Christmas at the Gin Shack. Catherine Miller
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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.
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.
‘What have you been up to?’ Olive asked, questioning why her friend looked so like the cat that got the cream.
‘Nothing,’ Veronica said, not letting her grin drop.
Definitely something then.
‘You know we’re not allowed to have secrets from each other, don’t you?’
Veronica peered at Olive. ‘Honestly. It’s nothing you need to worry about.’
‘Really?’ Olive wasn’t so sure.
‘We’ve moved into a double room. Randy and I are roomies. I didn’t want to say anything with everything else going on.’
Veronica had been right. Olive wasn’t going to ask any further questions regarding the details of why she was late. ‘That’s great. I thought there wasn’t one available?’
‘There wasn’t. But they’ve converted some of the previous living area Matron occupied.’
‘Wow. Goes to show how distracted I’ve been. I didn’t even know that was being done.’
‘Yeah, turns out Matron had taken over an entire area that should have been for residential rooms. They’re working on several areas to update them and they’ll be for residents.’
It was strange thinking back on what had happened over the summer. Matron had definitely had it in for Olive and there was a large portion, almost a quarter of Oakley West, which had been out of bounds to the residents as it was allocated to staff. It would seem they’d been using extra rooms for their nefarious activities – rooms that weren’t theirs to use.
Olive was glad they’d seen the back of Matron, and the new staff seemed far friendlier and more professional, although it wouldn’t have taken much to beat Matron’s bedside manner. She was also glad the technicalities of how Oakley West should actually be laid out meant Veronica and Randy had got their room early. She just didn’t want to know what they were doing in there.
Olive liked to think she was wise to the ways of the world, but there was something that made her feel like a teenage daughter cringing about her parents still at it beyond their forties when thinking about the pair. Whatever they were up to that was putting a smile on Veronica’s face, Olive didn’t want to know about it. Not even a snippet.
Instead, they started heading out of the lobby, ready for their early-morning trip to the beach hut. Skipping over the lateness and kooky smile, they chatted about Tony and how well he’d looked despite the massive ordeal he’d been through to save his life.
‘Do you think they’ll manage to get a temporary manager? I can’t imagine there’ll be many people wanting a role that’s only going to last for about three months,’ Veronica said.
They reached the bottom of the slope and wandered along the promenade towards the row of six huts that belonged to Olive’s extended family. ‘Tony was looking for weeks after he got made redundant and he never really found a job, he created his own. So hopefully there’ll be enough people looking for work. We just might not get many applicants, as Esme only put the advert in for one week.’ To be honest, they couldn’t be lavish with advertising for weeks on end. It was less than two months until Christmas and, if they still wanted to continue as planned, they needed to be trading with someone at the helm. Olive just hoped they attracted some decent applicants.
‘How are we going to interview them? Is that down to us?’
Olive took in a breath of the salty sea breeze. She’d never interviewed anyone in her life. She wouldn’t know what to ask, or how to judge the answers they gave. What made someone suitable to run a bar? Tony did it so well and that was mostly down to his larger-than-life personality. If people weren’t sold on the Gin Shack just by its name, Tony’s welcome guaranteed they became regular customers. But it was hard to know how you’d ever gauge if a person was capable of that in a half-hour time slot. Conducting job interviews just wasn’t something Olive had ever thought she’d be responsible for. The realisation gave her an idea. ‘How about the interview isn’t a traditional one? How about we get them to make us a cocktail behind the bar at the Gin Shack? It’ll give us an idea of how good they are at mixing drinks. They can talk us through it so we’ll know if they’ve got any personality and we’ll know how creative they are, seeing as they’ll be helping us with the Christmas cocktail competition.’
‘That’s a great idea. Let’s hope we don’t get too many applicants or we’ll be drunk that day.’
Olive laughed as they reached the hut and she grabbed the key. ‘I think we’ll have to go for tasters rather than the whole thing if we have lots to try.’
Easing the doors open, Olive let her mind mull over a few ideas for the Christmas cocktail offerings. Was it bad that, despite what had happened, she was still eager to beat the others’ recipes? She really wanted to be the one with the promised bragging rights. She just hoped that, whatever happened, they were still able to carry out all the plans they’d discussed. She’d experiment in the beach hut when she got the chance, in anticipation of them still continuing as planned.
Inside the hut, a bit like the rest of the day so far, everything was out of place. Nothing was where it normally would be,