The Seaside Cocktail Campervan

by Caroline Roberts

  The Seaside Cocktail Campervan

  CAROLINE ROBERTS

  OneMoreChapter an imprint of

  HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by One More Chapter 2021

  Copyright © Caroline Roberts 2021

  Cover design by Lucy Bennett © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021

  Cover illustrations © Hannah George/Meiklejohn

  Emojis © Shutterstock.com

  Caroline Roberts asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Ebook Edition © August 2021 ISBN: 9780008483494

  Version: 2021-08-10

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Recipes from the Seaside Cocktail Campervan

  A Letter from Caroline

  Acknowledgements

  Keep Reading …

  About the Author

  Also by Caroline Roberts

  About the Publisher

  For hugs, celebrations and new beginnings

  You are cordially invited for cocktails and celebrations

  For the 21st Birthday Party

  of

  Harriet Carter-Cresswell

  Saturday, 8th May, 6 p.m.

  at

  Eastburgh Hall, Northumberland

  RSVP Abigail Carter-Cresswell by Friday 16th April prompt

  Chapter 1

  Jack was prepped and ready to pour. A hundred polished prosecco glasses stood glinting in the soft early-May sunlight, lined up in perfect rows on wooden trestle tables which he had just finished setting out, working with the butler. Oh yes, there was a real-life butler. Jack grinned as he thought about it; every function was different. He certainly got to go to all sorts of swish places and meet all kinds of people with this job.

  When he’d turned his pride-and-joy vintage campervan off from the narrow lane earlier, his jaw had dropped at the event’s stunning location. He’d arrived at the Birthday Girl’s country home, and what a home it was: weathered cream stone walls, three storeys high, set a mile inland from the golden sands and estuary of Budle Bay. The view from Jack’s designated parking spot – just off the gravel driveway on the front lawn of this impressive pad – was glorious, stretching across rolling green farmland to the inky blue-grey sea. All framed by a fading gold-tinted azure sky.

  Jack liked to dress the part for every occasion. So, he had his tux and bow-tie combo for weddings and formal events, shorts and Ts for any festivals or fetes, and he was sporting his smart-casual, celebration-party look for the 21st Birthday booking this evening. He wore beige chinos and a crisp white shirt, teamed with a pressed black apron with his Jack’s Cocktail Campervan logo, stylishly swirled in grey lettering on the front.

  He’d started up this mobile bar business four years ago. It was a bit of a risk putting his last wedge of savings into buying the characterful but rather rusty VW campervan – ‘Ruby’, as he’d named her. Over the following three months, he’d spent every weekend and many an evening doing her up, courtesy of a bank loan, with his own blood, sweat and tears, via many a YouTube ‘How To’ video, plus a bit of professional help on the engine and electrical side of things. It had felt like plunging in at the deep end when he finally handed in his notice at the bistro where he was working as the manager, having worked his way up from waiter.

  Ruby was a glorious vintage red, and whenever Jack hit the driver’s seat and headed off on the open road, he just wanted to sing out ‘Ruby, Ruby, Ruby!’ so damned loud, in the style of the Kaiser Chiefs’ anthem. He had never looked back, even with the inevitable ups and downs of running his own business, and was proud of his venture, building it slowly but surely. He loved the freedom of being his own boss, and enjoyed the buzz of working a function, whilst making his clients’ wishes come true.

  Abigail, Birthday Girl’s mother and the party organiser, suddenly came dashing down the grand stone steps of the hall, clucking away to herself about some pizza van she’d booked being late, all the while scouring the driveway as if she might be able to will it into view. She approached Jack, spouting a last-minute list of details and demands, whilst delivering a peaches-and-cream-coloured floral display for the drinks table. Jeez, that thing looked hideous, like some floral throwback from a 1970s wedding, but Jack kept schtum. He knew better than to upset the paying clients. And hey ho, what do I know about flowers, he mused? It was absolutely hideous, though.

  Abigail’s voice cut in over the early-evening birdsong: ‘Now then, young man, do you have plenty of ice for the evening? There’re spare bags, if need be, in the chest freezer in the larder room. You may enter the house via the side door,’ she added pointedly.

  Basically, as one of the staff, make sure you don’t go in by the front door, was what Jack grasped.

  Abigail was on a roll. ‘Oh, and those pretty little violas, the ones you had at the tasting to decorate the Raspberry Fizz drinks, do you have those as promised?’

  ‘Yes, I have the flowers here, Abigail. I’m just waiting for the guests to arrive before I pour out the chilled prosecco, and then I’ll use them to garnish the cocktails, as agreed.’

  Jack was thankful that his parents had a good-sized, well-stocked garden – his mum’s pride and joy – and they were happy for him to help himself to the various herbs, foliage and flowers he needed to support his cocktail venture, making it that little bit more unique.

  ‘Good … that’s good. They did look so pretty at the tasting.’ Abigail paused, taking in the table-top display, pushing it a couple o
f centimetres to one side, and then giving an approving nod. Then she was off again, ‘Oh, and can you ensure that Harriet’s younger brother, Hugo, takes no more than one drink, as he’s only sixteen?’

  Oh yes, Jack had spotted him earlier – a tall, lanky youth of the blond floppy fringe variety, bit of a dickhead from what Jack had seen, to be honest, bossing around the butler and doing very little of any use himself.

  ‘And that Grandma Judith, who I introduced you to, is served an elderflower fizz rather than a gin or prosecco cocktail, as she’s on medication? We don’t want her having a funny turn or suchlike.’

  Jack gave a smile, responding politely, ‘Of course, that’s no problem, Abigail.’ I am here to serve, smile and make sure that everyone has a good time, he thought wryly. And hopefully that no-one ends up in Abigail’s bad books or A&E.

  Abigail tutted, then gave a heavy sigh. Jack feared he’d done something wrong for a moment, casting his mind quickly over all the arrangements, until the middle-aged woman commented tersely that the other caterer was terribly late. ‘Typical,’ she muttered, studying her wristwatch dramatically, ‘She’ll be arriving at the same time as the guests, which is no good. No good at all.’

  ‘Is there anything I can help with?’ Jack offered.

  ‘Well, not unless you can conjure up a hundred slices of cooked pizza in the next hour or so.’

  ‘Right-o! Sorry Abigail, that’s not quite in my powers.’ He put on his most charming smile, guaranteed to soften the hardest of hearts. ‘But I’ll make sure everyone gets a glass of something gorgeous to start their evening off well. And I’m sure the pizza company will get here any minute.’ Jack was trying his best to keep things positive. There was often a glitch or two at these occasions, and he’d learnt you just have to keep everyone calm and carry on. Half the time, the guests were often blissfully unaware of any issues, anyhow – especially a drink or two down the line.

  ‘Thank you, Jake.’

  Jake? He didn’t bother correcting her. Abigail evidently had enough on her plate as it was.

  ‘Well, thank heavens I’ve booked my usual caterer to provide a finger buffet in the dining room. It’s just typical, Harriet persuaded me to try something new for the younger ones, and look what happens …’

  After the organisational ear-bashing, Jack stood and watched Abigail’s rather large, pale-pink rear (she was clothed in a dress that unfortunately far too closely matched her skin tone) march back up to the house; all three beautiful stone-built storeys of it. It was the sort of place you might imagine spending a country weekend away in, with a bottle or two of Bollinger champagne and croquet on the lawn. (Not that Jack had ever had much chance to do that kind of thing.) The grounds were vast, with rolling lawns cut as smoothly as a bowling green for today’s event, along with shrub borders that were bold and beautiful with purple hydrangeas and pastel-shaded azaleas.

  There was a moment of calm as chilled music and chatter drifted down from the house, and Jack double-checked that he had everything perfectly ready. There were just ten minutes to go until 6 p.m., when the first guests were due to arrive. It had been a beautiful blue-sky day so far and it looked like it was going to be a gorgeous night for a party. Summer had definitely started early this year in Northumberland.

  Jack’s attention was drawn to the intriguing space opposite him which had been marked out with plastic cones, and wondered briefly what had happened to the other caterer. He wouldn’t want to be in their shoes, having to face the wrath of an already stressed-out Abigail, when they finally got here.

  His thoughts drifted as he waited for the first arrivals. The house, the gardens, the family gathering … it pulled him back to the past. There was a tug, deep inside, as he remembered. This was all a darned sight different to his own – extremely low-key – 21st Birthday celebrations, held reluctantly at his family home in Alnwick, eight years ago now. A 1930s stone-built semi-detached property with a decent-sized garden. It was a great place to have been brought up in, full of warmth and love. Yeah, it was a good place for a party, with its big family kitchen, a few friends and family gathered around … or it always used to be.

  But he hadn’t been bothered about having a party to mark his ‘coming of age’. It was his parents who’d persuaded him that he should in the end, that they all had to try to carry on, but Jack really didn’t have the heart for it. Just wanted to get it over with; after all, nothing would ever feel the same again after what had happened.

  Jack found that his hands were trembling slightly as he pulled himself back to the present and started re-polishing a glass, intent on finding something to do. He shook his head; enough of those dark thoughts …

  It was then he spotted a black Jeep, towing what looked like a horsebox rather erratically up the gravel driveway, having turned in from the lane. Blimey, was someone bringing a white steed or something for Birthday Girl to start her party off with? Honestly, you never knew what was planned at these events sometimes. He could write a book on it all!

  As the vehicle approached, he spotted a dark-haired young woman at the wheel, with a teenage girl sat beside her. The driver looked tense, her brow creased in concentration, as she began to slow on the approach to the house. It suddenly made sense as he read the writing on the horsebox’s side: All Fired Up – Wood-fired Pizza just like Papa used to make!

  Pizza woman rather deftly reverse-parked the trailer, then leapt out, her conker-coloured hair bouncing around her shoulders.

  ‘Bloody hell, this place is hard to find,’ she huffed, sounding stressed, partly talking to herself and partly to Jack as he stepped forwards, catching her attention. ‘My SatNav took me right off course. I’ve been trailing about these tiny country lanes for the best part of an hour. I did try to ring and let someone know, but there’s hardly any phone signal out here, and when I finally got through, it bloody well cut off. And there was no-one about to ask directions, not until the last five minutes, anyhow. Argh, we are sooo late.’

  The woman, who appeared to be a similar age to Jack, was dressed in blue jeans and a red polo shirt. She quickly swept her glossy dark hair away from her face and tied it up with some kind of scrunchy thing. ‘Are any of the guests here yet?’ she asked a little frantically, as she began to unfasten the bolts on the back of the horsebox.

  ‘Nope, not quite yet,’ Jack answered. ‘Though you are cutting it a bit fine.’

  She shot him a sharp look. ‘Don’t you think I know that?’

  Oops, that probably wasn’t the most helpful thing to state under the circumstances, Jack realised.

  ‘Right, well, no time to waste. The pizza oven takes an hour to heat up, as it is. I’ll get that lit straight away. Come on then, Tamsin,’ she called out to the younger girl. ‘We need to get set up as quickly as possible, and I’ll need to find Harriet and her mother to apologise for being so late.’

  He watched for a few more seconds as the woman levered down the metal ramp-style door, and then pulled a large oven and its stand from the back of the trailer, soon loading logs into its igloo-shaped dome.

  ‘Uh, can I give you a hand at all? Help you get set up …?’ Jack ventured, but she didn’t seem to have heard. Pizza Lady was inside the trailer now, opening up a wooden, grey-painted hatch. Jack was just about to repeat his offer of help, when he spotted a couple of taxis turning in at the estate entrance. The first guests were here, and the party was about to begin. He’d better get back to Ruby for his bar duties.

  At that moment, the birthday girl, Harriet, appeared at the top of the old stone steps in a pink floaty frock that looked like something out of a fairytale, or very possibly Vogue.

  ‘Mummy, they’re here,’ she called out, looking happily flustered.

  Abigail came to join her daughter with a fixed, anxious beam of a welcome smile in place, as the first guests spilled out of the vehicles. ‘Oh, and so are the pizza company, at last. Thank heavens for small mercies,’ she added tersely.

  A group of young women gathered in
a highly perfumed and colourful display of high heels and fancy dresses, and the celebrations began with a flurry of air kisses, laughter, greetings, gift bags, and a chorus of ‘Happy birthday, darling!’

  Okay, Rubes, let’s get this party started. The Cocktail Campervan is ready to rock and roll.

  Jack sprang into action, mixing his first dozen Raspberry Bellinis: an inch of raspberry liqueur topped with chilled sparkling prosecco, placing a viola flower on each. He also poured out fragrant G&Ts using the local Northumberland Hepple Gin, as well as non-alcoholic elderflower fizzes, finishing them off with a garnish of delicate white elderflower blossom, revelling as usual in his attention to detail. The welcome drinks looked delightfully inviting, all lined up on the wooden tables.

  Jack had placed tea lights in pretty green glass holders on the tables too, which would later give a soft glow through the evening. And, he even had to admit he was weirdly starting to get used to Abigail’s floral peaches-and-cream backdrop. In a haze of flouncy chiffon and silk dresses it didn’t look quite so out of place, after all.

  The evening was beautifully balmy and Jack was feeling pretty warm already. He undid a button on his white shirt, revealing a small V of lightly-tanned chest. With more cars now arriving and the gathering growing, he’d need to keep his cool, as he was going to be pretty hectic serving everyone by the looks of it.

  The first group of Harriet’s friends were soon gathered around a rather splendid-looking Ruby. Her deep-red paintwork was gleaming and Jack’s bar was all set out with an array of glasses and garnishes: lemons, limes and oranges on a tiered stand, vivid green mint and basil leaves bunched in cut-glass jugs, plus stainless-steel metal cocktail shakers. There was an eye-catching blackboard within a quirky light-bulb frame inside the raised campervan roof, handwritten by Jack earlier and listing the welcome drinks plus some cocktail classics for later: Mojito, Pimm’s, a Cosmopolitan, Sea Breeze, a Morpeth Mule and one of his all-time cocktail favourites, Espresso Martini.

  ‘Good evening, ladies. I’m your barman, Jack. Please help yourselves. There are Raspberry Bellinis or Gin and Tonics to start. And a gorgeous elderflower fizz for those who might prefer something non-alcoholic.’ He gave his trademark grin.