Everyone here was as different from each other as it was possible to be, and yet, there were friendships that would last through many a season. Indeed, through many a storm, as had already proven to be the case.
Perhaps that was why the lazy lounging of a Sunday afternoon was so pleasurable. Everyone came without any expectations or agenda. Here, they were most at ease with each other and the world had a tranquil glow when they were together at the beach. It was a shame they couldn’t manage it more often, but the bar was a going concern now. It was providing an income for the Salter family and everyone wanted to support that. It was, after all, possibly the most exciting thing to have ever happened in Westbrook Bay and its appeal hadn’t faded yet. Not for any of them. Hopefully it never would.
Olive’s eyes were clearly bigger than her belly as she struggled to work her way through the plate of food she’d helped herself to. Cramming another mouthful of pulled pork-filled baguette into her gob, she relaxed on her seat, taking in the scene. It was as blissful as could be.
Everyone was merrily munching, too busy filling their faces for chat. It was only Tony who wasn’t eating, clearly too tired from long hours at the Gin Shack. He was leaning back on his deckchair with his sunhat covering his face.
It was a shame because Olive liked nattering with Tony on a Sunday. The business took up so much of his time that they didn’t get the chance to chat the way they had during his brief period of unemployment.
Richard was too busy chomping away at his food to talk, and more engaged with keeping an eye on Lucas than wanting to make conversation with his dear old mother.
Too stuffed to carry on eating, Olive decided to relax a bit more on her deckchair, allowing her stomach to stretch out. If she was lucky, if she rested, she might find her second wind to enjoy the rest of her plateful. The pulled pork was too yummy to want it to go to waste.
There was comfort in listening to the sea. In the way it could drown out the thoughts that sometimes overcrowded the mind. Olive’s mind was calmer these days, now her son was in her life more. There were still the shadows, but the present-day was more apparent and she herself more content than she’d ever been. Today it was the stupid crafted arse that was troubling her. If there was anything she didn’t like in life, it was bullying and viciousness. However harmless a manifestation the craft-style-graffiti had taken, it still stunk of both. It was possibly the most passive-aggressive form of insult she’d ever come across. It had obviously been planned and meant with intent, and Olive was certain this would not be the end of it. Whoever had placed that sign would be back to cause trouble again. The only questions left were: why had they and why would they even bother? But so far there’d been nothing more, so it was hard to put a finger on why it was still bothering her. She certainly seemed more concerned than anyone else.
There was a new pitch in the air. Above the sound of the waves and the boys playing cricket. It was such a unique sound there was nothing to compare it to. It was somewhere between the sound of snoring and the slurpy noise the bath plug makes when the last of the water exits.
It was the death rattle.
Olive sat up immediately, unable to fathom why she was hearing the sound. Maybe it was an echo. A memory. She’d worked at the hospice for many years until her retirement. She’d lost count of the number of people she’d observed as they passed away. She remembered the last lady she’d been with when she’d died. The family lived an hour away and had opted not to stay overnight. Typically, when the time came, it was during the night and too quick for the family to be by her side. As it was Olive’s last shift, she’d volunteered to stay with the lady to make sure she was comfortable in those final hours. It was more like minutes, and Olive had held that lady’s hand while the warmth remained, but life did not. Her death rattle had been short and sharp, those gasps where the body was grasping for air, but the heart had weakened too much to help the lungs in their battle.
That noise didn’t belong here. Olive glanced over at Randy and Veronica, wondering if the sound of old codgers snogging might create a similar sound effect. Fortunately, despite their obvious affection for each other, they’d not started French-kissing like teenagers at every given opportunity, but there was always a chance they would.
They hadn’t. Instead, like pretty much everyone else, they were busy enjoying the feast on offer today.
Olive told herself she must be imagining things. There were plenty of odd noises to be heard here. Even the seagulls could squawk in a way that made it seem like there was a mass bird strangulation occurring. Maybe they were having a spat over a chip.
And then there it was again.
The rasp. So distinct. So clear. A sound that etched on a soul if heard. That throaty gathering of air that was barely doing its job of keeping the person alive.
Without thinking, Olive moved quicker than she had in the longest time. She knew exactly where the sound was coming from and it was so entirely out of place.
She was old. She should be making that noise. It should be her. Or Randy. Or Veronica. Not Tony. They were so much closer to death than he was. He was barely in his fifties. He had teenage children. He’d started a new career with the Gin Shack. This wasn’t his time.
With two quick manoeuvres, she batted away the hat that had everyone else thinking he was snoring, and did something she’d never had to do before in her life. Whereas previously she’d only had to hold a hand to make sure someone wasn’t taking their final journey alone, this time, there was no way she was letting life exit without a fight.
So, despite its being nearly twenty years since she’d left the NHS, and having never performed it on an actual person, Olive found it within herself to pummel Tony’s chest like life itself depended on it. Because it really did.
And, with every compression, Olive willed it to be the other way round. It should be her trying to die on them in spectacular fashion. Not Tony. It was way too early for Tony.
Chapter Four
Entering the hospital doors two days later, Olive let a tremble shake through her still-aching arms. Things could have turned out so differently. Everyone at the gathering had genuinely believed Tony was snoring. Had it not been for Olive’s astonishing actions, Tony’s death rattle stopping might have gone unnoticed.
Olive took Richard’s arm. All at once she felt frail. It hadn’t been long into her CPR efforts that her son had taken over the harrowing task, and he’d done it all while on speakerphone to the emergency services. And while she’d looked on, all the shock and adrenaline had caught up with her.
The history of her past meant emergencies terrified her. The loss of her husband and daughter in an accident had seen to that. But it would seem she had less of an aversion to blue lights than she used to. In fact, since the start of the Gin Shack Club she’d had run-ins with all the emergency services, and some of them now frequented the Gin Shack on their days off.
With Tony, that sense of terror hadn’t been there. It had been instinct. She knew what to do and she’d been the only person aware there was a problem. It wasn’t until they had him in the ambulance – barely alive – that the sense of fear had started, and it hadn’t let up yet. And being eighty-four, having something concern her enough to age her was always going to take its toll.
Tony had needed emergency surgery as soon as he’d arrived at the hospital. It had been a massive heart attack and a triple emergency bypass had been required to get everything working as it should again. The hours of waiting to find out how he was were the longest Olive had ever experienced. They took the decision not to open the Gin Shack that evening, and instead, while Esme and the boys were up at the hospital, the rest of them sat in the snug area of the bar at a loss as to what to do.
It had been a strange period of time, with little said, and Olive had spent most of it cuddled in a blanket with Lucas, Skylar’s boy, appreciating what a blessing it was that he was happy to snuggle with her. Admittedly, he was mostly agreeable over it because his mum was letting
him play on his tablet, giving him unprecedented screen time, but even this young boy was feeling the effects of what had happened. And as she had the biggest soft spot for him, she was glad to be distracted by making sure he was okay, even if she was useless at helping with the game he was playing.
And, quite frankly, even though she’d been hiding it well, Olive had also been terrified. Tony was one of her closest friends. She’d watched his family grow. Together they’d somehow taken an idea of Olive’s and turned it into so much more, and the Gin Shack was thriving under his guidance. Olive couldn’t imagine life without him. She’d never wanted for another husband after losing John, but Tony had become her work husband, for want of a better term. He was the one she chatted to enthusiastically about new limited-edition varieties of gins coming out. She was the one he grumbled to about the quotes he’d been given for upgrading the bathrooms. They’d become more than friends. They were a work team. They shared a passion and were making it into something so much more. She couldn’t imagine life without him.
So, it was no surprise to find she was shaking as Olive entered the lift with Richard on their way to the High Dependency Unit.
‘Are you okay, Mum?’ Richard asked.
The lift was empty apart from them. Olive was able to answer sincerely. ‘I’m just worried about how Tony’s going to be.’
‘He’s alive. That’s the important part. And he wants to see you.’
Considering how Tony had appeared when they last saw him, Richard was right. Anything would be an improvement. But it didn’t take away the worry that had been with her since she’d heard that ominous sound and realised it was coming from her friend.
Olive took a deep breath and prepared herself for the state Tony would be in.
As it stood, her concerns were eased the moment she saw him.
Rather than being half-comatose in bed like she’d imagined, he was sitting up in a chair. If he hadn’t been topless, with a fresh surgical scar along his sternum and various tubes coming from various places, he wouldn’t have looked so different from when he was chilling in his deckchair.
‘Here she is! The hero of the hour.’ Tony beamed when he spotted Olive.
There was nothing more reviving than hearing Tony’s voice when it had been so close to extinction.
‘You could have just asked if you wanted a snog. It really is despicable to go to such lengths to grab my attention.’ Feeling sturdy again for the first time since it happened, Olive let go of Richard’s arm and went to give Tony a peck on the cheek.
‘Olive Turner, you are not allowed to make me laugh at the moment. It bloody hurts.’ Tony held a towel against his chest as if the act of laughing might split him in two.
Olive could quite imagine it would hurt given the surgery he’d undergone. ‘Sorry. I’m just glad you’re okay.’ It was horrible to think how close they’d come to an entirely different scenario.
‘And all thanks to you two. Esme has filled me in on what happened. It would seem you two are my guardian angels. I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough.’
‘By getting better. That’s the only thanks necessary.’ Olive didn’t need any more scares like that at her age.
‘Yes, getting better is definitely on the agenda. That was the other reason I wanted to talk to you, other than thanking you for the kiss of life. I’m not sure what to do about the Gin Shack while I get back on my feet. With what the doctors are saying, I won’t be up to full-time work this side of Christmas. We’ll need someone to be in charge while I’m away.’
‘Don’t be worrying about the Gin Shack. You and Esme need to concentrate on you.’ All Olive had done for the past couple of days was worry about Tony. Of course that was all her brain would consider when he’d been carted off in an ambulance with one foot in the grave. Trust Tony to not only be up and smiling, but also worrying about the business already.
‘Mum’s right. This heart attack has been your body’s way of saying you need to slow down. Take things easy for a while and allow yourself to recover your strength gradually. You shouldn’t be here, barely two days post-op, worrying about the bar.’ Richard was talking sense. He always did, but for once Olive was agreeing with his sensible side.
A nurse came to check on Tony, carrying out observations and filling out a form with all the correct information. She did it discreetly so as not to disrupt the conversation, and it was clear she was keeping a close eye on her patient. Watching her, it was clear that, however chipper Tony seemed, he wasn’t out of the woods yet. There were chest drains doing their job, a catheter bag making up for the fact he wasn’t up and about yet, and various monitors beeping in therapeutic harmony. It was amazing how hearing the rhythm of a heartbeat in the background was a comfort in itself.
‘I know I need to recover. It’ll be six weeks minimum before I can get back to work.’
‘No running before you can walk, Tony,’ the cheerful nurse said. ‘The physios will be here shortly to help you with that when visiting is over.’ Seemingly satisfied with her checks, the nurse returned to the nearby desk.
‘Honestly, you’ve got to not worry about work.’ Richard was being far sterner than Olive could ever hope to be.
‘It’s just…’ The smile on Tony’s face ebbed away and his voice lowered to more of a whisper. ‘…With being self-employed these days, I don’t have the same perks as my old job. I’m worried about how we’ll get by if we don’t keep the Gin Shack going, especially with Christmas coming up.’
Olive hadn’t really thought about the incredible financial strain it would put on the Salter family if the Gin Shack was out of action. She was only involved with it for pleasure and to support the Salter family in their new venture. Just because Tony couldn’t be at the helm for a while didn’t mean it should stop running. There had to be a way. She just wasn’t sure how a bunch of OAPs would manage it and, for now, Esme and the boys, who were heavily involved with working at the bar, should be allowed the opportunity to spend time with Tony, given the scare they’d all had. ‘You’re not to worry about it. We’ll sort something. As soon as I get back we’ll have a meeting with everyone and come up with a plan.’ She had no idea what that plan would be, but with Tony worrying it paid to sound confident even if she wasn’t.
‘Mum’s right. There’ll be some way to get through the coming months without closing the Gin Shack. We’ll work out a way. You concentrate on getting better. Leave the rest to us.’
A monitor started beeping and it was quite a contrast to the rhythmical sounds Olive had been enjoying. Alarm pricked through her like she was going to have to start the kiss of life for a second time that week, when once in a lifetime had been quite enough.
The nurse came over and adjusted one of the leads attached to Tony’s chest. Thankfully the beeping stopped. ‘Time we sorted getting you back into bed, Tony. I’m afraid you’ll have to say goodbye to your visitors.’
It was a surprise to find they’d been there over an hour already. Olive and Richard left the experts to it as they carefully moved Tony with his wires and his tubes, and, as they left, Olive took a moment to listen to that glorious recording of a ticking heart. It really was frightening how quickly something so essential could be taken away. And she knew how lucky they’d been that Tony’s had been revived.
And, in an odd way, the Gin Shack was the beating heart of their community. It had certainly revived Olive’s life in ways she’d not thought possible at her age. There was no way they could allow it to close. They just needed to work out how to keep it running. And quickly.
Chapter Five
As it turned out, they didn’t need the formal meeting Olive thought might be required. In Esme’s eagerness to make sure Tony’s mind was put at ease, she’d already sent an advert for a temporary manager to the local paper. The closing date was in a week’s time, so they just had to keep their fingers crossed that someone suitable applied.
In the meantime, they sorted out a rota to cover the week and agreed they
’d continue with that pattern of cover until someone was brought in to cover Tony. It meant the number of nights they were all doing was spread evenly and someone was put in charge each night. It was fortunate that, having helped Tony from the ground up, so many of them were familiar with the running of the Gin Shack. They would be a bit thin on numbers with the Salter boys, all of whom were now old enough to work behind the bar, also absent, but they needed to be spending time with Tony. The customers knew what had happened. News travelled fast in the beach-hut community, especially as Tony’s moment had been so spectacularly public. The Gin Shack was an extension of that community so it was no surprise that everyone was aware and being incredibly understanding as a result.
It meant Olive was able to get on with life as usual apart from having to be at the Gin Shack for a couple of extra evenings that week. It was leaving her with a strange sense of loss. She’d not lost Tony, but, somehow, even not having him to call on at the Gin Shack had left her with a strange sense of life being out of rhythm. Like her world had slipped off its axis by just a few millimetres and everything wasn’t the same as it had been before.
Even this morning, Olive was sitting in the Oakley West lobby waiting for Veronica. Olive never had to wait for Veronica. She was a stickler for being on time. It was such an unusual event, Olive didn’t even know what to do with herself.
Currently Olive was doing a very good job at being restless. What was she supposed to do with her spare time? If this was the norm, she would probably settle down with a magazine. Maybe help herself to a cup of water from the water cooler. But it was so uncharacteristic of Veronica to be late, Olive instead tested out five hundred and eighty-two different positions in the chair, none of which was comfortable. Just when Olive was beginning to wonder what her plan of action should be, Veronica appeared from the lift with a huge self-satisfied beam across her face.
Christmas at the Gin Shack Page 3
