Christmas at the Gin Shack

by Catherine Miller

  Because if the new owner of Bottoms Up wasn’t going to respect the season of goodwill, then they would bloody well show him how Christmas should be done. And in Olive’s world that consisted of bling, and lots of it.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  It was nice to have a couple of days of calm in among the Christmas chaos. All the planning for the gin grottos was going on, with Olive having to do relatively little other than read the messages to keep up with developments. They were going with a white snow theme, but she’d managed to persuade them to add gold. If they were going to make an impression they might as well do it with sparkle.

  With her time, rather than attend the Oakley West activities programme (which she preferred to avoid like the plague if she could), Olive had decided on the final additions to her cocktail. It included Prosecco, brown sugar and her mince-pie gin concoction. It gave the loveliest warm taste of Christmas and she was more than happy with the finished product. She’d discovered some silver glittery glasses to display it in, and finally, she’d worked on some homemade toppers.

  She was cheating by using ready-made roll-out puff pastry, because life was too short for making it by hand. Using the rim of one of the glasses as a cutting guide, she finished each one off with eggwash and sprinkled each with brown sugar.

  Before placing the toppers in the oven, she’d made sure there was a hole in each for the straw that would be needed. They were for the purpose of show, not for eating, although they could be if desired. When they came out, they weren’t uniformly perfect, but they made the cocktail look as if it was a mince pie in a glass. It was quirky and Christmassy, a bit like Olive’s personality.

  She would get the proper seal of approval on the drink after the overnight project was over. Hopefully it wouldn’t actually take all night, and they’d be done within a couple of hours. She really was past the point of wanting to be up past midnight and this was going to be twice in one week.

  When it came to it, they all arrived in little cluster groups. Skylar and Richard came from the Gin Shack, Olive was arriving with Randy and Veronica from Oakley West, and the others were all meeting at Tony and Esme’s house before heading to the beach huts.

  As always, Randy and Veronica were more organised than Olive could ever hope to be. They’d even packed her bag for her. Undoubtedly they’d have snacks and a Stanley knife between them. All the makings of a good middle-of-the-night adventure. This time Randy had supplied them all with headlamps as well.

  Olive felt a bit of a div with hers on. It was going to do nothing to improve her already unruly hair. But it was the middle of the night, it meant they could see, and with any luck no one would see them and their best impression of minions. All they needed were yellow T-shirts and dungarees.

  Luckily they didn’t need to bring much more than themselves from Oakley West. Everyone else had sourced the decorations and Tony had delivered them ahead of time in black sacks and hidden them away in the huts. Hopefully that hadn’t made it too obvious they were up to something.

  When they all reached their coastal homes from homes, Tony gathered them for a quiet pep talk and Olive strained to hear what he was saying.

  ‘Right, you all know what you’re responsible for. I suggest in our groups we do our tasks one hut at a time, then move on to the next so we’re not all getting in each other’s way. Hopefully, we’ll all take a similar length of time so it will work well rotating from one hut to the next. If everyone starts on their own and then works their way along the row we should be done in no time. Now go!’

  Olive and Team Minion headed to her beach hut. They were the tinsel brigade, adding metres of the stuff along the balustrades and banisters of the porches. They’d been issued this task, probably because it didn’t involve getting on any stepladders, and it was certainly better if none of them was injured and unable to return to Oakley West.

  The others had a variety of tasks. There were icicles and fake snow being added to the rooftops by Paul and Mark. All the beach huts were being decorated with fake windows with more snow effects. Skylar and her crew were responsible for some stencilling to state they were gin grottos. Lily was busy creating and adding wreaths to each of the doors and Esme and Tony had maybe gone a bit all out on the idea and had hired Christmas characters for each of the balconies, so there were snowmen and elves and reindeer being set up and added to each of the porches.

  Adding the tinsel was a relatively easy task, especially with the three of them doing it together. It only required them securing it at one end and twisting it round before fastening the other end. Fortunately, making tinsel look good didn’t take much effort.

  It didn’t take long to do each hut as they all worked systematically together. The only thing taking a bit longer was adding the effects to the roofs, as for each one they were having to move stepladders and go up and down several times to secure the decorations.

  When the first one was complete, everyone who was finished stood around admiring their handiwork. It looked perfect, like it really was one of those German market-style grottos. All it needed was some gingerbread hearts decorating it and they could have been somewhere else entirely, not in the calm surroundings of Westbrook Bay.

  While Mark and Paul finished off the rooftops, Tony got the sign ready to put up, advertising the Gin Shack, complete with directional arrows. Tying it in between the middle huts, it still allowed access for everyone to get in and out and worked well at giving the whole thing a focus. It was a shame there was no electricity supply down here otherwise they could have gone to town with lighting the place up.

  When everything was ready, they all gathered together to have a look. They wouldn’t get the full visual effect until it was daylight, but with the low-level lighting available from minion headlamps, it looked fab.

  ‘Everyone, I think we need to have an official non-official opening of the gin grottos,’ Tony said.

  ‘Where’s the ribbon to cut?’ Esme asked.

  ‘We have a spare bit of tinsel we can string up,’ Randy said. ‘And there’s scissors on my Stanley knife.’

  ‘Hang on,’ Richard interrupted. ‘I brought a drink for everyone for when we’d finished. It’s next week’s Christmas cocktail.’

  Richard rummaged around in his backpack and found thermos flasks and slightly crushed plastic cups. With the help of Skylar, they served up a small drink for everyone. It was hard to see in the dark exactly what the drink contained, but it smelt delicious. It was the Mulled Wine cocktail if she wasn’t mistaken.

  ‘We plan to serve this one warmed up with orange slices to garnish, but I didn’t get chance to sort those for tonight. Who wants to say a toast?’ Richard finished handing out the drinks to everyone.

  ‘It should be Tony.’ Olive volunteered Tony before he volunteered her. He had a habit of doing that and she wasn’t going to let him this time. This was him returning to form. It was apparent in his enthusiasm and his ability to join in with everything that was going on. It was lovely to see and Olive was very happy to have her friend back to full health.

  ‘Yeah, go on Tony,’ Mark said, and everyone else made encouraging noises in the same direction.

  ‘If you insist,’ Tony said, not requiring that much arm-twisting. ‘Are you ready, Esme?’

  ‘Ready when you are.’

  The tinsel in place of a ribbon was ready to cut, and Randy’s Stanley knife was out and had been handed to Tony.

  ‘Before cutting the tinsel, I’d just like to say a few words. Without doubt, if it were not for all the love and support and CPR skills from you lot, I wouldn’t be here today, and neither would the Gin Shack. Esme and I have had a tough few months with me being sick and needing to take time off from work to recover. It would have been a whole lot harder without the support of everyone here. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done to keep the Gin Shack going and to keep my spirits in check. And I’m delighted we’ve come up with this idea to spread a little bit of light…’

  At that
moment, all of the characters on the porches lit up.

  ‘And love to everyone in Westbrook Bay. It’s what we’re all about and hopefully we can keep that positive message whatever we face.’ Tony raised his glass. ‘To our mini Gin Shacks, the gloriously Christmassy gin grottos.’

  Even though they were supposed to be acting with as much discretion as possible, between them they managed three rounds of hip hip hooray, and then commenced a series of Mexican waves to much hilarity.

  It must have been the alcohol content of the Mulled Wine cocktails causing them to go a bit doolally, given they’d not eaten for several hours and had taken to drinking in the middle of the night.

  But it was one of those truly feelgood moments. And even though, in truth, they had only come up with the idea because they were trying to tackle a common enemy, what it had really brought about was that sense of community Olive hoped they would never lose. It reminded her why the Gin Shack had come to exist in the first place. It was about finding a common enjoyment with the people she regarded as her closest friends and family, and that enjoyment had spread to include a community.

  No moronic behaviour with crafted bottoms would ever be enough to break that spirit. And to prove it, Olive set off another Mexican wave and the movement thrust their laughter out towards the sea with such gusto, even the seagulls wondered what was going on.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A schedule for the gin grottos was very quickly put in place. The decision was that, for two hours before opening the Gin Shack, two people at a time would man the grottos and hand out samples and leaflets to passers-by. If there was anyone causing trouble of any kind, they were to call Richard, Randy and Tony, who would turn up like the heavies they weren’t.

  Olive was on the rota with Skylar this week. She was looking forward to it because, hopefully, it would give them a chance to catch up. She’d not really had a chance to talk to Skylar one on one since the night they’d discovered Pete was running the new bar. Everything she’d heard was secondhand through her son, and there was a chance Skylar wasn’t saying everything to him in order to protect him. At least if it was just the two of them, Olive could ask the questions her son might not be in a position to.

  Before heading down to the grottos, Olive was going to the Gin Shack. She was having to do up extra portions of her mince-pie gin to prep for the week her cocktail was on offer and allow enough for the samples they’d be giving out.

  ‘Helen said she’d give you a hand,’ Richard said, when Olive arrived.

  ‘Great,’ Olive said, her tone not really matching the word.

  Even though Olive had been instrumental in her old Matron being about, it didn’t make it any less weird. This was the first night she would be staying in the hotel part of the bar, thanks to the generosity of Tony and Richard.

  ‘What do you need me to do?’ said Helen, smiling.

  Olive wasn’t used to seeing this woman smile. It was quite disarming to see it in action. Not in that way a woman might try and attract a mate, more in that there’s-a-psycho-on-the-loose kind of way. Witnessing it made Olive want to run for her own safety.

  ‘Richard was going to buy me some kilner jars so we could do lots of batches.’

  ‘They’re in the kitchen, Mum, along with the rest of the ingredients you asked for. I need to head out to the shop. Give me a shout if you need anything.’

  Richard was out of the door before Olive had any chance to shout. And she very nearly did when she turned to see Helen smiling at her in that way. If life provided subtext, Helen’s would state: psycho killer.

  Of course she wasn’t. That was just Olive’s imagination being way too active. In reality she was a woman who, in the past, had been an overbearing manager at Oakley West, who’d behaved the way she had in order to try and protect her stepdaughter. Sadly, none of it had worked out in her favour, with her losing her job and her home and her stepdaughter ending up in prison. It wasn’t exactly the rosiest tale, and even though it might have been her own doing, no one deserved to end up in a position where they were having to sleep rough when they weren’t working. So Olive needed to let go of her memories of this woman and attempt to start off on more neutral ground.

  ‘We best get started then,’ Olive said, wondering if part of the process might involve pouring a gin. A cup of tea might not cut it in the circumstances.

  ‘I’ve given them all a wash so they’re ready to use,’ Helen said, that delightful, caring smile in play again.

  Maybe the smile was part and parcel of being Helen, and she was an entirely different type of person to Matron. It was possible the circumstances had made her the harsh person she’d been, and now those problems no longer existed, she was an altogether nicer human being.

  ‘Great,’ Olive said, again the tone of her voice not quite capturing the essence of the word.

  Olive washed her hands and donned an apron with Helen copying her as she went.

  ‘What made you come up with this idea then?’ Helen asked.

  Olive double-checked her book of notes as to the right quantities needed. It was two heaped spoonfuls of mincemeat they needed to add to every kilner jar. Fortunately they were the same size as the ones Olive had so she didn’t need to work out any adjustments in volume.

  ‘They wanted the taste of Christmas for the competition so I just thought about my favourite Christmassy foods, and mince pies is well up there. The first bite of a mince pie represents the opening of the Christmas season in my eyes.’

  Olive scooped dollops of mincemeat (they’d got the vegan-friendly version just in case) into the containers and instructed Helen to follow, topping each of the kilners up with gin. Then they all needed to be sealed for between twenty-four and fourty-eight hours before being sieved, after which the gin would be adequately flavoured ready for the cocktails.

  ‘What made you realise you could infuse the gin?’ Helen asked, as they continued the process one jar at a time.

  ‘I’ve always been interested in gin. I know far more than the average person about it, I guess.’ It was what qualified her to take the classes even though she’d never had any formal training. She’d just read a steady stream of information over the years and had learned that way. She also liked to think she had an excellent palate, which helped with knowing what flavours would combine well. Taste was a sense that everyone possessed, but not many trained it enough for it to become a skill.

  ‘I hope you do start doing some gin connoisseur classes on a regular basis. I’d love to come to one.’

  Olive wasn’t sure how to take the compliment. It was like Helen had amnesia and couldn’t remember the period of time she’d been Matron. She knew from then that Olive was a huge gin enthusiast. Maybe it was just Helen being friendly. ‘I just plan on getting this Gingle Bell retreat weekend done first. We’ll see how that goes before deciding anything about the future.’ She was still hoping Richard’s talk about opening up a distillery was something that might come to fruition. Visiting there and then going to the Gin Shack would be the perfect day trip, but that was a way off.

  ‘Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help with the weekend,’ Helen said, as she glugged the clear liquid into another container.

  Olive returned the smile this time. ‘Great. That would be great.’ This time she managed to get the word to sound like it should. Because with everything going on with the gin grottos, plus the retreat weekend, Olive was beginning to think they’d all gone a bit mad and were definitely biting off more than they could chew. Having Helen help today had halved the time it would have taken otherwise. If they could save time at any point along the way, it would help. She just had to shake off the feeling that, however much Helen was smiling, most of the time that smile wasn’t reaching her eyes. And there was always something disconcerting about things that didn’t match up in quite the way they should. It was like a bad cocktail leaving a nasty aftertaste, and sometimes it took effort to work out why the ingredients weren’t working.
<
br />   Chapter Twenty-Eight

  That aftertaste. That feeling of unease hadn’t left Olive by the time she got down to Skylar, ready for their gin grotto shift.

  ‘Are you okay, Olive? You look like you’re away with the fairies,’ Skylar said when Olive arrived.

  Olive was. There was no doubt about it. She was far too absorbed by her thoughts to be aware of her surroundings. ‘Sorry, Skylar. I was far away then. I’m here, honest.’ She shook herself out of her contemplation and returned to concentrating on what they were doing.

  Skylar had sorted deckchairs and they had tiny, tiny cups normally used for ketchup to provide samples of each of the six cocktails.

  ‘What’s on your mind?’ Skylar asked.

  ‘I should be the one asking you that. Have you heard from Pete?’ Olive parked on the deckchair. They’d already agreed Skylar would be the one dishing out leaflets.

  ‘Not a dickie bird.’ Skylar poured them both a larger version of one of the cocktails into camping mugs from her beach hut. That would make this duty far more enjoyable.

  ‘Nothing? Surely he’s made contact?’ Olive was outraged on Skylar’s behalf. The man had obviously had his common decency surgically removed.

  ‘He normally communicates via text message and he hasn’t sent anything. And my number hasn’t changed so I’m pretty sure he never had any intention of telling me.’ Skylar joined Olive in sitting down, seeing as there was no one to dish leaflets out to at the moment.

  ‘Aren’t you angry?’ Olive wouldn’t have appeared so calm and tranquil if she’d been going through what Skylar was. She really should learn how to meditate like she sometimes caught Skylar doing.