The Gin Shack on the Beach

by Catherine Miller

  There was a crash as Veronica’s phone dropped onto the floor. ‘Call the police. Call the fire brigade. Call them now.’

  Chapter Thirty

  The ensuing minutes were all a bit of a blur. Richard asked for Olive’s phone so he was able to see the message from Randy and then, before she had chance to read it, he was hotfooting it off in the direction of Oakley West.

  ‘Should we follow?’ Olive had never seen her son respond with quite such urgency.

  ‘I think we should,’ Tony said. ‘What did the message say?’

  Veronica started off at a similar pace to the one Richard had set, whatever shock there was having warn off. ‘He said there’s a fire. And he can’t get out.’

  Suddenly everyone quickened their pace to as fast as they were able to move. The seriousness of the situation was echoed by the myriad sirens they were able to hear as they made their way up the slope of the promenade.

  Olive wasn’t able to move anywhere near as fast as she was willing her body to. In her head she was still young. She should be able to run. She should be able to go to his aid, but she was way behind.

  Instead it was her son who was ahead of all of them. He would arrive ahead of the fire engines. Despite her limbs not wanting to comply, somehow she found a strength reserved only for moments like these. Whatever happened, she couldn’t lose her son as well. Or her friend. Not in another horrendous set of circumstances. She wasn’t sure she would withstand the pain of losing any more of her nearest and dearest.

  They were there – the moments of the accident – as clear as the light of day, always waiting to show themselves. The car flipping, not once, but twice. It had come to a stop on the driver’s side and, because life could be cruel, she’d not lost consciousness for a second. And against all odds, she got out. She’d clambered her way free and was essentially in one piece. But, oh, how her world wasn’t. Because what would anyone do when they were only one person with three to save?

  At the time, circumstances dictated it was her son, because despite all the will in the world, with her injuries, she was unable to flip the car. She wasn’t able to reach her husband and daughter, so she saw to her unconscious son and willed him to live. She willed them all to live, but somehow she knew there was only one soul left in that car.

  And then she wasn’t allowed to do anything. Once help arrived, she was left to feel useless and hopeless and all she was able to do was scream. The fracture created in life in those moments was so large, it was impossible to ever hope it would heal. Not just because of the loss it caused, but because she had refused to ever tell her son about what happened. She’d not told him about the drunk driver who’d caused the accident and died on impact. Or how trickles of blood had laced his sister’s skin. They were all things he never needed to know. It was better for him that they were blurred out. Richard didn’t regain consciousness until he was on his way to hospital and, in later years, with a healthy dose of teenage angst, he blamed her. And in an odd way, she blamed herself.

  In the darkest moments of him growing up, she’d wished it was her daughter who’d been sitting behind her. That it had all played out differently. But those thoughts were cruel and harmful. They’d spiralled her into a place she didn’t want to be: where her much-longed-for son wasn’t wanted. She’d sought counselling. Changed her perspective. But there was an element of having to accept their lives would never be the same. That the strain might never go, and how she wished it didn’t have to be like that. It took time, but she realised she would do the same again. She would save her son. That how it played out was something she couldn’t and shouldn’t want to change. It made the thought something might happen to him now all the more harrowing.

  Unable to catch her breath, when she reached the top of the hill, Olive kept going. The short distance between the clifftop and Oakley West became unbearably long, and even though the two fire engines and three police cars should have provided reassurance that help was already there, it just made her panic more because she wasn’t able to see what was going on.

  ‘Randy. Raannnnddddyyyyyyy!’ It was Veronica shrieking like his life depended on him hearing his name.

  In that fluttering moment, when all Olive could worry about was her son’s safety, she realised Veronica’s cry was out of something more than just concern for a friend. That perhaps while Olive had been busy admiring gin bottles, there was a romance blossoming. And suddenly, it was even more important to get them out unharmed.

  ‘Richard.’ Olive decided to join in the primal screams as they reached the fire engines and one of the firemen tried to stop them from going any further.

  There was smoke coming from one of the turret towers of Oakley West. The one that was part of Matron’s living quarters. There were residents pouring out of the front and side entrances, making it quite the scene. All of them were in a state of undress, wondering why on earth they were being escorted out at such an ungodly hour.

  Randy must be trapped in there and, among the mounting crowd, there was no sign of Richard. Olive despaired at the prospect he’d gone in there after him.

  Tony was around the farthest side of the fire trucks, but they’d cordoned off there as well and weren’t letting him through to help.

  So Olive and Veronica continued their shouts as if lives depended on it and continued until their voices began to break.

  It wasn’t long before Olive shuddered with a sob. There was no controlling it. She so rarely thought back to the day she’d lost her husband and daughter, but when she did it was in full technicolour. And it had been a thorn between her and Richard ever since. The effect of that day had been so monumental. It had changed everything.

  And how she regretted in an instant that it had. It should have never become the problem it was. Olive needed so badly for the chance to say sorry not to be taken away from her.

  Veronica embraced her and let her sob on her shoulder as she did her own share of crying. ‘I should never have been so relaxed about it. We should have rescued him as soon as we knew he couldn’t get out. Now he’s trapped in a burning building.’

  It sounded awful when Veronica put it like that, but they’d only been doing what Randy had suggested as the best course of action. Olive managed to catch a hold of herself. This was the here and now. She needed to block out the images from the past and concentrate on what was happening at Oakley West. ‘Do me a favour, will you? When Randy gets out, make sure you tell him you love him.’

  ‘But…’ Veronica’s protest died before it even formed.

  ‘Life is too short, remember?’

  ‘It bloody well is,’ Veronica said, and the short statement caused them both to blub a bit more. In fact, if the fire trucks ran short of water, there was a good chance they’d be able to help with resupplying the levels.

  ‘Mum.’

  Hearing Richard’s voice made Olive cry all over again. But not to the point she wasn’t able to see through the tears. He was walking out of the building with one of the fire officers in breathing apparatus.

  Richard appeared to be intact, but if he’d inhaled smoke he might not be as okay as he seemed. He came straight over to Olive and Veronica, embracing them both. The second hug of the day.

  ‘What’s going on? Where’s Randy?’ Veronica asked.

  It was unnecessarily cruel that Richard hadn’t left the building with Randy in tow. That was how it would have happened in the movies. Richard would have become the hero of the hour and they would all have run off into the sunset together.

  ‘I couldn’t find him before they made me leave the building. I’m so sorry.’

  Richard pulled them a little tighter, and Olive realised that the tears today weren’t just reserved for the girls.

  Another fire officer exited the building and they all stared at the door in the hope it was Randy who would follow this time. But it was Melanie and, rather than being taken to an ambulance, she was escorted to the police car.

 
; ‘What’s going on?’ Olive asked this time.

  ‘I didn’t get high enough to find out. Matron blocked my way. Whatever’s going on is happening in the turret.’

  Matron was the next out of the tower and was given the same privileges as Melanie. She was taken by the police officers (not the ones they knew, who Olive might have approached to ask what was happening) and also placed in a police car.

  ‘Do you think they are related?’ Olive was momentarily distracted from the worry of Randy still being missing by the realisation that, although they didn’t have exactly the same surname, it was quite possible, given they both had Jones in their name. Seeing them in the backs of their separate police cars, just from their identical expressions, it had to be true. How come they’d never realised before?

  Veronica broke free of the embrace they were in, all of them still supporting each other. She headed towards the cordon and did a quick karate chop to move the flimsy plastic tape.

  ‘Where’s Randy? Why haven’t you got him out yet?’ Veronica was getting hysterical and it was easy to understand why because with every second that was passing, it seemed more unlikely he was coming out.

  Veronica headed for the door and Olive followed, as did Richard. It was impossible to just stand there and watch without trying to do something to help.

  ‘Can you message him? Ask him exactly where he is?’ Olive remembered Richard had her phone. Veronica’s had broken on being dropped.

  Richard turned to her and whispered. ‘I’ve tried already. There’s no response.’

  No response. The thought crushed her chest. She was so glad Richard had been discreet enough not to let Veronica hear. It didn’t mean Randy hadn’t made it, but it wasn’t a good sign and they needed to hold on to whatever hope they could.

  ‘Hold on there.’ A fire officer in a white helmet, who Olive guessed was in charge, came over and stopped them from going any further.

  ‘Why don’t you have Randy yet?’ Veronica asked.

  ‘It’s okay. There’s no fire any more. What that pair of idiots attempted to start didn’t work.’

  ‘So, if there’s no fire, why hasn’t Randy come out?’ Olive asked.

  ‘Why did they try to start a fire?’ Richard asked.

  ‘Hang on. Let me get an update. Stay here. Don’t move.’

  The fire officer went off to talk on his walkie-talkie and was too far away for any of them to catch what he was saying.

  Olive itched to go in. If it was safe, they should all be searching for their friend until he was found. He might be out of danger from the fire, but all the drama might have caused him to go and have a heart attack and that was the reason he wasn’t able to respond.

  ‘Right, it’s safe to go in. I need one of you to come and help us with the search. We’re dealing with a crime scene here, though, so you’ll need to stay with me and not touch anything.’

  Veronica was in too much of a state to go in.

  ‘You go,’ Richard said.

  Olive was surprised he wasn’t halfway in already. She was so used to her son trying to take charge, and she was so stubborn. Perhaps the reasons they struggled to get along was because they were so similar.

  But the past twenty-four hours had taught her that, although she liked to think she was capable of anything, sometimes it was okay to ask for help. She should let Richard go, but old habits died hard, and as he’d said she should, and with Randy in trouble, she wanted to do whatever she could to help.

  Olive gave Richard’s arm a squeeze before following the officer. She was glad Richard was staying with Veronica. Someone needed to look after her.

  It was reassuring the fireman didn’t feel the need to put on any breathing equipment like the others had earlier.

  For the first time, entering Oakley West was like waltzing into a foreign land it was all so unfamiliar. She’d thought she’d lived there long enough to know it well, but, once inside the main doors, Olive was led to the out-of-bounds living quarters. It was connected to the part they’d been using to slip out on a Friday night, but she’d never approached it from this official entrance.

  The place where Matron lived was different to how Olive would have imagined. She liked to keep the whole of Oakley West organised, but the living quarters were chaotic with knick-knacks in every quarter with no obvious purpose. They moved through the living area quickly and she followed the fire officer to a spiral staircase.

  It was odd to see it there because it was the only one in the building and, as the corners were identical in their layout, this was out of the ordinary. It was wrought iron and twisted sharply and looked like it had been put in as an afterthought.

  And they didn’t stop on the first floor, but continued up to the second. It seemed Matron had quite an extensive living space.

  ‘Up here, sir.’

  Another fireman waved at them from the top of a loft-style ladder.

  ‘Will you be okay going up these steps?’ The officer had a kind face and, while Olive wasn’t in the habit of climbing ladders, she was certain she hadn’t lost the ability to.

  ‘I’ll be fine. You’ll have to catch me if I’m not.’ The prospect wasn’t an awful one, but it wasn’t the time to ask for her first official fireman’s lift.

  They were heading into the eaves of the building. She hadn’t even known you were able to access the turrets and was sure she hadn’t spotted any points of access at the other corners of the building.

  Before Olive popped her head through the access, she was hit by a smell and it didn’t take a genius to work out what was causing it.

  The turret space was a green canvas of plant after plant. They were neatly packed in as if the space up here was a conservatory. There were lamps and plinths and lengths of tarpaulin doing all sorts of things that Olive hadn’t the first clue about. But she knew what it was and she almost fell off the ladder at the shock of it.

  A cannabis farm. At Oakley West. In the attic of Matron’s living quarters.

  Well, if she’d ever wanted to be knocked down by a feather, this would be the occasion for it. What were they even thinking having this up here?

  This had to be what Randy had stumbled across before his disappearance. For whatever reason, he hadn’t been able to make it out of here without letting on that he knew about Matron’s side business. So he’d hidden until they were able to get the police here. Only they must have discovered him if they’d decided to try and set fire to the place.

  There was some evidence of what had gone on. Some plants chucked haphazardly into bin liners, a pile of paraphernalia in a burnt heap.

  ‘Randy must be up here. They wouldn’t have done this if they hadn’t been caught and were panicking,’ Olive thought out loud as she made her way through the hole into the attic space.

  The two other fireman were poking about the room, looking in cupboards and checking floorboards. ‘We’ve looked in all the rooms throughout this living accommodation. We haven’t found him anywhere. Is there any chance he could be elsewhere in the building?’

  Oakley West was such a big place. Randy could be anywhere. Hiding in another resident’s room, back in his own, lying by his bench in the courtyard garden. Any one of them was a possibility. With just the fire officers it would take far too long to search if he was in any kind of trouble.

  ‘Get Tony to help the police. Everyone who’s been involved with The Gin Shack will want to help. The more people who are looking, the quicker we’ll find him.’ Olive hadn’t intended to tell the man his job, but the current searching seemed all too casual, like they would find Randy having a cup of tea down in the dining room because he’d got a bit muddled over which way he should go. They didn’t know Randy like she did. They didn’t realise how adept and capable he was.

  The chap in charge was on his radio sending instructions to start a search of the entire building. Hopefully there would be plenty of volunteers to help. Olive wished she could be one of them, feelin
g she wasn’t able to assist from up here.

  ‘You two go downstairs and help with searching. We’ll be down soon.’

  As the two men bundled down the small hatch, Olive took in the scene again. It was beyond ludicrous to think this was stashed up here. What did Matron have to gain from carrying out this kind of activity? It must be money. Whatever it was, it would come out eventually, and for now the whys had no bearing on where Randy was.

  There was nowhere feasibly Randy-sized for him to hide up here other than a cupboard that had been checked at least twice since she’d arrived.

  Olive went to inspect it herself. Wherever he’d been, it had been comfortable enough to sleep. As if she’d conjured up some kind of sign, sitting in the cupboard was his washbag. The one he’d filled with everything he needed to survive. She’d thought it a tad OTT at the time, but now she hoped it had held everything he’d needed. Only he didn’t have it with him now.

  ‘That’s Randy’s bag. The one he had on him. He’s definitely been here.’ Olive picked it up, wanting to see what was in there now. Everything other than the penknife seemed to be present, including his phone. No wonder he wasn’t messaging them any more.

  ‘He must have moved from here then. Somewhere safer.’ The fire officer’s tone again seemed dismissive. They were expecting to find him tucked up in his room away from the danger.

  ‘The ladder can’t be the only way out of here, surely?’ If he had slept here in the cupboard he would have been trapped if anyone did decide to come up here.

  ‘The only other way would be to go through the skylight. You don’t think?’

  Without knowing how agile Randy was, or that his ex-military reflexes hadn’t left him just yet, they’d not realised the seemingly impossible was entirely possible.

  ‘He’s on the roof. Now would you please bloody rescue him?’