Olive didn’t get to go and give Skylar a hug like she’d hoped. It was odd. In the past when she’d met one of Richard’s girlfriends, it had always been a bit of a serious affair where they’d come for Sunday dinner or she’d met them up in London and gone for dinner in some posh restaurant. The longest relationship he’d had, in his late thirties, had lasted about six years, but ended when they realised they didn’t want the same things. Olive had guessed one of them had wanted children and the other hadn’t, but she’d never probed too deeply into the exact ins and outs. She’d figured Richard would tell her what he wanted to, and if the potted version was all she was ever going to get, then she had to be happy with that.
So, it was kind of strange not to have a formal introduction, involving an awkward dinner where Olive tried to suss the new person in her son’s life out. In this case, Skylar was her friend. In fact, Olive was the reason they’d met in the first place. And, thinking back, Richard hadn’t given up walking around in a shirt and tie at every opportunity back then. They’d very nearly been polar opposites, so it was an unexpected pairing in many ways, but Olive had noticed how they’d been there for each other, and now that friendship had blossomed into something more.
It turned out the bar was so busy, they couldn’t locate Skylar at all. Instead, Olive went in search of Veronica and Randy while Richard chatted to some of the Gin Shack regulars.
Navigating the space wasn’t particularly easy. There wasn’t the roominess they enjoyed at the Gin Shack. The indoor seating area had only been small in the old café as most of their trade had been seasonal and the majority of the seating had always been along the promenade. Now, instead of the seated tables they used to have, there were smaller circular tables higher up, with what could only be described as perching stools. They certainly weren’t for people like her. They were for taller, trendier people. The bar itself was where the deep-fat fryers used to be, so it looked like takeaway fish and chips were definitely off the menu.
The walls were covered in burgundy or silver and they had done a good job of making the most of the space, but it lacked a sense of being inviting. Whereas the Gin Shack managed to appeal to all ages, Olive figured they were going for the younger spectrum of the market, possibly having not researched the actual age of the population in the area.
Olive found Randy and Veronica holed up in a corner, up on bar-stools that made them look like they were struggling to stay upright. Perhaps the Bottoms Up title was more apt than it should be. If they really were as uncomfortable as they looked, she couldn’t imagine any of the Oakley West residents visiting here very often. None of them were very well known for wanting to stand up for long periods of time. It would seem the seating didn’t extend to comfort.
Veronica flagged her over, having managed to secure a spare stool for Olive. Considering there wasn’t much happening in the newly opened bar apart from people trying to find a square inch of space, even though it looked like she might need to do a run up and jump, sitting down seemed like a good call.
As she thought, getting onto the seat was the most unceremonious thing she’d ever done. She wasn’t tall enough to just slide onto it casually. Instead, she had to place one foot on the rung of the stool, and then, placing one hand on the table and one on the stool, bunk herself up. But of course it wasn’t that simple. It took three attempts and a lot of huffing and puffing and the pity of a few surrounding youngsters to get up there. And even then, when all that was done, her legs were so short she wasn’t able to place her feet on the rung of the stool to keep her position secure.
‘Being tall really does have its advantages, doesn’t it?’ Randy was obviously trying to hide his laughter.
‘Don’t you start. Otherwise I’ll go through the advantages of being shorter with you at some point.’ There was the option of elbowing him in the nuts if he really did annoy her, although she’d never stooped to that and hopefully wasn’t about to start. ‘What’s going on then?’
There really wasn’t very much going on. Not that Olive was an expert on what bar openings should be like, but she imagined they should have some nibbles out and maybe some wines to sample. Even some music would improve the atmosphere, but for now it seemed to be just a room full of people.
Near to the entrance she spotted Richard and Skylar standing together. It gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling inside to know that what she’d suspected was true. They were a perfectly not perfect couple. A mismatch that actually worked. At least she hoped so.
Part of her wanted to go over and say hello. So that the formal-informal part of it all was done. She wanted to acknowledge their relationship without any awkwardness. But considering it had taken her the best part of a quarter of an hour to get on the stool, she wasn’t about to dismount.
Instead, Olive tried to flag them over. There weren’t any more stools, but at least there was enough room for them to stand. Her waves were interrupted by a loud gong being banged, like the maharaja was about to enter the place.
Richard and Skylar hadn’t noticed Olive beckoning them over before whatever was happening started. There was a sense of restlessness within the small bar, everyone having been made to wait for so long.
Olive knew she shouldn’t point-score, but the opening of the Gin Shack had been so much nicer than this. Maybe it was because so many people had been involved and there was such a community spirit. Here it felt manufactured. As if everything they were doing was for the purpose of getting some news headlines sorted for their benefit.
‘Without further ado, I declare Bottoms Up open.’
Olive couldn’t even see who was talking. Perhaps it was the owner, who hadn’t had the decency to introduce himself to anyone involved with the Gin Shack.
The short announcement was followed by a blast of music, not unlike joining the Notting Hill carnival, and, equally in keeping, a line of dancing girls paraded out, waggling their bottoms while somehow keeping the drinks trays they were holding from clattering to the ground.
Olive had a feeling this was all orchestrated to fit in with the bottom “theme”. It was all rather crass and a bit silly in her humble opinion. As the crafted bums hadn’t worked, bring in some dancing girls, why not? It made her glad the kind of publicity they’d gained for the Gin Shack had been entirely unintentional.
A couple of the girls waggled their way round the seats the Oakley West trio were occupying. Attempting feather tickles as they went and offering a wine sample at the same time was quite a skill. But it wasn’t making Olive’s seat any more comfortable or increasing the size of the place to cure the claustrophobia. If anything, it was making it worse.
Of course, Randy was impressed by these antics. Naturally he would be, but from Veronica’s expression, she was clearly in Olive’s camp. And if Randy didn’t close his mouth, Olive was pretty sure Veronica would do it for him.
Accepting a drink in the hope the feather tickling would go away, Olive continued to people-watch from her uncomfortable position on her bar-stool. Fortunately it did mean the dancing girl went on to the next person and Olive was left in peace.
Well, relative peace. If music being blared at mega decibels could be classed as such. Rather than be a killjoy, Olive decided to taste the wine. It was red and that was all she knew about it, as that was all she could ascertain. There was no information on what brand it was or where it was from so she knew very little about the wine she was drinking.
It tasted sharp like dark chocolate with a higher percentage than she was used to. It was tart and could have been anything from the house wine to the most expensive bottle produced at the vineyard. There seemed little point in providing wine if they weren’t providing details of what the product was. How would Olive know what to ask for if she wanted to order it again? Unless, of course, they were going to copy the Gin Shack system and only offer particular wines each week.
Olive wasn’t especially keen on the wine anyway. Not that it tasted awful, it just wasn’t her thing. It laid too heavily on her palate when it was in need of a nice steak to go with it, rather than being drunk by itself.
Almost like they’d read her mind, a waiter (thank goodness he didn’t have feathers) offered a tray of mini burgers to everyone at the table. It wasn’t quite a match made in heaven, but the cumbersome snack at least made the alcohol sample a bit more drinkable.
Olive guessed the fact they’d served food must mean they still had some kitchen facilities. Perhaps they’d moved them to allow more space in here. Although there was a possibility they’d brought in outside caterers for the occasion. Either way, the burger was dry at best and the red wine still tart. God, she really was being a killjoy. At least she wasn’t saying any of it out loud. She’d honestly not come in here with the thought of being judgemental. It was just… well, so far, it was really not very good. There was probably no way of improving her enjoyment either, until someone came to help surgically remove the bar-stool from her gluteus maximus. It was probably the only way she was going to get off there.
Knowing she was hugely uncomfortable and this wasn’t going to improve, Olive decided the only thing to do was move in the hope of finding Richard and Skylar. At least they were nearer the exit if she wanted to make her escape.
‘Could you give us a hand down?’ Olive asked Randy.
Both Randy and Veronica were busy chewing their burgers in the way cows do when munching on grass. It was taking five times longer than the national average for burger consumption, they were that chewy.
Randy offered a hand, which Olive gladly grasped, although she was pretty certain getting off the stool would require an extraction team of the highest order. Mountain rescue wouldn’t feel lost on this job.
Of course, with Randy supplying a steadying yank, Olive glided forward off the seat a little too quickly, causing the stool that was somehow caught on her trousers to come crashing down with her.
The noise was enough to stop the dancing girls in their tracks. A wave of silence balanced out the crescendo.
And then, with no grace, or any style, not only did the stool go crashing down, but Olive went with it.