The Gin Shack on the Beach
Catherine Miller
‘Charming, original and thoroughly enjoyable.’Katie Fforde‘A little gem. 5*’ Samantha Tonge, bestselling author of The New Beginnings Coffee ClubYou’re never too old to try something new!When octogenarian Olive Turner is persuaded by her son to move into a retirement home, she congratulates herself on finding the secret to an easy life: no washing up, cooking or cleaning. But Olive isn’t one for mindless bingo with her fellow residents, and before the first day is over she's already hatching a plan to escape back to her beloved beach hut and indulge in her secret passion for a very good gin & tonic.Before long Olive’s secret is out and turning into something wonderful and new. Only a select few are invited, but word spreads quickly about the weekly meetings of The Gin Shack Club. Soon everybody on the beach wants to become a gin connoisseur and join Olive on her journey to never being forced to grow older than you feel.A journey of friendship, defiance and a quest for the perfect G&T.
You’re never too old to try something new!
When octogenarian Olive Turner is persuaded by her son to move into a retirement home, she congratulates herself on finding the secret to an easy life: no washing-up, cooking or cleaning. But Olive isn’t one for mindless bingo with her fellow residents, and before the first day is over she’s already hatching a plan to escape back to her beloved beach hut and indulge in her secret passion for a very good gin & tonic.
Before long Olive’s secret is out and turning into something wonderful and new. Only a select few are invited, but word spreads quickly about the weekly meetings of The Gin Shack Club. Soon everybody on the beach wants to become a gin connoisseur and join Olive in her refusal ever to be forced into acting older than she feels.
A journey of friendship, defiance and a quest for the perfect G&T.
Praise for CATHERINE MILLER (#u8c5fe7a2-789a-5f77-8f86-405031620b50)
‘An emotional debut written straight from the heart’ – Julie Cohen, author of Dear Thing
‘A great concept with a theme lots of women will relate to. I really enjoyed it.’ – Katie Fforde, author of A Summer at Sea
‘Memorable characters and a life-enriching, emotional plot. Love it.’ – Sue Moorcroft
‘A highly-emotional, moving novel, full of longing, hope and surprises waiting just around the corner.’ – Becca’s Books
‘Only a few pages in, and I couldn’t stop reading, having found myself involved in Fliss’s story and eager to find out what happened next.’ – Portobello Book Blog
‘This book had many things I love in a good book and it kept me guessing with twists I wouldn’t have expected and moments that made me giggle.’ – A Writer in a Wheelchair
‘I thought this book was very realistic in its depictions of modern motherhood.’ – Alicia (Goodreads)
‘Waiting for You was an easy book to read as it was so engaging. The writing flowed well and it was well plotted out. There were quite a few surprises I had no idea were coming, just when I thought I had it all worked out!’ – Rock Chick Blog
‘A great read which I thoroughly enjoyed.’ – Fiona’s Book Reviews
Also by Catherine Miller (#u8c5fe7a2-789a-5f77-8f86-405031620b50)
Waiting for You
All That Is Left of Us
The Gin Shack on the Beach
Catherine Miller
CATHERINE MILLER
When Catherine became a mum to twins, she decided her hands weren’t full enough so wrote a novel with every spare moment she managed to find. By the time the twins were two, Catherine had a two-book deal with Carina UK. There is a possibility she has aged remarkably in that time.
Catherine was an NHS physiotherapist, but for health reasons (uveitis and sarcoidosis) she retired early from this career. As she loved her physiotherapy job, she decided that, if she couldn’t continue, she would pursue her writing dream. It took a few years and a couple of babies, but in 2015 she won the Katie Fforde bursary, was a finalist in the London Book Fair Write Stuff competition and highly commended in Woman magazine’s writing competition. Soon afterwards she signed with Carina. Soon after that, she collapsed in a heap and was eventually revived by chocolate.
Catherine is one-eighth of the award-winning bloggers The Romaniacs: https://theromaniacgroup.wordpress.com/ (https://theromaniacgroup.wordpress.com/)
You can follow Catherine on Twitter @katylittlelady
Contents
Cover (#ue2c01d2e-6993-59d7-8900-962f9b7a6444)
Blurb (#ue2438c81-8fdc-584c-99c7-f57fed67b929)
Praise (#u7f1624b0-2b79-5310-8ee1-8a3937eb065a)
Book List (#u9bab5cc0-9e00-515f-bc07-2f894d585eb0)
Title Page (#u4d38a9a0-7845-56dc-85a7-f92201404cab)
Author Bio (#ua3808e9a-c666-5fbb-a487-7132d6979e6a)
Dedication (#u667afa1c-647a-5fc8-b339-c1fd9a7d55ad)
Chapter One (#uc4fe2232-c2b9-5432-85ea-f3e126c2f41e)
Chapter Two (#u9e9be03d-7a77-5f10-8f6e-20cad90dadef)
Chapter Three (#u4188ffe1-41e5-5dda-9624-2dd2ce9922be)
Chapter Four (#u6a85e76c-bbd9-5dab-9e67-f79fadac6237)
Chapter Five (#uaab159f1-896c-5f58-97ad-ac290d280e5a)
Chapter Six (#u4a550b4b-117e-5d83-af09-0efc3e790e8c)
Chapter Seven (#ubaf143dd-eb2e-5cc0-a8b9-7e85f6369253)
Chapter Eight (#udc7f95b1-d34b-5f95-9188-10cbda187aba)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
This one’s for my real-life Randolph. The best Grandad a girl could hope for. The world doesn’t have enough Randolphs, especially since this one left. It seemed right to address the balance by creating fictional ones. And while the Randy in this story isn’t based on my grandad, they both have one familiar trait: that cheeky twinkle in the eye.
Randolph Harris Austen
22
September 1923 – 20
May 2012
Chapter One (#u8c5fe7a2-789a-5f77-8f86-405031620b50)
Most days, there was nothing in the world more comforting than swinging open the beach-hut doors, thermos in hand, breathing in the sweet seaweed breeze of Westbrook Bay. This was Olive Turner’s sanctuary. Her place of restoration. Of being at one. A place to fart loudly where no one else could hear.
No one was ever here as early as Olive. The other beach-hut owners, people who’d become her friends over the years, were not early birds like her. The only other human being she’d ever spotted here at six in the morning was a lady similar in age to her whom she watched with guarded respect every week as she went for her swim in the sea. There was something about it that was equal parts admirable and crackers. Who did that? Although there weren’t many eighty-four-year-olds about who were unable to sleep in their own homes for all the ghosts walking around those familiar rooms. Here, by the beach, watching life go idly by, was her preference.
Which was why today was different. It was why every beach-hut owner in Olive’s row was going to break the mould and meet her here at eight-thirty. Because if there was one thing she wasn’t going to give up, it was her shabby-chic, duck-egg-blue, sanity-sparing beach hut.
Giving up her house wasn’t going to be the hardship she might have imagined. With a home, one should have foundations, a connection to the bricks and mortar that told the story of a lifetime. But whatever roots had been there for them as a family had died many years before. What had happened had been enough to shatter any sense of belonging. It was also enough to shatter the people left behind. And recent events meant she’d had a knock to her confidence. Living alone didn’t have the same appeal it once had.
Olive decided to continue her morning routine as usual. Nobody would arrive for at least the next couple of hours. She folded out her garden chair so it faced the rising sun. Even though it was July there was still a nip in the air at this time of the morning, so she grabbed her blanket from the ottoman inside the beach hut. The chink of glass as she hauled it out reminded her she’d need to replace it before anyone arrived. The last thing she needed was her son finding her stash of bespoke gins, giving him an even more valid reason to deprive her of the beach hut. A little alcohol never hurt anyone, although the same couldn’t be said for too much.
This wasn’t about that, though. This was about keeping some form of independence. She might be older than she once was and there might have been that one incident, but there was nothing wrong with her marbles or her constitution and she wasn’t going to let her son boss her about without a fight.
It was why she was glad she would have her friends here in her corner. If there was one thing guaranteed with Richard, it was that he wouldn’t like a show. It had been a strange and terrible thing to witness the relationship with her son go so sour over the years. It was as if neither of them had ever adjusted to the changed dimensions, even after all this time. She didn’t want to resent him, but it had been hard, watching him become so seemingly unfeeling when it didn’t need to be like that.
As she settled down in the chair with her blanket, she poured a cuppa from her thermos. She would forgo an extra slug of something to help shield against the early cold. She needed her head to be as clear as possible. Richard, every inch a lawyer, would put his argument across so eloquently it would be hard to argue with. And there was a huge part of her that was so sad she was being put in a position where she needed to disagree with him.
She understood why. Anyone who’d been through what they had would be altered. He’d used it to his advantage. He’d become successful on the back of the anger he carried. It was no wonder his dotty old mother was a burden when he had a firm up in London to manage. He wasn’t the kind of person who could come running when her boiler broke and she wasn’t one hundred per cent sure who to contact without being totally ripped off. He wasn’t able to pop by when a family of pigeons somehow took up residence in the shed and Olive wasn’t agile enough to sort it out. And she’d not wanted to trouble him on the occasions when she should have.
The problem was it was always a number. He’d get hold of a phone number and get someone to sort it. A stranger. Someone she didn’t know. She wasn’t keen on inviting strangers into her home. Richard had literally gone apeshit when he’d visited to find she was practically keeping the pigeons as pets. Well, it had seemed unnecessarily mean when the pest-control guy had come round. She’d wanted the RSPCA to come and give them a home. Somewhere more suitable. Olive had turned pest-control man away and started buying bird feed instead. It was part of her caring nature. She’d spent her whole life providing for others. Up until her retirement she’d worked as an auxiliary nurse in the local hospice. She knew how cruel the end of life could be and she certainly wasn’t going to be responsible for ending anyone’s. Not even a pigeon’s.
After the last gulp of tea, Olive let out a rip-roaring burp unapologetically. Pigeon-gate was what had started her on this road to the Oakley West Retirement Quarters. A place to live out her golden years in comfort. It was happening because Richard thought she was losing her marbles. That she was just a few steps away from leaving the gas cooker on… and kaboom, the house would be gone.
It wasn’t like that at all. Her marbles were firmly in place. It was just, these days, she didn’t give two hoots what anyone thought, her son included. The only person she planned to please these days was Olive Turner. But however much she wanted to deny it, there was this creeping realisation that time was no longer on her side. It had taken one moment for this news to be delivered to her with startling acuity. She’d been making tea at the time. Such a simple everyday task: fill the kettle, flick it on, teabag into the mug, milk, wait for it to boil, pour the hot water in. A series of tasks so familiar they barely needed thought. It had been once she’d sourced the teabag that it started to go wrong. In a heartbeat she no longer recognised the object in her hand. It was alien. A flying saucer in all the wrong colours. She went to taste it. She wanted to put it in her mouth to see if it was the sweet she was thinking of or something else entirely. But then her arm wouldn’t move. It didn’t wish to cooperate and all at once she knew something was wrong. Something was very badly wrong and she didn’t know what to do when her body wasn’t moving as it should. When her brain wasn’t able to align the dots.
Rather than seek help, she’d sat at the kitchen table, not able to function. It had taken only moments for her to turn from the fiercely independent woman she liked to believe she was, to a shadow unable to perform. And then she was back. The teabag abandoned on the floor. Her arm perfectly able to move as before. It was like that moment of being there while also being missing had vanished.
It had been a TIA. A transient ischemic attack her doctor had called it. A mini stroke. A warning sign.
It was also a wake-up call. So, when Richard had suggested she move into retirement quarters, to her surprise, and his, she’d not even resisted. Of course she hadn’t. At her age, she’d lost any desire to cook anything extravagant for herself. And she had a lifetime of washing dishes behind her. If going into Oakley West meant someone else did the cooking and cleaned the dishes, she was all for it. When she found out they’d do her clothes washing as well, she was sold on the idea. It would be a chance to enjoy life more, without the mundanity of running a household. Richard didn’t need to know about the other reason. About the time she was lost and it was only luck that had meant it wasn’t a more permanent problem. He didn’t need to know about the extra tablets she now took to prevent its ever happening again. He was wrapping her up in enough cotton wool already. It would add more fuel to the fire about giving up all aspects of her independence. The fact was, the beach hut was her lifeline to the outside world. These people were her neighbours, not the ones she was leaving behind at the house.
With the sun having risen adequately to burn off the chill, Olive put away the blanket, careful to ensure it concealed the rest of the ottoman’s precious gin cargo. Leaving the chair out and the beach-hut doors wide open, she went for her early-morning walk. She liked to feel the sand beneath her toes. The early-morning sun making the grains toasty and inviting. It was the perfect time of day. It was possible to hear the entire village creaking awake. There were kettles being pinged to life, toilets being flushed, showers being run. The early risers were few and far between and it was only on the odd occasion that she would spot a dog-walker grumpily mooching along the promenade. This morning was one of those days when there was no one. Even the seagulls were still resting their weary heads, not ready to give their dawn chorus recital just yet.
Olive took a breath of the crisp sea air and smiled towards the sky. ‘Couldn’t ask for more perfect conditions,’ she said, half expecting the earth to reply. Taking one last glance to check she was alone, she removed her bright kaftan-style top and elasticated trousers. In two easy manoeuvres she was naked. Who needed underwear at the beach? They were unnecessary complications. Leaving her clothes in a pile a safe distance from the lapping tide, she tiptoed towards the sea. She loved that first moment of dipping her toe in the water. It was the closest thing she’d found to making love. That glorious point of entry where you were surprised and delighted all at the same time. Where the body braced itself, but then instantly relaxed into being at one with this new sensation. It was funny how it reminded her how long her husband had been gone, but also made her feel closer to him than anything else in the world.
It was ironic really. When she’d first spotted that woman swimming in the morning months ago, she’d thought she was crackers. Who would want to expose themselves to the elements at that time of day? But when she finally spoke to the lady, she said to her it had become like oxygen. It was what reminded her she was alive.
Olive didn’t jump in the moment they had that conversation. It took weeks. She observed the woman, realising it was always a Tuesday morning that she came for a dip, always at the same time, always in a knee-length wetsuit, always prepared with her towels and dry clothes. For weeks, Olive stared at the sea and wondered what it would feel like to be reminded she was alive. She also wondered where on earth she would find a wetsuit for a shorter, portly woman with larger than average breasts.
It was a morning just like this one when she gave in to the urge. The sea lured her in with its promise of being her oxygen. Having never sourced the not-on-the-market wetsuit, she went commando and by golly, it truly was the way to feel alive. The first time, she rushed in and out so quickly it had taken her breath away.
These days she was more relaxed about the whole thing. Today she strode in so she was up to her shoulders, her breasts floating like buoyancy aids, and then swam parallel to the shoreline without a care in the world.
With each dip she’d increased the distance more and more, turning so she was always within a reasonable distance of her beach hut. She was too old to worry about safety. If the ocean wanted to swallow her up and take her, she was too near death to care. The thought was freeing. The fact that her sagging eighty-four-year-old butt might be seen by passers-by had once been a concern, but after the first few cheery Good Mornings, she’d become proud of putting a smile on the faces of even the grumpiest of early-morning dog-walkers. She would only be embarrassed if one of them caught her on the naked stroll back to the beach hut. She tended to wait in the water until the coast was clear (literally), before heading back to the comfort of her beach hut, where she would pop on the gas heater and get herself dry in privacy.
Turning before she was too far away from the hut, she decided she would cut this morning’s dip short. She needed to be ready before everyone else arrived and she didn’t want to have to rush. It was important that Richard understood…
‘Mother.’
…that she hadn’t lost her marbles just yet.
Next to Olive’s small pile of clothes stood her son in his business suit, looking grumpier than all the grumpy early dog-walkers put together.
‘Glorious day for it, don’t you think?’ She offered a wave, causing her breasts to bob a little more freely than she would have liked. Turned out being spotted on her naked walk back to the beach hut wasn’t going to be the most embarrassing thing to result from her early-morning skinny-dipping hobby. Oops. A definite double D oops.
Chapter Two (#u8c5fe7a2-789a-5f77-8f86-405031620b50)
‘I’m not coming out.’ Olive was certain about that.
‘Mother. You will catch your death if you stay in there any longer.’
‘That would suit you down to the ground. You may as well leave me to it.’ Despite the fact Richard had sourced a towel from the beach hut, she was still resolute about not getting out with her son standing there.
‘I’m not leaving you to it. This is exactly why you shouldn’t be left to it. Don’t you realise how dangerous it is, swimming around in the sea without any lifeguards about? There’s not a soul about to help you if you were to get into trouble. Haven’t you heard of riptides?’
‘Oh, Richard. Don’t be such a worrywart.’
‘Come out right now and I’ll kick the habit in the gut straight away. It’s just someone – naming no names – keeps giving me very just cause for concern.’
‘I’m not coming out. Not unless you get off the beach so I can go and get dressed in privacy.’ Olive didn’t want to risk her son catching sight of her noo-noo. The fact he’d caught her skinny-dipping was bad enough and she was pretty certain she’d already flashed a nipple by accident. That was enough trauma for the pair of them for the day. She wasn’t planning on adding to it.
‘Did you not hear what I just said about it being dangerous? I’m not leaving until I know you’re out safely.’
‘Don’t be such a killjoy. Of course it’s safe. I’ll be walking to the shore. But I won’t be all the time you’re stood there with that towel.’ This was hardly how she’d expected this morning’s protest to go. Richard had said he would be here at nine to make sure she handed the keys over. Trust him to be early.
‘I’m not leaving until I know you’re out safely.’
‘You’re being ridiculous. You’re forty-eight, Richard. No forty-eight-year-old man wants the trauma of seeing his mother naked. Now bugger off and came back when you said you would be here.’
‘Oh, I’m being ridiculous. Says the woman bobbing around in the English Channel without a stitch on, before most people are out of bed. Nothing wrong with that.’
Olive couldn’t work out if it was a hint of sarcasm in his voice or if this was pigeon-gate all over again and she’d finally sent her son over the edge. ‘It really is glorious. You should try it some time.’
It was the wrong thing to say. Olive knew it as soon as Richard chucked the towel on the ground in a rage.
‘I am not going to take up skinny-dipping, Mother, and I would really, really appreciate it if you would just get the hell out.’
At that moment, Olive spotted Skylar arriving at the beach huts and thanked her lucky stars. She didn’t want to enrage her son any more, but there was no way she was changing her mind about coming out starkers in front of him. Even with his promises of having his eyes closed, there were some things that weren’t worth the risk. And as risk assessments went, she was prepared to take the chance of being swallowed up by a riptide over the odds of towel slippage and her son catching a glimpse.
‘Skylar…’ Olive beckoned her friend over, knowing that if someone was there to ensure she didn’t drown herself, she might convince her son to go sit in his car for a bit and return again when she was respectable.
Skylar waved a response and headed over to see why she was being flagged in that direction. Olive admired her friend as she navigated the sandy beach. She was everything Olive would have liked to have been at her age, although with a few too many body piercings for Olive. Skylar rented the beach hut next to Olive’s and it was painted a rich red. Olive always knew when Skylar was there because of the sound of wind chimes and the waft of joss sticks. As she wandered in their direction, Olive wondered if she’d ever get to learn her story. This girl with long skirts and string-vest tops who was simple and complex all at once. She was a walking oxymoron who Olive often wanted to know better, but she was yet to get her to open up.
‘Everything okay?’
Jerked back to the here and now, Olive realised the situation needed a bit of explanation. ‘Ummm, I’m hoping you won’t mind taking over lifeguard duties from Richard. He’s arrived a little earlier than expected. We’re in a bit of a standoff situation to be honest.’
‘Mother…’ There was a visible flush to Richard’s cheeks as he lifted the towel from the sand and shook the grains off. ‘Apologies.’ Richard turned to greet Skylar, a hand outstretched ready for a formal greeting. ‘I’m Richard Turner. I’m just a little concerned about my elderly mother catching pneumonia because she’s refusing to come out with me here. Average morning activities. Nice to meet you.’
‘Skylar, would you be a darling and take over towel duties? Tell Richard to buzz off until nine when we were expecting him and hopefully we can forget this ever happened.’
‘You could just get out, Mother. Save us all from any further embarrassment.’
It saddened Olive that her son saw her like that. An embarrassment to him, although, if she remembered rightly, that was one of the roles parents were supposed to fulfil.
‘Olive, are you naked?’ Skylar laughed at the realisation. A delightful crisp sound that filled the air and set the seagulls off as if returning her call.
‘I most certainly am, darling.’
‘Fantastic. You go, girl!’ Skylar’s face lit with delight and it made Olive immediately less conscious, unlike her son’s reaction.
‘So, would you mind? Take the towel from Richard, get him to disappear, then avert your eyes while I get out.’
‘No problem.’ Skylar attempted to take the towel. ‘You do know she’s not coming out unless you move. I’ll let you know once she is.’
Richard was reluctant to give in. Olive saw it in the steely stare he sent her way, but he handed the towel over all the same, and stomped his way back towards the promenade, briefcase in hand. Never had a man looked more at odds with his surroundings.
Once Richard was off the sands, Skylar turned her attention to Olive with a broad smile playing on her features. ‘Olive Turner. How is it you never cease to surprise me?’
‘I surprise myself some days. I guess at my age you get to the point of not caring. Try telling that to Richard, though.’
‘He didn’t look very impressed.’
‘I think that might be the understatement of the century. I can’t imagine many men would be too happy at finding their mother naked in the sea.’
‘Ha! I very much doubt it happens to many men, to be fair.’
‘Don’t be siding with him now. I’ll never hear the end of this as it is. Time to avert your eyes. This wrinkled prune has wrinkles on her wrinkles. No one needs to see that.’
Skylar straightened out the towel and held it out in front of her, craning her neck round as well as closing her eyes. ‘What I don’t understand is why you couldn’t have got Richard to do this? I’m sure your dignity would have remained intact.’
Making sure Skylar wasn’t going to get a look, Olive stood letting the water drip off her body. The chill against her skin was enough to send shivers to her bones. She really had stayed in there too long. She didn’t like to admit her son was right, but staying in cold water for prolonged periods really wasn’t something she should be doing. ‘I didn’t want to risk it.’ It wasn’t just a case of a mother not wanting to risk her son seeing her in the nude. Laced on her skin, she knew, were memories of the past. Scars she kept covered because of the reminders they provided. There was a reason she kept those marks hidden from him. There was a reason diving into the sea with no clothes on was so wild and freeing.
When Olive reached Skylar, she wrapped the towel round tight, hiding any signs of the mark on her side. Her body shivered against the brutal breeze the English Channel was dishing out.
‘You’re freezing, Olive. You need more than that towel to get you warm. How long have you been in there?’ Skylar placed an arm round her shoulder, leading her towards their beach huts. She wanted to answer, but her teeth were chattering uncontrollably and it was impossible to form words.
Fortunately her friend was one of the most resourceful people she knew. Soon Olive was ensconced in blankets with a mug of hot chocolate in her hands, warming up by her gas heater.
‘I know you don’t want me siding with your son, Olive, but you really can’t be letting yourself get that cold. It won’t do you any good at all.’
‘Don’t say “at your age”, please.’ Olive had recovered enough to form sentences, but wasn’t quite ready for a lecture while still faced with the prospect of trying to prevent her son from insisting she stop renting her beach hut.
‘You know I’d never say that to you.’
Olive and Skylar had had many conversations about how Olive didn’t feel her age and how going into retirement quarters made her feel a fraudster, but then she’d had her wake-up call. She wasn’t infallible. However much she didn’t want it to, age was catching up with her. As a result, the desire to live alone had left her, and while she’d much rather be one of those ladies who spent their last days on cruise liners flirting with waiters young enough to be their sons and never lifting a finger to do domestic chores again, sadly, this move wasn’t going to be as luxurious as all that. It was more about practicalities. Richard wanted her to be contained so he’d know she was being cared for in his absence, and although he didn’t need to know why, these days she was inclined to agree.
‘Good. Because we have a beach-hut tenancy to save.’
‘Exactly. Because I’m not sure I could cope without you about to babysit Lucas. Among other things, of course.’
‘You’d miss the bacon sandwiches, wouldn’t you? Which, thinking about it, I best get cracking on with.’ Olive started to move, the shivers having settled.
‘I’ll let you get changed.’ Skylar moved from her position leaning against the counter.
‘It won’t take a minute. Pop back when you can smell breakfast.’ It wouldn’t be long before the others started to join them and it had become a bit of a tradition for them to take turns in making each other bacon sarnies whenever there was more than one of them about at a time. Olive most enjoyed cooking for the kids: Skylar’s son, Lucas, and the three Salter lads, all in their late teens and turning into fine young men. It was a joy watching them grow up with their wakeboards and kites. She wouldn’t miss the four walls of her house, but she would miss this; the community she’d found herself part of.
Tunic, trousers and bulky bangles secured firmly back in place, Olive set to work creating a feast for all the guests she was expecting. She’d even be gracious enough to make Richard some when he returned. Although the trauma of catching her in the nuddy might be enough to turn him away for ever.
Once everyone had gathered, the air was filled with the pleasant buzz of chatter and laughter Olive was used to. Each of the six beach huts had their doors flung open and deckchairs gathered round as Olive made sure the central table was supplied with rounds of bacon sandwiches and freshly buttered toast. The only person missing was Skylar’s son, Lucas. He was at Westbrook Junior’s breakfast club and Olive was pretty sure he’d much rather be here.
The two middle beach huts were occupied by one family – the Salters. Tony and Esme occupied the hut next to Skylar with their three sons and all their equipment took up the space in the other. Next to the boys was Paul the fisherman. He was the quietest of the bunch and had taken longer to come out of his shell, but it turned out bacon was the way to the heart of even the hardiest soul. In the last of this row of six huts were Mark and Lily, an adorable young married couple with a gorgeous chocolate Labrador, Button, that Olive was entirely in love with. In fact, Button lived a lavish life with all of the beach-hut tenants doting on him.
It meant everything to her that all her friends were here. All of them had their own lives to get on with. They didn’t need to be here to support her, but as soon as the suggestion had come up they’d all volunteered to be here. That was a true representation of what family should be.
Having created enough bacon sarnies to feed a small army, Olive joined the rest of them and relaxed into her deckchair.
‘Where has this son of yours got to then?’ Tony asked, helping himself to another sandwich as he did.
The only figures on the long stretch of beach were Tony’s three sons playing a rudimentary form of cricket, Esme having already shouted at them not to ruin their clothes before college.
‘There’s a chance I might have scarred him for life and he may not return.’
Skylar laughed, the only person present who knew what Olive was referring to.
‘Oh, and how’s that?’ Esme asked, copying her husband in collecting another sandwich.
‘Richard caught Olive skinny-dipping this morning. I had to come to her rescue because she was refusing to get out.’
‘Olive…’ Esme’s eyes bulged for a second.
‘Nobody was ever supposed to catch me at it. Least of all my son.’
Button, clearly running out of scrap supplies, decided to bound onto the beach to join the boys.
‘Always knew you were a minx,’ Lily said, as she got up to follow the dog, Mark in turn following them both. Mark was as much of a puppy as the dog.
‘Am not,’ Olive shouted. ‘Don’t go telling everyone about this. I don’t want it to become a spectator sport.’
‘We won’t tell anyone, don’t you worry.’ Tony looked round for the group to support his statement.
Skylar did a Girl Guide salute. Esme nodded. Paul blushed.
‘Good.’ Olive was relieved to think no one else would know about her hobby. Especially as it might be a while before she braved a dip again.
‘It is good.’ The sound of Richard’s voice saw everyone turn their heads in his direction. ‘Because we don’t need you carrying on like that any more.’
Olive wondered where the royal “we” came in. They were her friends, not his. It was him who didn’t want her carrying on. ‘Good morning, Richard. Perhaps we can start off on a better foot now I have my clothes on.’
Skylar stifled a snigger, and catching a glimpse of her out the corner of her eye made Olive smile too broadly, considering she was trying to be serious.
‘Good morning, Mother. Is everything packed up? Do we need to do anything or are you ready?’
‘Yes, everything from the house is packed up. You’ll need to go through some stuff to see if you want it, but I’m sure house removals can deal with the rest of that.’ Richard’s visit was for the purpose of moving her into the Oakley West Retirement Quarters. It was a very odd concept to be moving an entire lifetime of memories from a four-bedroom house to a single room. But it turned out Olive wasn’t very attached to the past. It hadn’t been very nice to her all told, so she was more than happy to say goodbye to half the rubbish that had gathered over the years. The only piece of furniture she was attached to was the ottoman and that was safe here at her beach hut. At least she hoped so.
‘What about the beach hut? Is that all packed up?’ Richard asked.
The silence that followed was electric. It drew all the beach-hut residents to the conversation like atoms drawn to a charge.
‘I’m not packing up the beach hut because I’m not leaving.’ Olive’s voice sounded stronger than she felt.
Richard sighed in a way that might have caused smoke to puff from his nostrils if he’d been another species. ‘We talked about this.’
‘No. We never talked. You told me how it was going to be and expected me to agree to everything.’
‘Yes, because it’s in your best interest.’
‘Sandwich?’ Tony grabbed a platter from the table and offered them to Richard. ‘This lot have brown sauce. The better choice if you ask me, but there’s Tommy K as well if you prefer.’ Tony waved the plate a little as if he was trying to tempt Button, not that the dog needed much tempting. ‘They’re your mother’s speciality. Take a seat and have a sandwich and maybe I can introduce everyone.’
Olive was very appreciative of Tony’s actions. He was doing his best to disperse the charge gathering around them.
‘My apologies. I didn’t mean to come across so brashly, but as you’ve been discussing, I’ve had a bit of a shock this morning and I’m more than a little concerned for my mother’s welfare.’
‘Have a sandwich? Guaranteed to make you feel better.’ Tony waved the plate in Richard’s direction again.
At long last Richard took a sandwich and found a seat next to Skylar.
‘While you eat that, let me introduce everyone.’ Tony went round the entire group naming each individual and filling Richard in on which beach hut belonged to whom. ‘And the thing is, Olive is part of our gang. We’re a community, it wouldn’t be the same without her.’
Richard nodded and the cogs of his thinking process were almost visible. ‘I appreciate that you’re all friends with my mum, and I don’t want you to think I’m an overly interfering relative, but my concerns aren’t for when other people are here. It’s the fact she comes here before the crack of dawn with only crabs and winkles for company. However much I don’t want to say it, it needs pointing out that she’s not the spring chicken she thinks she is. This morning proves she’s taking too many risks. I’d be an irresponsible son if I didn’t do everything I could to ensure her safety.’
Having given his reasoned argument in typical lawyer style, Richard helped himself to another sandwich. For a moment, Olive saw the words sinking in with her friends and the thought he might be right was a scary one. She didn’t want to think she might be losing part of her identity by growing old. She didn’t think age should define a person and she wasn’t about to let it if she had her way.
‘It was a bit risky,’ Skylar said, reluctance evident in the quietness of her words.
‘Walking down the road is risky,’ Paul piped up. ‘At least Olive is doing something she enjoys.’
‘I know. Life is full of risk and it’s all relative, but I don’t want to be the one who gets the phone call telling him his mother has drowned.’
‘Look…’ There was a fire lighting in Olive’s belly and she needed to let it out. ‘I am here, you know, and don’t you think, as I’m nearer to death than any of the rest of you, that I should be the one who says how I spend my last years. And it might be the most selfish thing in all the world, but I think the idea of the ocean swallowing me up sounds rather delicious. I’m not going to let the risks of everyday life stop me from coming to the place I love.’
‘She’s got a point,’ TJ, Tony and Esme’s eldest son, said. ‘That would be way cooler than being run over by a bus.’
‘TJ…’ Esme chastised her son. ‘We don’t want anyone dying and we certainly don’t want Olive to lose her beach hut. There must be a way of making sure you’re both happy.’
‘I can look after myself, you know. I’ve only agreed to move into Oakley West so I can be lazy for a change. Not because I need supervising through every step of life. I’m perfectly able to look after myself while I’m here.’
‘She does a good job of looking after the rest of us as well,’ Tony said, raising a sandwich as proof.
‘My concern is the day you trip at five-thirty in the morning and not a soul finds you for another couple of hours.’
‘At least someone would find me. That wouldn’t happen if I stayed at home all day wrapped in a bubble like you’d prefer me to.’ She would chain herself to the beach hut if it came to it.
‘But that’s the whole point. The reason you’re moving to Oakley West is so that never happens. There’s always the staff there looking after you. They’re not going to be able to have someone with you all hours of the day while you’re swanning off to the beach. It defeats the point of your moving there in the first place.’
‘I haven’t moved there yet. I can soon change my mind if it means giving up every aspect of my life. That wasn’t my intention when I agreed to it.’
‘Hang on. Let’s not be hasty. All I want, Mum, is for you to stick to reasonable hours of the day. There are lots of activities to be joining in with at Oakley West. I won’t force you to leave your beach hut, but I will ask you to stick to coming here when you know some of your friends are around. And as we’re paying large sums of money for you to be at Oakley West, it seems only fair that you give their activity timetable a shot.’
Olive wondered if it was some kind of military workshop she was being signed up to. Wasn’t this move meant to be relaxing? She was much happier with her own company most of the time. It was why five-thirty in the morning had such an appeal.
‘That sounds reasonable,’ Esme said. ‘That way we’ll still see you and Richard’s mind will be at rest knowing there’s always someone here looking out for you.’
It wasn’t perfect. It was far from it, really. Olive didn’t want her freedom taken away, but then what Richard didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. ‘Okay,’ Olive said, knowing that at least if the beach hut was still hers, she would find a way to visit alone.
Chapter Three (#u8c5fe7a2-789a-5f77-8f86-405031620b50)
Olive had already seen the room she was destined to move into. When she’d visited, it had reminded her of a bed and breakfast: quaint in its own way, but it would take some time for her to call it home. Even with her bags now here and mostly unpacked it didn’t take away from the fact it felt like a temporary stopping gap. There was no escaping the sense it was a hotel room and she was on holiday for a week. It probably wasn’t helped by the fact that Oakley West had once been a thriving hotel. The whole place had a very art deco feel to the interiors and was grand enough to be classed as five-star living. The building itself was rectangular with a turret on each corner of the building making it look like a miniature castle. Inside it was all high ceilings and every room was much larger and more imposing than it needed to be. It wasn’t exactly homely.
‘Can I help you unpack anything else?’ Richard asked, returning from placing her towels in the en-suite bathroom. Of course, they supplied their own, but Olive didn’t want to give up all the familiarities of home.
There were only Olive’s clothes left to unpack and after this morning, especially after this morning, she didn’t think Richard needed the added embarrassment of unpacking her smalls. ‘There’s just the pictures to hang on the walls.’
She said it without thinking about the photos or the memories they contained. She should have waited. Got one of the staff to put them in place later on.
‘Where do you want them?’
The first was an old black and white photo. It was the last taken before their world had changed. When their family was complete. A lifetime ago. The last evidence of a time when they were whole.
Richard didn’t even glance at the image. Just waited on directions of where it should be hung.
This was where they differed. Richard spent so much of his life sweeping it under the carpet. Pretending things hadn’t happened and then moving on like they never had. Olive wasn’t like that. She couldn’t forget. She didn’t want to. She immersed herself in happy memories from the past.
But what provided comfort for one was a source of pain for another. It had always been like that, the fractures the past had created still so apparent despite the years in-between.
‘That one can go by my bed.’ Olive scraped enough air from her lungs to create a sentence. She wanted to say so much more. She wanted to talk about the past without the fear of causing upset. Some days the tension wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but at times it was so present it affected their every interaction.
Rather than bearing the awkwardness of Richard ignoring the pictures, Olive went through them and selected two for the other hooks. She’d have to see if she could put more up in the room – either that or have the smaller prints upright in photo frames. As she propped them against the wall ready for him to put in place she realised they were all old photos. None of them was of recent times. They were all from decades ago.
‘Are we ready for the tour?’ Matron burst into the room without knocking.
In that instant, Olive decided she didn’t like her. ‘Do we really have to call you Matron?’ It seemed a little ridiculous considering they weren’t in a boarding school. The formality was unwarranted especially if they were trying to create the warm and welcoming environment all the brochures harped on about.
‘Everyone does. I like to keep this place as shipshape as possible and I’m sure it helps, knowing who’s in charge.’
It was a bit of a lame reason for making Olive feel like she was moving into a Carry On film, but she wasn’t going to argue. If it made the woman feel important then she wasn’t going to point out her role didn’t involve any nursing at all.
Oakley West was a retirement complex. If it was in America they’d be coasting around on buggies and spending their days basking on a golf course. But it was an old hotel on the British coast instead. It was being run by a new company who were selling it as the comfortable way to retire. Rather than warden-controlled flats where you sat by yourself, the hotel facilities allowed for a communal atmosphere where residents ate together and had staff on hand if they required help. It was for the active oldies of the world who wanted companionship and an easier way of life. And instead of golf courses, Oakley West had a programme bursting at the seams with activities on offer. It was enough to make a person want to retire all over again just looking at the timetable.
‘Shall we?’ Matron coaxed them to follow her, obviously in a hurry to get on with it. ‘I know we showed you when you came for a look round, but it’s good to have a refresher now you’re here, to help you settle in.’
Olive thought letting her finish unpacking might help with settling in more, but she couldn’t remember where she needed to head at dinnertime and she was a woman with her priorities in the right place. Knowing where to locate food was obviously very high on the list.
As they followed Matron through the plushly carpeted corridors, Olive wondered why the woman needed to wear a uniform. It took away from the relaxed atmosphere Oakley West was supposed to convey. There was no doubting she was a woman who liked to exert authority. She was one to be aware of, and as she was in charge, it wasn’t the best of starts.
Matron coaxed them into the lifts and they travelled to the ground floor. The reception area was grand and open, with marble floors and lots of seating, not unlike how it would have been when run as a hotel.
‘Here’s reception,’ Matron said, as they reached the front desk. ‘We have a strict policy about people coming in and out. It’s important we have a handle on who is here at any particular time. If anything were to happen we need to know where all our residents are, so the desk is always supervised and we ask that you sign out, letting us know where you’re heading. We ask that all residents are back by dinnertime.’ There was a jolly smile on Matron’s middle-aged face that had a touch of “if you do everything I say, we’ll all get along swimmingly.”
‘What if I wanted to go out for dinner? Surely that’s allowed?’ Olive didn’t like how this woman wanted to take away aspects of her freedom when she wasn’t prepared to let them go.
‘There are lots of opportunity for evening excursions within the activities programme that you can sign up for. There are regular trips for dinners out, theatre visits and the cinema. If there’s anything particular you want to do just let Melanie, the activities coordinator, know. She’ll add it to the schedule for you. We just prefer that, after dark, our clients are supervised.’
‘That seems sensible.’ It was like Richard sensed Olive was ready to argue. ‘This move is to ensure your comfort and safety. They’re not stopping you going out for dinner. In fact, it sounds like they’re encouraging you to participate in a wider variety of activities.’
‘What if I want to just enjoy my own company?’ Olive didn’t know anyone here. She was used to being alone a lot of the time. Being with other people constantly was going to be a rather large shift in her personal dynamics. She wasn’t sure she was ready to be thrust into always being part of a crowd.
‘You can spend as much time in your room as you like and the library is always quiet. And you’re welcome to go out by yourself in the day.’
Richard cleared his throat. ‘My mother rents a beach hut. I’ve some concerns that she’ll spend too much time down there by herself. I’ve asked that she only go down there when she has someone with her. I’m trying to arrange it with her beach-hut neighbours. I’ve been worried for some time that, with the beach terrain, she’s going to end up falling and breaking a hip.’
‘We have supervised trips to the beach as well. I’m sure we can come to some arrangement to make sure you’re happy, Mr Turner.’ Matron smiled at Olive’s son. She had one of those expressive faces that gave away everything. There was a definite twinkle in her eye.
It made Olive shudder. They must be similar in age, and while she’d spent many a year hoping her son might find someone to settle down with, this woman would certainly never get a mother’s approval.
‘Right, let’s show you the rest of the place.’ Matron pushed on at a pace that proved she was a busy woman.
There were rooms upon rooms to be reintroduced to: the day room, the dining hall, the library, the downstairs toilets, the cloakroom, the old bar that was now used as a games room. Every space was large and easy to get lost in, with people milling about in every area. Finally, there was the out-of-bounds area for staff only – practically a quarter of the downstairs area, where the staffroom and accommodation were and residents weren’t supposed to go. Matron did an excellent job of making that very clear while batting her eyelids for Richard’s benefit.
Luckily, her son seemed to be oblivious. Richard was too busy making sure she was okay. Ensuring she was mollycoddled to the nth degree. His concern for her was sweet. It had been that way ever since it was just the two of them, but there were times when it suffocated her. She was the parent. Even in her eighties, it felt like it should be her looking after him, not the other way round.
When the tour was at last over and Richard was satisfied she was settled enough, it was a pleasure to finally be able to close the door and have some time to herself. She was tired. It was only three in the afternoon, but it had been quite the day. Life had changed beyond recognition. These four walls were the new confines of her life and, although it was something she’d agreed to, she wasn’t sure if she was ready for it.
The moment that had driven her decision flicked into her mind. The time a teabag became a flying saucer and she wasn’t able to move. She was here in case it ever happened again. She was here to be looked after, and even if Matron was a prickly personality to deal with, she needed to make it her home.
Remembering some items she’d packed in hopes of creating a sense of homely comfort, Olive raided her suitcase.
It was something she normally did at the beach hut. Her end-of-day ritual. She’d not thought to pack a glass. She’d thought there’d be some in the room, but it seemed she would need to supply her own. There was a teapot with two cups and saucers by the kettle. It was very quaint and B&B-like. It wasn’t how she’d usually prepare a G&T, but the teapot provided a perfect mixing vessel.
Carefully, Olive measured the gin and tonic in the correct proportions for her tastes before adding some lemon slices and a sprig of mint. She’d not worked out how to transport ice cubes so it was lacking in one aspect, but it was better than nothing. She replaced the gin in her bag, hiding it in case her son returned. It was a local variety that her husband, John, had favoured. To this day, it remained one of her top choices and she was never too sure if that was down to the taste or nostalgia. She suspected both.
Olive had a choice of places to sit and enjoy her drink and she opted for the obvious: the high-backed chair in the bay window that enjoyed views of the bay. It really was the perfect spot. It was a dream to have this view. A lifetime of wishful thinking had finally given her the perfect vantage point of her beloved beach. So, it was bittersweet to raise her glass, or rather teacup, as she always did, wishing John and Jane well, wherever they were.
It was no good, though. However pleasant it was drinking G&T poured from a teapot, gazing out at the perfect view, it wasn’t the same as having her evening nightcap on the patio of her beach hut. There was something more grounding about being at one with the lapping waves and the sea breeze. There, she was somehow more connected to the past.
The rules Matron imposed on Oakley West were all very well and good, but not if she wanted to enjoy a quiet G&T at the end of the day as she always did. And if Matron wasn’t going to let her out for an evening stroll by herself, then she’d have to find a way to make it happen without her knowing.
Chapter Four (#u8c5fe7a2-789a-5f77-8f86-405031620b50)
‘Two fat ladies. Eighty-eight,’ Melanie, the activities coordinator called out.
Olive was three days into bootcamp and having something to do for every portion of the day wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. In fact, it was driving her crackers. There had been crochet for beginners, a cookery class, quizzes, walks, talks – and some days that was all before breakfast. The one thing keeping her going to every activity at the moment wasn’t a new-found zest for extra hobbies. It was because she’d spotted a familiar figure among the residents, but as yet hadn’t managed to pin her down.
It meant Olive wasn’t concentrating on the bingo numbers in front of her. She’d never had any desire to play bingo in her life and wasn’t about to start now.
She was distracted by the fact she’d struck gold. Which was fortunate as she had no desire to partake in tomorrow morning’s crazy golf competition. Honestly, who’d come up with the list of activities OAPs wanted to participate in here? If it was Melanie, she’d have words with her as soon as she got the chance. But right now, all she was interested in was speaking to the woman four chairs along from her.
Olive was almost certain, though not entirely sure, that it was the Tuesday-morning woman. The same lady she’d spoken to all those months ago. The one who’d told her swimming in the sea was like oxygen. The same woman she waved to every time she was at the beach when they were the only solitary figures on the sands. Which meant she knew a very important secret… How to escape from Oakley West unnoticed.
Attempts to grab her attention weren’t working, the woman far more enthralled in the game of bingo than Olive ever could be. Even dropping her dabber on the floor and retrieving it wasn’t enough to redirect her focus.
‘Everything okay over there, Olive?’ Melanie, activities coordinator extraordinaire, asked.
It was like being the new girl at school. They were using her first name as frequently as possible to make her feel welcome and included. Olive smiled and waved her pen to indicate she was fine. Even that didn’t shift the woman’s gaze.
‘Bingo!’
Olive’s heart skipped a beat at the enthusiastic yell. Bloomin’ hell, it really wasn’t as relaxing as the pamphlets made out if she was going to pop her clogs within less than a week on the back of a resident winning a box of chocolates.
The heart-attack-inducing yell came from a lady near to Melanie and the whooping and yelling made Olive gawp for a while. Was this really the kind of thing she would end up excited by if she was here for long enough?
When the gent next to her stood up and obscured her view, Olive realised she’d taken her eye off the ball. The lady she was trying to grab the attention of was already up and making her way out of the room.
‘You’re new here, aren’t you?’ The gent held out a hand. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Randolph, but my friends call me Randy.’
‘Olive.’ She stood and shook the man’s hand. ‘I don’t suppose you know who that is?’ Olive pointed to the lady who was leaving the large day room.
‘That’s Veronica. Why do you ask?’
Olive paid a bit more attention to Randy now she knew she had no chance of catching up with Veronica. ‘I thought I recognised her, but I wasn’t sure where from. But, seeing as I’ve moved here now, I’ll no doubt get to speak to her at some point.’
‘Have you settled in okay?’
‘It’s hard to say. I’ve only been here for a few days. My son kindly deposited me and left me to get on with the activity programme.’
‘Families can be kind like that, can’t they?’
‘Yours too? My son runs a business up in London. I think I’m a bit of an inconvenience at times. This should make things a bit easier for both of us.’
‘My daughter is the same. But I think you’ll find you’ll like living at Oakley West. On the whole, it’s a nice bunch of people living here and the staff aren’t all bad especially if you get them on your side.’ Randy offered a cheeky smile which made Olive wonder what he meant by having them on your side. ‘Have you had a tour?’
‘Yes, Matron showed my son and I around when we got here.’
‘Not the official tour. I mean the unofficial one.’ There was a twinkle in Randy’s eyes beneath his dark, bushy eyebrows. She really hoped he wasn’t Randy by name, randy by nature. It would be just her luck if, by saying yes, she ended up as the new girl being seduced by the resident silver fox.
‘How’s that different from the official one?’
‘Matron won’t have shown you where to go if you want a sneaky cigarette for starters.’
Maybe it wasn’t a tour straight to his boudoir after all. ‘If you reckon the unofficial version is worth going on, I’ll take your word for it in that case. Let the tour commence.’
‘Great. Follow me.’
They headed out of the vast space that was the day room. It doubled up as the dining-room space and was the focal point for most of the activities. The residents’ rooms were over the first and second floors, with most of the rooms on the ground floor set aside for different reasons and activities, including the out-of-bounds living area for the staff.
‘It used to be Oakley West Hotel in the 1950s, but tourism dropped round this area and it ended up vacant and in need of refurbishing. They turned it into retirement quarters about five years ago. It sits somewhere between being a care home and warden-controlled flats.’
Olive wasn’t from here originally so, unlike Randy, she had no memory of it. She’d grown up in Dover and met her husband, John, when he’d worked at the docks. It was John who was from around these parts. There was every chance Randy might have known him, but she didn’t like to talk about the past. That always raised questions she had no intention of answering.
They moved into the lobby with its vast clusters of chairs and coffee tables with the daily newspapers scattered about.
‘Do you like reading?’ Randy asked, shaking Olive from taking in the surroundings properly this time round.
‘It’s up there in my top three hobbies.’ Olive wasn’t going to tell Randy about the other two. They were a secret.
‘They run a book club and Melanie hosts it here in the lobby once a month. She always goes for the serious stuff, though, so, if that’s not for you, just give Flo a nod. She’s got a little Mills & Boon book club running on the sly. It’s far more popular than Melanie’s. Just don’t let on, okay.’ Randy tapped a finger against his nose in a mum’s the word kind of fashion.
Olive winked. She was beginning to like it here.
‘This way.’ Randy led the way along a corridor Matron had missed. ‘They can be a bit regimented here with mealtimes, but for the days you don’t feel up to a full meal, this is where you need to come.’
Randy threw a quick glance over his shoulder to check if they would be seen and Olive wondered if he was going to get her in trouble. As she followed him, she noticed nearly every door along here had a sign stating STAFF ONLY. They were in the forbidden section of the building.
‘Should we be down here?’
‘Of course not, but the only one who would tell us off is Matron. So as long as she doesn’t see you, you’ll be fine.’ Randy turned a final corner at the end of the corridor. ‘Right, this is the place. It’s where the staff take their breaks. They don’t mind us popping in here and Matron takes her breaks in her office so you won’t ever get caught by her sitting here. They have a larger staff room for their lunches so this is normally where they take shorter breaks, so it’s never as busy. But the thing we’re here for is this.’ He waved his hand and beckoned Olive closer.
Checking behind her one last time, Olive moved into the snug area. It was an open alcove with a small kitchen area and seating for no more than two people on a sofa. Randy had better not be using the smallness of this not-even-a-room to try and pull off a move.
‘This is where the secret store is that we’re interested in.’ Randy opened up the two small overhead cupboards. Inside was a stash of everything you needed for a round of tea and toast: bread, spreads, tea, coffee and every other beverage she could think of. ‘There’s a mini fridge on the side with milk and butter.’ He opened it to prove he wasn’t making that fact up.
‘But this is for the staff.’
‘It is, but not many of them want toast on their break. They have the same supplies in their main staff room. So, if the bread and milk don’t get used up they go to waste. And if Matron thought it wasn’t being used she’d soon stop them having it here. So by helping ourselves every now and then we’re helping the rest of the staff out. If you ever don’t have the appetite for an entire roast, or you get the midnight munchies, just head here and help yourself.’
‘Does everyone know about this then?’ Olive was sure they’d said there were in excess of fifty residents. If they were all raiding this cupboard she was pretty sure the loaf and a half in there wouldn’t last very long.
‘Of course not. It isn’t every resident that gets this unofficial tour, you know.’
‘How come I’m getting the privilege?’
‘If you know Veronica you must be all right. Where did you say you know her from?’
‘I didn’t. And I might have the wrong person, so I might be getting this tour on false pretenses. You can stop before you give away any more secrets if you’re worried.’
‘No. I can recognise a kindred spirit when I see one. Are you going to try and tell me you don’t have a rebellious streak?’ Randy raised one of his bushy brows.
Olive cleared her throat, worried he could already read her thoughts about trying to escape to her beach hut. And while he’d shown her his secret cubby-hole, she wasn’t about to shout about her secret hideaway. ‘Whatever made you think that?’ Even the way she phrased her answer gave away her non-innocence.
‘Thought so.’ It was Randy’s turn to offer a wink. ‘Now, next on the agenda… the garden. We’ll sneak out this way.’
Opposite the snug was another short corridor that led to a fire exit conveniently propped open by a piece of cardboard.
‘This is where the staff sneak out if they want a fag break. To be honest, that’s what they tend to do with their precious fifteen-minute break, which is why they don’t worry about the few residents who help themselves to toast. Matron doesn’t like it really, but she’s also too lazy to come all this way to keep an eye on what’s going on.’
Glancing around, Olive realised she wasn’t in the part of the garden she’d been shown earlier in the day. This was more of a courtyard enclosed all round by the building. ‘This was definitely left off the official tour.’
‘Told you mine featured all the exclusives.’
‘So what is this place?’
‘The rooms that back on to here are where the night staff sleep. It means they aren’t in use during the day, other than the cleaners changing the bedding, so this is where the staff come if they want a few minutes’ fresh air. Although some of the staff have a different interpretation of fresh air than others. It’s not very big, and there isn’t a view, but there are a couple of benches if you ever find yourself in need of hiding away for five minutes. Let me show you round.’
They paced around the small courtyard. It had planted beds in a square, with a couple of bushes overgrown enough to cause the benches to be little hidey-holes. It looked a tad unkempt and in need of attention, but Olive had a feeling the staff left it this way so those hiding spots remained small places of sanctuary. What they really needed was a couple of arbours in which to find harbour. For the first time she sensed a pang of sadness about no longer having her house. The building itself and all the work that came with it wasn’t something she was going to miss, but the garden had been her sanctuary when she’d been at home. Outside space was always where she headed when she needed to feel at one with the world. That was why keeping hold of the beach hut was so important. It meant she wasn’t letting go of her sense of self. Which reminded her what she was hoping to find out. ‘Do you know what room Veronica is in? I want to try and catch up with her and see if she is the lady I’m thinking of.’
Olive hoped she’d said it casually enough, not giving anything away as to why she was so curious about one of the residents.
‘She’s on the second floor. Two-seventeen. Not far from you.’
‘Thanks. I’ll try and catch up with her at some point soon. Not tonight, though. It’s getting late.’ The sun was beginning to fade and the small courtyard was already getting dark with the sun setting low.
‘And I’m up on the first floor. My room’s one-twenty if you need me for any reason.’ There was a twinkle about Randy as he said it and Olive was sure he reserved that look for all the women he came across in his life. ‘But you’re right, it is getting late, so we best stop the unofficial tour for today.’
‘There’s more to it then?’
Randy tapped his nose again. ‘There certainly is. But I don’t want to overwhelm you. You best get yourself settled into your room. I hope your first few nights have been okay. It’s always strange staying somewhere different.’
Olive didn’t want to go into the technical details of how she didn’t tend to sleep well no matter where she was. ‘Thank you,’ she said, as Randy walked her to the lobby lifts. ‘You’ve been very kind to make me feel welcome.’
In the lift, Randy pressed the buttons to send them to the first and second floors. ‘It’s a pleasure. I haven’t forgotten what it felt like to move here when, really, I wasn’t sure I was ready. I recognise that in you and I wanted you to know it isn’t all bad. In fact, there are days I wish I’d done it sooner.’
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ Olive said as the lift doors opened, announcing their arrival at her floor.
‘Do you want me to walk you to your room?’
Randy was asking out of politeness, not for any other reason, she realised.
‘I’ll be okay from here, thank you.’
‘Great. I’ll see you at breakfast. It’s half an hour later tomorrow. It starts at eight-thirty on a Tuesday, but I’m sure Matron filled you in on all of that with her welcome pack and chat.’
‘She certainly did.’ Olive smiled, all of a sudden feeling much younger than her eighty-four years. ‘See you at breakfast.’ She offered a wave as the lift doors closed and for a moment she was lost in a sea of thought.
Remembering she had a task to carry out, Olive checked the signs on the wall outside the lift indicating which way to head for which room numbers. It had clearly been a hotel in a previous life, the clues more obvious the longer she was here.
Seeing Veronica’s room was indeed in the same direction as hers, Olive continued along the corridor’s plush swirly red carpet, taking note of the room numbers as she went. She could knock now to ask if Veronica was the woman she thought she was. It seemed unlikely that someone would be sneaking out of here for an early-morning swim every Tuesday morning, but seeing as how Olive’s first thought on moving here had been how she would get out, it didn’t seem too odd to think someone might already be doing that. She just needed to find out how. As she didn’t know the woman in any depth, knocking on her door and asking her directly risked her clamming up and not giving her any answers. It might stop her going for her early-morning Tuesday dips altogether.
No, it was far better to use the information she did have to try and find out if she had the right woman. She knew what time she arrived at the beach. It was less than a five-minute walk from Oakley West, so if she was able to somehow keep watch to see if and when Veronica left, she would be able to find out how she was making her escape unnoticed.
Studying the corridor with more purpose, Olive realised her room was too far away to be able to spy, but just opposite there was a door ajar. Popping her head round the gap revealed one of the laundry stores cum cleaning cupboards.
Checking no one was about, Olive opened the door to see if she would be able to hide in here unnoticed. Pulling the door to again, the crack it left gave her a perfect viewing point from which to see across to Veronica’s room. She just had to hope she didn’t get caught, but if she did she would have to play the new girl getting lost card.
Despite the numerous blankets, duvets and sheets stored on shelves in the cupboard, there was no way she would be able to set up for the night, so, feeling a vague notion of tiredness, Olive discreetly left the linen cupboard behind and headed for her room.
When she settled into bed, she knew she needed to be up early if she didn’t want to miss finding out how to escape. Most people would have set an alarm, but Olive was one hundred per cent certain she didn’t need to. She would be awake in a few hours, spending the early hours familiarising herself with the pattern on the ceiling. Only tomorrow she wouldn’t have to. Tomorrow she would get herself prepared for the first covert operation she’d had to carry out. Well, she did like to live by the saying “you’re never too old to try something new.” And standing in a linen cupboard spying on someone was definitely in the things-I’ve-never-tried-before category.
Chapter Five (#u8c5fe7a2-789a-5f77-8f86-405031620b50)
Olive really wasn’t sure why she’d felt the need to pack a rucksack like some kind of SAS specialist, but she’d done it all the same just to be on the safe side. If she was stuck in the cupboard for hours on end, at least she’d have supplies. It did mean she was wedged in more awkwardly than when she’d trialled it the previous night. Fortunately, her bottom was the right height to perch against one of the lower shelves, so it wasn’t altogether uncomfortable. If she wasn’t too worried about any circulation getting to her legs, that was.
She’d sneaked in the cupboard unduly early. She’d left her room at half past four and, for all the packing of utilities, hadn’t thought to bring a torch, so had no idea how far time had moved on.
Even putting her watch up to the crack in the doorway wasn’t casting enough light to work out how much longer she would be crammed in here.
It was surprisingly quiet at this time of morning. There was less movement than she would have expected in a building full of people. There were obviously benefits to being in a solid building keen on hexagon pillars and high ceilings. It didn’t carry sound and the plush carpets absorbed the sounds of any footsteps, so Olive was having to concentrate extra hard on not missing Veronica leaving her room, if indeed she ever would.
It was the sound of an opening door that alerted Olive to the fact that, at long last, someone was on the move. It was a relief. If she’d had to stay too much longer she would have been found by the cleaners or had to leave for a toilet break and end her vigil.
Through the crack in the doorway, Olive could see it was Veronica on the move. The white-haired lady had bulkier clothing than one might expect for a summer’s day. Olive almost cheered at recognising the bag in her hand and knowing the clothing was bulked out because of the wetsuit it was concealing.
In her excitement at being right, Olive pressed on the door, causing it to waver. She held her breath and ducked back as she caught Veronica peering in the linen cupboard’s direction. Rather than inspecting it as Olive feared she might, it instead spurred Veronica into action and she scooted down the hallway at breakneck speed.
Olive caught her using a skating-style technique to move along the carpet, not picking up her heels. It must reduce the sound, Olive realised. Olive also realised she wasn’t very well equipped to be a spy. Waiting in a cupboard had been her genius move, but now she needed to work out what she did from this point without getting caught.
As soon as she’d lost sight of Veronica, Olive squeezed her way out of the cupboard and quickly discovered her legs were more lacking in circulation than she’d anticipated. She steadied herself against the wall and tried to march some life into them. When she was able to, she took Veronica’s approach to travelling and skated her way along the carpet. It was a rather fun way to move about really and it reminded her of being a kid.
Not getting too carried away with funny antics, Olive kept close to the wall as it curved round and caught sight of a door closing behind Veronica.
Ah, of course, she wouldn’t be taking the lift that led directly to the centre of the lobby. If anyone was down there they’d immediately know someone was on the move.
Now the corridor was clear, Olive went into hyperspeed with the skating technique. She was at the door quicker than she would have managed if she’d tried to run. It was the most excellent way to get about. If only she could get away with it when other people were watching.
Unsurprisingly, the door Veronica had gone through led to a stairwell. It was a good job she’d spotted Veronica go through here as she would have taken an age finding the stairs otherwise. They were signposted in case of emergencies, but they weren’t directly next to the lifts.
Pushing the door open softly, Olive listened out for movement but could hear nothing below. Veronica obviously had a technique for moving on the stairs unheard as well. The only way Olive could think of to manage that was sliding down the banisters and, as she didn’t want to break her neck, she wasn’t going to attempt that. Instead, she tiptoed and crept down each step as quietly as she could manage.
It wasn’t the quickest way to move and, having already lost sight of Veronica, Olive feared it might all be in vain. At least she knew she wasn’t going dotty and it was the woman she spotted every week at the beach. Thinking about it made her sad not to be there. She’d only been away from her little hut for a few days and she was already missing it. That thought spurred her on to move a little faster. She was still so new here that, if she got caught, she would just claim she was lost.
Turning a corner and starting on the next set of stairs, Olive glanced over the banister to see if there was any sign of Veronica, but there was nothing to see or hear. Maybe Olive wasn’t following her at all. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, it was darker and hard to make out where anyone might have gone. But then a breeze caught the back of Olive’s neck and she turned to see where it was coming from. A beacon in the form of a glow-in-the-dark fire-exit sign guided her to the breeze’s entry point. Like the fire exit Randy had shown her the evening before, this one was also wedged open in the same way. Only this one didn’t lead to a dead-end courtyard. This one led to the outside world.
Chapter Six (#u8c5fe7a2-789a-5f77-8f86-405031620b50)
Olive’s mission was complete so she had no real need to continue the pursuit. She now knew how to escape the building unnoticed, but she still had questions she wanted to ask and now was as good a time as any.
Olive might have lost sight of Veronica, but the route to the beach was a pretty straightforward one. It was a happy fact that moving into Oakley West Retirement Quarters meant she was closer to Westbrook Bay and her beach hut than she’d been from her own house, which was a ten-minute walk away. Oakley was one of the grand buildings directly on the seafront. The road was set back from the coast with a wide expanse of grass before you reached the clifftops. Across the green there were only a few interruptions to the canvas of green and blue. There was a scattering of shelters and benches and further along were the sunken gardens; a place close to her heart, but she didn’t visit often because of the memories it held.
Whenever she came to the beach, she envied the people who lived along the Royal Esplanade: the stretch of road that ran parallel to the coast. Every building was stately in appearance with a mix of private residences, hotels and restaurants, some in more need of repair than others.
Olive had loved the area ever since she’d moved there when she married John. She’d fallen in love with the beach. It was so much quieter than its neighbouring sands in Margate. Here at Westbrook, when it was busy it was full of families and people enjoying various activities on the waterfront. But when it was out of season, it was blissful in the tranquillity it provided.
It was within months of moving here they’d first rented a beach hut. In the early years, they’d had a hut directly on the sands, the children able to access the beach in an instant. It was idyllic. Then, afterwards, when the family had been reduced from four to two, having the beach hut wasn’t the same. There were footprints missing in the sand and no way of finding them there, however hard she looked.
It was when Richard went to university that Olive decided she needed to return to what made her happy. The sound of the sea alone was enough to make her feel at one with the world in a way that couldn’t be replicated. This time, she went for a hut further along. It was set back near the cliff face and offered a different view of the seafront. From there she was able to watch as the dog-walkers and cyclists made their way along the stretch of concrete promenade. It took years, but eventually she found the happiness everyday life had to offer. It wasn’t the same kind as in previous days. It was a reinvention of itself and for that she was thankful.
As Olive walked along the Royal Esplanade, no longer worrying about how much noise she was making or trying to keep up with her target, she took another moment to be thankful. It was a blessing to be this close to the sea, less than five minutes’ walk to her beach hut. It was just a shame she didn’t have the freedom to come and go as she pleased.
Approaching 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. I’d go mad if I didn’t come here at least once a week.’
‘I think I’ll go mad if I don’t come here once a day.’ Olive offered Veronica another biscuit and they both took one before she secured them away in the tin.
‘I’ve tried finding other times of day to make an escape, but I’ve not had much luck. Feel free to join me next Tuesday, save you hiding in the cupboard.’
‘Thank you. That’s very kind. And maybe between us we can find another opportunity to escape one evening. Do you think they’d let you walk down here with me, rather than one of the staff?’
‘Wouldn’t that be nice? Shall we ask and see what they say?’ Veronica upended her mug and finished the last of her hot chocolate.
‘We can but try.’ Olive took both the mugs to clean them before they left. It would be weird to have someone come along with her, she was so used to her independence, but she would much rather have Veronica here than be walked along by some healthcare assistant like she’d lost the ability to navigate down the road.
Olive decided to return the bottles to safety and gave Veronica a brief history of each one as she stowed them away. Her favourite varieties at the moment all seemed to be fruit-based in some way: orange zest, rhubarb with ginger, citrus crush. Talking about them was a pleasure and it gave Olive something to smile about, knowing she had a friend wanting to listen to her impart her knowledge.
‘I think life at Oakley West has just started to get interesting.’ Veronica offered a wink.
Definitely a kindred spirit. And with such a strict set-up and so many opportunities to be rebellious, they were going to have great fun. ‘I guess it’s time to head back? Unless we want to get caught.’
‘Oh gosh. Yes, we better had. They’ll be expecting us at breakfast soon.’
Gin and rebellion would have to wait for another day.
Chapter Seven (#u8c5fe7a2-789a-5f77-8f86-405031620b50)
It was a perfect July afternoon with the school summer holidays drawing near. As Olive watched Lucas build a sandcastle empire, she was reminded of the days she used to come down here with Richard and Jane after they’d finished school. The five-year age gap between them hadn’t mattered when there was sand about. It provided exactly the level of entertainment children needed and this hadn’t changed, whatever the generation.
Olive stopped herself from reminiscing too much. She didn’t want the past pulling down the present.
‘How funny that you knew each other from coming to the beach and you’ve both ended up in the same home,’ Skylar said.
Olive and Veronica were sitting on deckchairs outside Skylar’s colourful beach hut while Skylar prepared a makeshift picnic for her son.
‘We’re in retirement quarters. They get very het up if you call it a home,’ Veronica said.
‘How are you finding it, Olive?’ Skylar buttered bread as she spoke.
Olive drew her attention away from Lucas playing on the sands. ‘It’s a bit early to say. The people are lovely, as is my room, but it’s an entirely different way of life. It’s going to take a bit of getting used to.’
‘How’s it different?’ Skylar passed them both a mug of tea and joined them on the deckchairs.
‘They’re not too keen on any residents having much freedom and Richard is making it harder by making sure I’m supervised when I come here. We have to check in and out with everything we’re doing and we’re not supposed to go out by ourselves after dinner.’
‘We’re lucky Matron has said I can come with Olive as her chaperone,’ Veronica said. ‘It’s providing Olive with some extra get-out-of-jail-free cards.’
‘They’ve given us permission to come down here together if you or any of the others aren’t about. Very gracious of them, don’t you think?’ Olive wasn’t able to hide the sarcasm in her voice and she had no need to, being among friends.
‘Oh, Olive, that’s not going to sit well with you for very long. How are you going to cope?’
Olive sipped her tea. It was still hotter than she liked it, but she used the opportunity to catch Veronica’s eye, trying to suss if she would be happy for her to share that they were in fact able to escape once a week.
‘We’re trying to come up with a plan,’ Veronica said. ‘Just between us, I manage to escape on a Tuesday morning. I’ve been doing it for a long time. That’s how I recognised Olive in the first place. We just need to see if there are any other times we can escape.’
Lucas ran back to Skylar’s beach hut, collected his food, and then headed back to his three-foot-high sandcastle. It obviously needed protecting so he picnicked over there.
‘What about in the evenings while they’re lighter? Surely you could pop out one day after dinner without being caught? Say you’re in your room reading?’ Skylar said.
‘I haven’t been there enough days to know how easy it would be to escape. What do you think, Veronica?’
‘I’m not sure. I’ve always just gone to the evening entertainment after dinner. It would be reasonable to retire early and try to find a way to pop out. I’m just not sure how.’
Checking her watch, Olive realised that time was marching on and soon they would have to walk back up the slope and along the road to return to Oakley West in time for dinner. ‘Maybe we can suss it out tonight. See if any exit routes are clear enough to escape unnoticed.’
‘Great idea,’ Veronica said, clearly enthused by the idea of getting out more. ‘Although, we wouldn’t get away with it every night. They’d soon notice if we did that.’
It was a shame Olive wouldn’t be able to continue her tradition in the same fashion she was used to, but the whole move required reinvention in one form or another. ‘We can do a recce tonight. Then try and get down here later in the week and hope we get away with it.’
‘What will you do here in the evening?’ Skylar asked.
‘I know exactly what we’ll do,’ Veronica said and peered at her watch. ‘Surely it’s not too early today?’
Barely requiring the encouragement Veronica was providing, Olive got up and ventured into her beach hut. Like she had the previous morning, she set out the gin bottles ready to be admired. She selected three of her finest cut glasses and retrieved a small bottle she’d been saving for a special occasion. Inaugurating others into her hobby deserved something special.
‘Ready…’ Olive said, inviting Veronica and Skylar to join her, hoping Skylar wasn’t a teetotaller. ‘This is what we’ll be doing.’
‘Wow. Have you always had these hidden in here, Olive?’ Skylar asked.
‘I’ve spent fifty years searching for the perfect G&T. I’m yet to find it. I think continuing that search is a pretty good way to spend our evenings here.’
‘I’m in,’ Skylar said. ‘If you two manage to get down here one evening, I’m getting a babysitter so I can come and join you. Why didn’t you tell me about this before?’
Olive shrugged her shoulders. It wasn’t that she’d intended to keep it a secret, just that she didn’t want to endure disapproving looks from her son. Gin was mother’s ruin, isn’t that what they said? But she never had more than one or two. She was very good at not overdoing it. As far as she was concerned it was the opposite of her ruin. Some days it was what continued to give her that spark for life.
‘It’s a bit earlier than I normally would, but it’s the only chance we’ll have today. Can I interest you both in having a gin and tonic?’
‘Wild horses won’t stop me,’ Veronica said.
It made Olive grin. They were definitely kindred spirits and she was already glad to be sharing her hobby with friends.
Skylar was admiring the bottles like they were rare jewels, and in some cases they practically were. ‘A small one should be okay. We walked here so I don’t need to drive.’
Olive spotted a delighted twinkle in Skylar’s eyes. It was either that or the reflection of the bottles.
‘Marvellous. Well, in that case, I have something a little special I’ve been waiting to try. My friend sent me some violet syrup. Apparently, if you add it to your G&T you have a Parma violet gin. That sounded rather fun, but I’ve not got round to trying it yet. Would you like me to make you both one?’
‘You just combined childhood sweets with alcohol. Of course I’d love to try one,’ Skylar said.
‘Me too.’
‘Fabulous. I never really liked Parma violets as a child, so I’ll have to see if the flavour is more acceptable in the form of alcohol.’ Olive set about putting the drinks together. It was a shame she was having to forgo ice cubes. They were an essential part of a G&T and, as she wasn’t able to have a fridge-freezer in the hut, she’d taken to using reusable freezable ice cubes. They weren’t the same as the real McCoy, but they were a means to an end. It did the job even if the magical sound of ice chinking on glass was missing. But today she didn’t even have those, not having been able to find anywhere to freeze them at Oakley West without raising questions. As she added the violet syrup to the G&Ts they each started to turn a bright purple. Stirring the liquid in with straws, she hoped she’d not added too much. They’d soon know if the taste was too overpowering.
‘Here we go,’ Olive said as she passed the drinks to her two guests.
‘Wow. These look amazing,’ Skylar said.
‘To beach-hut trips,’ Olive said, raising her glass in a toast.
‘This isn’t a beach hut,’ Veronica said. ‘This is a gin shack.’ She raised her glass with a smile. ‘To The Gin Shack.’
And it was as simple as that. With a round of toasts and a lengthy discussion on what they thought of the Parma violet flavour, The Gin Shack Club was born.
Chapter Eight (#u8c5fe7a2-789a-5f77-8f86-405031620b50)
Olive had always known life at Oakley West would take some getting used to. It wasn’t quite the tortuous process she’d imagined, where she was stripped of her identity. In fact it was far more like the cruise-ship retirement she’d once hoped for. It was an existence where she didn’t have to want for anything. The ex-hotel was so large it was almost like being on a cruise liner, only without a built-in bowling alley or cinema. Everything she needed was available to her. The only thing absent was towel origami. If the staff could start cracking out some towels folded as swans then she’d really feel she’d arrived.
However nice it was to feel cared for in that on-holiday type of way, however, it didn’t make up for the sense of feeling trapped. It was the same as being on a ship and not being able to get off unless it was an organised trip when they were in port. It was only to be done in conjunction with the ship’s timetable.
While it suited most of the residents, it wasn’t how Olive wanted to live her life. She’d already had a couple of moments where she’d wanted to shout: ‘We’re not on a boat. No one’s going to drown if we go out after dark.’ She controlled the need to vocalise her annoyance, not wanting to have herself marked as a troublemaker. Instead, she kept quiet, knowing that, along with Veronica, she was testing ways to get over the threshold without an entire women-overboard search being launched.
Having perused the entertainment programme, they were opting for Friday night as the best time to escape. Every week they had a different act booked in to amuse the residents. It varied from singers to magicians to ventriloquists. According to Veronica they were generally not especially good, and when they were bad, most of the residents would make their way to bed early.
‘I think I’ll read my book this evening,’ Olive said to the auxiliary nurse who was currently in charge of her care.
‘Enjoy,’ she said. The young girl was busy making sure everyone who wanted one had a drink. They were certainly attentive here and choosing a time when she was distracted was a good moment to go. The plan was for Veronica to make a similar excuse a short while afterwards.
Olive returned to her room and for a moment considered bundling up pillows in her bed to make it look like she was in it. She had no idea why she was quite so worried. They weren’t even planning on escaping tonight, just finding the best route to use. Wanting it to at least look like she’d been reading her book, she placed it on the bed, and somehow this made her worry less.
Olive nearly dropped it when there was a gentle knock at the door. Despite knowing it was Veronica, she was clearly on edge. Who’d have thought trying to visit her beach hut would make her feel like a naughty schoolgirl?
She opened the door quietly and slipped out. Hopefully they wouldn’t pass anyone on their travels, but if they did they planned to claim they were just having a walk, which was a perfectly plausible excuse as long as they weren’t anywhere restricted.
Silently, they wandered along to where Veronica normally made her Tuesday-morning escape. They’d already chatted through whether this was a possibility. It was near the main staffroom, so, on a Tuesday when all the staff were occupied with deliveries, it was the perfect escape route, but they suspected the same wouldn’t be true on a Friday evening.
As soon as they entered the stairwell it was evident because of the voices travelling from below that the route wasn’t clear and this way wouldn’t be an option.
‘Drat,’ Veronica said, perhaps a little too loudly as the voices from downstairs lowered, and they quickly made their way back through the heavy fire door.
‘Where next?’ Despite having lived here for the best part of a week, Olive still wasn’t familiar with the network of corridors.
‘The front isn’t an option. We’ll walk into way too many people. Do you know any other routes?’
Olive shook her head. Surely there was some way to get out. ‘I only know one other way, but it’s a dead end so that’s no good.’
‘Let’s go and look anyway. It might lead us to another exit we don’t know about.’
It took some effort to remember exactly where Randy had shown Olive the square patch of garden. From what she’d seen, she was sure there was no way out, but there were some unexplored corridors round that part of the building that might lead them somewhere. Of course, they were entering the section of the building they weren’t permitted in.
‘Here it is.’ Olive recognised the fire door propped open with a piece of card. Fortunately, there were a couple of windows out onto the courtyard so they were able to sneak a peek to see if anyone was out there. It seemed not.
Unless, of course, they counted the two feet Olive spotted poking out from one of the bushes.
‘Is that what I think it looks like?’ Veronica asked.
‘It can’t be. We’d better check.’ It was dog-walkers who were supposed to come across bodies. Not OAPs living in retirement quarters. Olive didn’t have any plans to become part of the next Rosemary and Thyme, and she dreaded to think what would happen when they needed to report finding a corpse in the courtyard.
Veronica went at quite a pace to get through the fire exit to see what was going on.
Olive’s response wasn’t so fast. It was like her body wasn’t going to cooperate with her thoughts. She would be useless in an emergency. She’d proven herself to be useless in an emergency. Perhaps that was why she was frozen to the spot – an acknowledgement that she didn’t know what to do when things took a turn for the worse.
Giving herself a mental shake, Olive hotfooted after Veronica to see what was going on. Different day. Different scenario.
Entering the courtyard, it was easier to see the shoeless feet were propped up on a bench. Odd position to leave a body, but what did she know?
Veronica got round the path ahead of Olive. ‘Randy! What are you doing?’
As Olive arrived at the spot, almost careening into Veronica (her body having caught up with her thoughts), all thoughts of dead bodies and heart attacks left her. Randy was lying on the ground, his colour perfectly pink, reading a book with his legs resting up on the bench.
‘Good evening, ladies. I’m reading my book, of course. What did you think I was doing?’
‘This…’ Veronica did a dramatic flourish of her arm ‘…is not a position any normal person adopts to read. We thought you’d gone and had a stroke or something.’
‘I didn’t think anyone could see me from in there. I always read here. Far more comfortable than any of the chairs in the lobby.’
‘Your feet are poking out. We thought we were coming to discover a cadaver,’ Olive said.
‘Why aren’t you sitting on the bench? Surely that’s what they’re for.’ Veronica was still gesticulating with her arms.
‘The grass is far comfier for my bony bum. You should try it. It’s the perfect way to top up my tan and greet the moon as it comes to play. Anyway, enough about me. What are you two doing in this part of the building?’ Randy abandoned his book and propped himself up on one elbow.
‘Nothing,’ Veronica was quick to say.
The statement giving them away in an instant, Randy’s interest was instantly piqued. ‘So why are you missing this evening’s delightful cabaret?’ Moving his legs off the bench and popping his shoes on, Randy started to get up with surprising agility.
‘I was, er, just, um, showing Olive around some of the less-well-known parts of Oakley.’
Olive hated to think how useless Veronica would be under any pressured questioning. She’d give up all their secrets in moments.
‘But I’ve already given her the unofficial tour. We covered this part. Didn’t Olive say?’ There was that twinkle in Randy’s eyes telling Olive he was winding Veronica up.
‘Um. Yes. No. Maybe.’
‘We’re looking for a way of getting out undetected.’ Olive hadn’t planned on confiding their mission to anyone else, but Veronica’s guilty look meant Randy would have guessed eventually, and as he was the unofficial tour guide of Oakley West, if anyone knew how to get out, it would be him.
‘Olive!’ Veronica chastised. ‘We’re not supposed to tell anyone.’
‘We’re not going to tell any of the staff. And I’d rather we didn’t tell all the residents, but Randy’s okay. He might be able to help us.’ Olive hoped to appeal to the old rogue’s better nature, so offered her sweetest smile. ‘Is there any chance you know of a way out? We’ll get caught if we go out of the exits we know about.’
A wicked grin broke out on Randy’s face. ‘Hmmm… what’s it worth and what are you up to?’
‘Our eternal gratitude and that would be telling.’
Randy laughed. ‘You’re off to that beach hut of yours, aren’t you? Can’t say I blame you. I’d be heading there as often as I could if I had one.’
‘We’re hoping to go there every Friday.’ Veronica let that information slip like an excitable child unable to contain the secret.
‘Veronica…’ It was Olive’s turn to do the telling off.
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