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 y
ou 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 fav
ourite 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.
Christmas at the Gin Shack Page 2
