The Gin Shack on the Beach. Catherine Miller
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the slope down to the promenade, Olive made no effort to hide from Veronica. Looking out to the sea, she spotted the familiar figure already in the water starting her morning swim. If she hadn’t realised Olive was now resident in Oakley West with her, she planned to tell her before they both left the beach.
Taking her key from her backpack, Olive opened up the beach-hut doors and they let out a gleeful groan at her presence, as if questioning why they’d not seen her in recent days. She was already missing being able to come here as she pleased. Her first scheduled visit was due tomorrow afternoon when Skylar would be here with her son, Lucas.
Olive wasn’t particularly comfortable with the fact that Richard wanted her babysat. She didn’t want the relaxed comings and goings of beach life to be made awkward by her friends feeling obliged to keep an eye on her.
Opening her thermos, Olive hoped it wouldn’t be that difficult to get round her son’s system. They just had to say someone was with her, but he didn’t have any way of double-checking that when he was all the way in London. So if, for example, Skylar needed to go home early because Lucas was hungry or poorly, it shouldn’t mean Olive needed to return to Oakley West as well. She would just have to see how far she could push the boundaries without her son realising.
It was a hot-chocolate kind of morning, so Olive made two and hoped she would easily catch Veronica’s attention once she was out of the water. With her new friend (Olive was ever the optimist) occupied, it gave her time to check the ottoman’s stock. Inside were twelve glorious bottles of some of the finest bespoke gins she knew of. She never drank this early in the morning, it was always her tipple before heading home, but she needed to see if any needed replacing soon and have a think as to whether they were all keepers or whether it was time to switch one to a new variety.
Carefully, she pulled each bottle out and placed it on the counter. She wished she could display them like this more often. They looked so pretty along the side, the colours and designs of each varying from simplistic to intricate. A quick glance told her all the bottles had adequate amounts of gin for her not to worry about having to order any at the moment. That was a good thing, because, as she suddenly realised, she had no idea where she’d get them delivered to. In the past it had always been to her house, but she wasn’t sure what Oakley West would say to consignments of gin turning up.
‘I thought it was you.’
The voice startled Olive enough that she almost knocked some of her precious bottles over. Clutching where her heart should be (it had risen to her voice box), she turned to see Veronica. ‘Gawd, are you trying to kill me?’
‘Not intentionally, but I’m not the one playing at being Bond and hiding in cupboards.’
‘What? How did you know I was there?’ Olive’s cheeks blushed at the thought of being caught out.
‘As soon as I spotted you at Oakley, I knew you’d be wanting to find out how to escape sooner or later. When that door creaked I knew you must be behind it.’
Olive laughed. ‘Not quite a CIA agent yet then? Here, I made a hot chocolate for you.’ Olive offered the mug and a seat. If they were lucky she might still have a packet of biscuits stashed in the biscuit tin.
‘Marvellous. I should have popped by here sooner.’ She took the mug and stretched out her free hand. ‘Lovely to officially meet you. I’m Veronica Owens.’
‘Olive Turner.’ Olive embraced the warmth of Veronica’s hand and already knew they would be kindred spirits. ‘Now, let me see if I can find us some chocolate chip cookies.’
‘Never mind your cookies. I want to know what’s in those bottles.’ Veronica didn’t hesitate in making herself comfortable on one of the deckchairs. It made Olive regret not inviting her over sooner, but then they were both evidently creatures of habit and had their own routines that they stuck to. If it hadn’t been for her move to Oakley West their early-morning polite wave to each other would have continued indefinitely.
Olive tore open the biscuits all the same and offered them to Veronica before settling down herself. She’d not intended telling anyone about her gin hobby, but the row of bottles did require a bit of explaining. ‘For some considerable time now, I’ve been searching for the perfect G&T. I’ve been trying out as many gins as possible over the years and these are my current favourites. It’s always changing, though, as I like to try all the new bespoke ones that are coming out.’
‘Have you found it? The perfect G&T, that is.’
‘Far from it. I think I have plenty of years of research ahead of me. I only ever have one drink at the end of the day.’ It was something they’d done as a couple when John was still alive. It was one of the things she’d continued to do, knowing he would have wanted her to continue their quest to find the perfect combination.
‘Well, you do know how you could speed up this research project, don’t you? I think it’s time you got yourself a research assistant and I’d be more than happy to volunteer.’ Veronica eyed up the bottles with the level of delight they deserved.
Olive hadn’t considered the idea of sharing her hobby. Not because it wasn’t something that couldn’t be shared, more that it was somehow so inextricably linked to life with John. The unspoken toast she always made was private. But then, she also knew this was something she enjoyed and her husband would want that passion to continue.
‘I think any assistance would be welcome, although it’s a bit early today. I normally have one at the end of the day and was hoping to escape out of Oakley West after dinner some evenings. So, if you’re my assistant, tell me, why Tuesday mornings? There must be a reason that’s the day you choose to escape.’ She dunked her biscuit and listened in the hope Veronica would be willing to answer.
‘You’ll soon learn that Oakley West is very much a place of routine. Everything revolves around a timetable. You’re expected at the dining room at certain times, they like you to sign up for activities and take part as much as possible. They like to know where you are at all times, so there aren’t many opportunities to grab five minutes unless it’s in your bedroom.’
‘That’s what I feared,’ Olive said, verbalising her thoughts without meaning to.
‘You’ve obviously not studied the timetable in any detail yet otherwise you’d know that breakfast starts half an hour later on a Tuesday. They have a stock delivery early that morning. Kitchen and medical supplies all at the same time. So, it occupies most of the staff and means there’s a bit more leeway with timings, with breakfast being later. It’s easy to escape on a Tuesday morning. I’ve tried on other days, but there have been too many people about.’
‘Hmmmm… that’s a shame. I’d pop down here every morning if I could get away with it. I thought I’d be able to come to the beach hut as and when I pleased once I’d moved into Oakley West, but it seems my son has other ideas. He’s let me keep the hut, but only if I come here at particular times and it has to be pre-organised to make sure at least one of my friends is about.’ Olive also helped herself to a biscuit. She took her frustration out with her chewing rather than getting onto her soapbox for too long.
‘It’s a bit of a nanny state of affairs. Just because we’re old doesn’t mean we’ve lost use of our senses. You’d think considering it’s only down the road they’d let you come here when you liked.’
‘Oakley West is probably worried about my son suing them if I go and do myself an injury. He probably threatened them with exactly that. He’s a lawyer,’ Olive added, clarifying why he might put those fears into people.
‘Are they going to get someone to walk you down here to make sure you don’t break your hip on the way?’
‘Oh God. I hope not. They’re not going to be that pedantic are they?’
Veronica shrugged. ‘The activity coordinator brings us down here in a group. They do love everything to be supervised.’
‘Hence why you escape on a Tuesday morning?’
‘Yep.