benefit.’

  ‘You’re sabotaging yourselves if you’re turning customers away for no good reason.’ Pete started to trounce off, eager to be the one giving the final word in the conversation.

  For a moment there was silence. That was one way to have the weekend ruined, but at least he was gone. Hopefully there would be no more from him.

  Olive’s concern about it potentially ruining the weekend vanished on the back of two words.

  “GIN GROTTO” was announced and, with that, everyone was saying it again and making peace signs and taking silly selfies and having a wonderful giggle, possibly due to all the gin that had been consumed and enjoyed.

  It was one of those wonderful moments and, because everyone was a bit distracted, Olive wasn’t past taking the brief opportunity to whip her fingers round the other way in the direction of Pete. No one was going to come along and try to ruin a community and get away with it. At least not while the Gin Shack crew were around to stick up for themselves.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The Christmas lunch was so well catered it meant the Oakley West trio were able to join their guests along with Rory and Richard.

  What was very odd about the whole thing was that Matron, or rather Helen, was helping Esme and the chef with serving the food up and pouring drinks.

  In all the time Helen had been in charge of Oakley West, Olive wasn’t able to recall her doing anything as hospitable. So it was very odd now to be served by her. But this time there wasn’t that odd, serial-killer smile on her face. She smiled with genuine warmth and enjoyment, which had perhaps been brought about by Esme, who insisted she join everyone for lunch between courses.

  Olive hadn’t noticed it before, but Esme was a remarkably good businesswoman and a team player in that way that made guests want to come back and staff want to come and work for her. Those were very good qualities to have and, if it worked out financially, running the weekends looked set to become a regular thing. Obviously they couldn’t all be as seasonal as this one, but it made sense to extend it to taste experiences or hen and stag weekends. After all, not everyone was looking to get drunk in Malaga. A gin-themed hen weekend might be a gap in the hen-partying market.

  The hired chef had done a tremendous job on all the food, and although the menu wasn’t groundbreaking, given it was traditional Christmas fare, it was all tasty and succulent and hit all the right notes. By the time Olive had finished her prawn cocktail and a traditional turkey roast, she was stuffed, but still managed the Christmas pudding because it was too good not to eat every morsel.

  Esme had been sensible enough to schedule in an hour’s rest for all the guests and most of them retired to their rooms, with a few opting to walk the morning’s activities and feasting off. The hour also gave the staff chance to tidy up and set up the gin grottos ready for the second masterclass.

  Fortunately, Olive wasn’t needed to help with the preparation. She was glad because she wasn’t fit for anything more than sitting in the snug area of the Gin Shack and having a good snooze.

  Everyone was reconvening at four in the afternoon for a special meet and greet with everyone involved in the Gin Shack because the fame of the place had extended to everyone involved. Olive had a feeling the young Japanese girls might get particularly excitable when they met the Salter boys.

  Richard was also going to announce the winning cocktail as a preview to announcing it to everyone else later that night.

  It was Randy who woke Olive once he’d returned from a walk with Veronica.

  ‘What have I missed?’ Olive was pretty sure she’d been drooling.

  ‘Not much. Just some butlers in the buff,’ Veronica joked.

  ‘Oh gosh. I’m quite glad I slept through that then. I’m not sure my sensitivities would cope with naked buttocks near my food.’

  ‘You’ll be glad to know you’ve missed no such thing then. Unless that’s something Richard has arranged for the buffet later. Everyone’s arriving, though, so I figured you might want to wake up and freshen up.’

  Olive must have been drooling. What it was to be old. Although she would probably have done the same in her thirties if life had been this exciting back then.

  Fortunately, all she needed to do was wipe her face and she hadn’t been left with a massive drool spot that made her look like she’d been lactating milk. Because, quite frankly, that was a look she’d stopped sporting many years before and she didn’t want Rory accidentally featuring her as some kind of freak showpiece.

  Most of the Gin Shack crew were there by the time Olive made it out of the bathroom. The Salter boys and Tony had arrived, as well as Paul, Mark and Lily. It was just Skylar they were waiting for to complete the set.

  Helen, Esme and the chef were circling the room offering mince pies that were undoubtedly homemade by the chef and looked divine.

  ‘Mince pies!’ the young tourists exclaimed, taking selfies with the pies in shot. What a novel and glorious thing it must be to discover such foodie wonders for the first time. It made Olive wish she was able to go on more adventures further afield.

  Even though Olive felt she didn’t have a square inch available to eat any more, in true Christmas form she accepted the offerings and somehow made room for them.

  The gaggle of girls came over to say “Like Olive’s gin”, before requesting Olive join them as they posed with the pies. She was more than happy to, although if they asked her to eat another she would have to refuse.

  In the midst of peace signs and pouting (Olive wasn’t sure she’d perfected the art), there was the sound of glass being chimed and Richard gaining everyone’s attention.

  Olive looked towards him and was glad to see that, without her noticing, Skylar had popped in along with Lucas.

  ‘I would like to take the opportunity to welcome all our guests from far and wide. We wanted to trial a gin-experience weekend and you’ve all made it the most fun. I’m glad to say the festivities will continue for the rest of the day, but for now I would like to do a special announcement about which cocktail, and therefore which person, has won our own little cocktail competition and will be going forward as our entry in the local newspaper’s competition.’

  There was a round of applause from everyone there that very quickly evolved into a drumroll, ready for Richard’s announcement.

  ‘As you all know, we’ve featured the cocktails over several weeks, we’ve had samples provided at the gin grottos, and all our customers have been given the opportunity to vote for their favourite.’

  ‘Get on with it.’

  Olive was pretty sure it was Paul heckling, but wasn’t in a position to see whether it was.

  ‘I’m just explaining so everyone here knows what I’m on about. Right, drumroll again, please.’

  Everyone, including Olive, either clapped their hands or stamped their feet to make the noise of beating drums.

  ‘I’m delighted to say that the winning cocktail is Olive’s Mince Pie cocktail. Well done, Mum.’

  The applause in Olive’s direction was quite overwhelming. Even though she’d been quietly confident it was a good idea, because it was down to a public vote, she’d never been certain of it actually winning.

  ‘Yay to Mince Pie,’ the trio of girls said and everyone joined in with some hip hip hoorays.

  Now they just needed to keep their fingers crossed the cocktail would win the competiti
on, enabling them to officially become the award-winning Gin Shack.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  By the second round of masterclasses, Olive was really flagging. Having two one-hour slots to teach had seemed like a good idea when they’d planned it all, but Olive hadn’t factored in that she’d be having a very heavy lunch and alcohol on top of that. At least she’d had a nap, though, and hadn’t drunk so much she wasn’t able to use her Segway. But then, if she sampled anything more, she wasn’t going to be in a position to drive it back.

  Fortunately, all the guests were in a similar slump as well, so it didn’t hurt that the lesson was a little bit more laid-back and less detailed. Instead Olive offered out her deckchairs so the participants were able to relax while she talked them through the different elements of the chocolate-orange cocktail she was producing, rather than getting them more actively involved.

  The guests were more than happy to receive their drink and have the opportunity to admire the glorious views Westbrook Bay had to offer. There was a definite extra chill in the air so Olive offered out blankets to anyone wanting to have an extra layer.

  Rory was still hard at work, although if this was the kind of day he normally got invited to, Olive wished she could go back and have a career all over again.

  Once the last group joined her, Olive was pretty sure they were overrunning, and she was almost certain of it when the Christmas statues and lights were switched on. It provided a nice glow of light as the day started fading away at a pace.

  It was a good job there wasn’t a free deckchair, because if there had been, Olive would have been sure to take a seat and, judging from how tired she was, would have slept through the night there, given half a chance.

  Rory, who must have been about a quarter of her age, seemed disgracefully awake and full of energy as he bounced over to take more photos.

  ‘Can I have a word?’

  Olive peered around at first, certain the young journalist wasn’t on about her. ‘What about?’ she said when she realised his question was intended for her.