Christmas at the Gin Shack

by Catherine Miller

  Part of her wanted to go over and say hello. So that the formal-informal part of it all was done. She wanted to acknowledge their relationship without any awkwardness. But considering it had taken her the best part of a quarter of an hour to get on the stool, she wasn’t about to dismount.

  Instead, Olive tried to flag them over. There weren’t any more stools, but at least there was enough room for them to stand. Her waves were interrupted by a loud gong being banged, like the maharaja was about to enter the place.

  Richard and Skylar hadn’t noticed Olive beckoning them over before whatever was happening started. There was a sense of restlessness within the small bar, everyone having been made to wait for so long.

  Olive knew she shouldn’t point-score, but the opening of the Gin Shack had been so much nicer than this. Maybe it was because so many people had been involved and there was such a community spirit. Here it felt manufactured. As if everything they were doing was for the purpose of getting some news headlines sorted for their benefit.

  ‘Without further ado, I declare Bottoms Up open.’

  Olive couldn’t even see who was talking. Perhaps it was the owner, who hadn’t had the decency to introduce himself to anyone involved with the Gin Shack.

  The short announcement was followed by a blast of music, not unlike joining the Notting Hill carnival, and, equally in keeping, a line of dancing girls paraded out, waggling their bottoms while somehow keeping the drinks trays they were holding from clattering to the ground.

  Olive had a feeling this was all orchestrated to fit in with the bottom “theme”. It was all rather crass and a bit silly in her humble opinion. As the crafted bums hadn’t worked, bring in some dancing girls, why not? It made her glad the kind of publicity they’d gained for the Gin Shack had been entirely unintentional.

  A couple of the girls waggled their way round the seats the Oakley West trio were occupying. Attempting feather tickles as they went and offering a wine sample at the same time was quite a skill. But it wasn’t making Olive’s seat any more comfortable or increasing the size of the place to cure the claustrophobia. If anything, it was making it worse.

  Of course, Randy was impressed by these antics. Naturally he would be, but from Veronica’s expression, she was clearly in Olive’s camp. And if Randy didn’t close his mouth, Olive was pretty sure Veronica would do it for him.

  Accepting a drink in the hope the feather tickling would go away, Olive continued to people-watch from her uncomfortable position on her bar-stool. Fortunately it did mean the dancing girl went on to the next person and Olive was left in peace.

  Well, relative peace. If music being blared at mega decibels could be classed as such. Rather than be a killjoy, Olive decided to taste the wine. It was red and that was all she knew about it, as that was all she could ascertain. There was no information on what brand it was or where it was from so she knew very little about the wine she was drinking.

  It tasted sharp like dark chocolate with a higher percentage than she was used to. It was tart and could have been anything from the house wine to the most expensive bottle produced at the vineyard. There seemed little point in providing wine if they weren’t providing details of what the product was. How would Olive know what to ask for if she wanted to order it again? Unless, of course, they were going to copy the Gin Shack system and only offer particular wines each week.

  Olive wasn’t especially keen on the wine anyway. Not that it tasted awful, it just wasn’t her thing. It laid too heavily on her palate when it was in need of a nice steak to go with it, rather than being drunk by itself.

  Almost like they’d read her mind, a waiter (thank goodness he didn’t have feathers) offered a tray of mini burgers to everyone at the table. It wasn’t quite a match made in heaven, but the cumbersome snack at least made the alcohol sample a bit more drinkable.

  Olive guessed the fact they’d served food must mean they still had some kitchen facilities. Perhaps they’d moved them to allow more space in here. Although there was a possibility they’d brought in outside caterers for the occasion. Either way, the burger was dry at best and the red wine still tart. God, she really was being a killjoy. At least she wasn’t saying any of it out loud. She’d honestly not come in here with the thought of being judgemental. It was just… well, so far, it was really not very good. There was probably no way of improving her enjoyment either, until someone came to help surgically remove the bar-stool from her gluteus maximus. It was probably the only way she was going to get off there.

  Knowing she was hugely uncomfortable and this wasn’t going to improve, Olive decided the only thing to do was move in the hope of finding Richard and Skylar. At least they were nearer the exit if she wanted to make her escape.

  ‘Could you give us a hand down?’ Olive asked Randy.

  Both Randy and Veronica were busy chewing their burgers in the way cows do when munching on grass. It was taking five times longer than the national average for burger consumption, they were that chewy.

  Randy offered a hand, which Olive gladly grasped, although she was pretty certain getting off the stool would require an extraction team of the highest order. Mountain rescue wouldn’t feel lost on this job.

  Of course, with Randy supplying a steadying yank, Olive glided forward off the seat a little too quickly, causing the stool that was somehow caught on her trousers to come crashing down with her.

  The noise was enough to stop the dancing girls in their tracks. A wave of silence balanced out the crescendo.

  And then, with no grace, or any style, not only did the stool go crashing down, but Olive went with it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Olive didn’t believe in heroines being saved by heroes. She believed in women saving themselves. She believed in feminism. She believed in never waiting around for the hero to make an appearance in the story before the story could get started.

  But in this case, in this one little incident, she had to concede to the concept of a hero. Because when this one managed to stop her fall, he also stopped her dignity from exiting the room.

  So, rather than smashing to the ground with a great thud, the tall, dark, Italian-looking man lowered her gracefully. It meant she was still sitting on the floor when she’d rather she wasn’t, but at least she hadn’t broken a hip or smashed her nose in the process.

  ‘Are you okay, love?’ the man asked in a very unItalian accent. He was clearly from Thanet and wasn’t the true Adonis Olive’s hero-concept warranted.

  Never mind. No broken bones. She was entirely intact. His not being a total sex god shouldn’t get in the way of his hero status.

  ‘Bloody stool. No normal person over the age of twenty-five and under five-foot-eleven will be able to dismount one of those without trying to knock themselves out in the process.’ Olive didn’t like to grumble, but it was true, and as she was all a bit embarrassed, she had to say something to detract from the fact.

  ‘Here you go.’ The not-entirely-Adonis-like hero offered her a hand, as did another bystander. It would normally be Randy helping, but true to what Olive was saying, Randy and Veronica were having their own difficulties getting off their seats and there were other people trying to help them.

  Fortunately it didn’t take much effort for Olive to get on her feet again.

  ‘They’re blooming lethal,’ Randy said. ‘There needs to be crash helmets given out with these. Where’s the comfy seating at?’

  Olive was checking herself over. Making sure everything that was supposed to be attached still was and that all her clothing and jewellery was still in place. She felt rather like a deck of cards that had been shuffled too vigorously.

  ‘This is all the seating available today, I’m afraid,’ Olive’s hero said. It wasn’t an apologetic statement.

  ‘Are you going to get some other seats?’ Veronica asked.

  If this was the owner, then surely it was obvious he’d need a variety of seating to meet the needs of customers.

  ‘We’ll have to se
e. It might not be a problem once the bar isn’t full of people looking for a freebie.’ Hero said it quietly and all at once his status was lost. If he was the owner, the only reason he’d caught her was because he didn’t want a lawsuit on his hands.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ Richard said, joining the small crowd forming round his mother.

  If there was anyone capable of issuing a lawsuit it was Richard. He might be the chilled-out temporary manager of the Gin Shack at the moment, but he’d always be a lawyer at heart.

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ the not-much-of-a-hero said.

  Olive thought she should be the judge of that. ‘I overbalanced trying to get off the bar-stool. I don’t think I’ve hurt myself.’ She still wasn’t entirely sure because she was still at least thirty per cent discombobulated.

  ‘Have you tried walking yet?’ Randy offered.

  Olive hadn’t, to be fair, but she figured she’d be in some considerable pain if anything was broken, and fortunately her landing had been much softer than it might have been. Still, it was worth testing out if everything was in working order.

  Richard offered his hand, which she took gladly.

  Left foot forward, everything seemed to be intact on that side.

  ‘Skylar… how lovely to see you here,’ the not-such-a-hero said to Olive’s beach-hut neighbour, who was hiding behind her son.

  Right foot forward. No instant pain. No aches or gripes. Just the briefest of glimpses of a rabbit in headlights.

  Skylar was out of the wine bar before there was any chance of Olive stretching her testing to an in out in out and shake it all about.

  Without any further worry about possible injuries, Olive decided to follow, as did Richard.

  Because, as they watched their friend run away along the promenade, it was clear Olive wasn’t the only one feeling discombobulated that evening.

  Chapter Twenty

  There was nothing more distressing in life than knowing a friend needed to run. That whatever it was they needed to face was too much for them to cope with. That somehow the only solution was to hope the problem went away all by itself.

  Olive knew that whoever the not-much-of-a-hero was, he was the reason Skylar had raced away into the night.

  Wanting to make sure whoever it was wasn’t about to play chase, Olive checked no one else had followed. It was only Richard, with Randy and Veronica making up the rest of the Oakley West trio.

  ‘Go find out who that is,’ Olive instructed Richard, who was catching flies with his open jaw.

  ‘But what about Skylar? I’m going to see what’s up.’

  ‘I can catch up with her quicker.’ Olive retrieved her Segway from its hiding place. ‘And I think, in this instance, she might want to talk to a woman.’

  Olive was trying to be gentle in her encouragement. It wasn’t necessarily that she was better equipped to deal with the situation, unless it was an emergency period moment, of course. It was more that she sensed it was a time to offer support in the right places. And even if she wasn’t quite sure where those places were, gut instinct told her it was better for her to be the one to get to Skylar first to find out what was going on.

  Olive was becoming quite the professional on her Segway and was able to change direction at speed. At first she thought Skylar had gone up the slope (good job it wasn’t the stairs), but as she was halfway up she heard an unmistakable sob coming from the beach huts. Doing a nifty about-turn, Olive headed for where she guessed her friend was hiding.

  ‘I’m going to make you a G&T. Then you can tell me what’s so upsetting. Because I know the wine wasn’t great, but I didn’t think it was bad enough to make anyone cry.’ Olive let herself into her hut to fix a couple of drinks to go and enjoy with Skylar. In Olive’s world, problems weren’t fixed with a cuppa when gin was on hand. It was generally far more comforting, she found, if enjoyed at the right time in the right quantities.

  Skylar came to join Olive. At least that was a good sign. She was prepared to come out of her own safe space.

  ‘I feel like such an idiot. What a way to react.’

  ‘I guess that depends what you were reacting to.’ Olive kinked an eyebrow in the hope it presented her best listening face. She didn’t expect Skylar to tell her anything, but if she wanted to, she was there to listen.

  ‘It’s stupid.’ Skylar shook her head and wiped a random tear from her cheek.

  ‘No tear shed was ever a stupid one.’ Crying wasn’t a sign of weakness in Olive’s opinion. More a testament to strength. To being able to admit all wasn’t right with the world and it was okay to admit defeat, even if just for a moment.

  ‘It’s shock, I think. I just never thought I’d see him again. Let alone barely metres from here.’ Skylar seemed more composed with a few sips of gin down her.

  ‘See who?’ Olive wasn’t trying to be nosy, but if Skylar wanted to open up she would help her with a bit of prompting.

  ‘Pete. He’s Lucas’s dad. He’s been out of our lives for a long time.’ Skylar took another sip of drink.

  Olive should have made it a double. ‘Did you know he was going to be back?’

  Skylar was definitely in shock, the way she was gripping the glass giving it away. She shook her head to say no rather than speak.

  ‘So Lucas doesn’t know?’ People could be so cruel. He must have known Skylar was based in the area. Surely it would have been common decency to let her know?

  ‘Pete hasn’t seen him since he was two, and ever since we’ve had child-maintenance payments off him, but nothing else. No regular contact. Not even birthday cards.’

  ‘Really?’ Skylar rarely spoke of Lucas’s father and now Olive understood why. ‘Does he know you live here then?’

  Olive couldn’t fathom how anyone would just turn up out of the blue like that unless there was some it’s-a-small-world kind of explanation.

  ‘He knows.’ Skylar downed the rest of her drink. ‘And I’m sure it’s quite deliberate.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ There was so much of Skylar’s history Olive didn’t know, and she knew only too well about keeping the dark corners of life to oneself. There were many things about Olive’s past she’d chosen not to share.

  ‘Pete never does anything by accident. And what am I supposed to do? He can’t waltz back into Lucas’s life without warning. Even if he doesn’t want to, we’re so bloody close it’s inevitable we’ll bump into him.’

  None of it bore thinking about. Even without knowing all the details, Olive knew Pete had put Skylar in an unacceptable position. Turning up almost literally on her doorstep without warning was particularly horrid when they had a child to think about.

  And because some days words were never enough to cover the things that needed to be said, Olive poured them both another drink.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Olive hadn’t realised it was so late. By the time she’d put everything away in the beach hut, it was gone midnight.

  She’d packed Skylar off, making sure Richard came to walk her home, and had busied herself with tidying before heading off.

  It was taking her longer than usual, the fall having jarred her more than she’d realised when it had happened. She was also trying to put the sense of unrest inside her to bed, but it didn’t want to be settled down.

  There was something so unnecessarily cruel about upset being caused when it could have been prevented. All it would have taken was a phone call to at least warn Skylar the father of her child would be back in the area.

  Instead she’d discovered by accident in a less than satisfactory set of circumstances. Olive was angry on her behalf. No one deserved to be treated like that, least of all by someone they’d once loved.

  As Olive placed glasses back in cupboards, and gin bottles back in her ottoman, she realised she wanted to act on Skylar’s behalf. She wanted to march (or Segway) to Bottoms Up and give Pete what for.

  That kind of plan of action wasn’t going to help anyone, though, least of all he
r friend. She was dealing with enough upset without Olive adding to the problem.

  For now, she’d have to observe. She would be there for Skylar in whatever capacity she was needed and would make sure that, even if she couldn’t launch her defence immediately, she was at least able to keep an eye on things as much as possible. She needed to do the same for Lucas. He’d had his own upset recently and this would really add to things. No young boy needed the stress of his father turning up out of the blue.

  Olive stretched out a yawn. It was way past her bedtime. In fact, she wasn’t even sure these days if Oakley West had any restrictions on the time she should return. Before, Matron had been so strict, the only way to get in and out was by covert means. These days they didn’t need to worry about going out in the evening as long as they’d signed the log book before leaving. But Olive had never been out this late. At least they knew where she’d been and who she’d been with. Hopefully no one would panic.

  Satisfied everything was as it should be, the towel drawer winked at Olive in the dark. Of course objects couldn’t wink. That was plain stupid. She wanted to think she was perfectly aware of these kinds of facts. But there was an undeniable sense of it calling her over.

  There was no real reason for her to look. No one had taken one out this evening or at any point today. And there lay the reason she was curious. If no one had been there today, they should be as she’d left them.

  It was the wrong time of day to be looking really. All sorts of things might happen in these twilight hours if she was going to be so stupid as to check. There might be goblins in there performing stupid folding techniques on her towels.

  And yet, despite knowing she probably shouldn’t, Olive found herself stepping in the direction of the drawer to see what she would uncover.