With only a few weeks left till Christmas, it would seem the spirit of goodwill was already spreading across Westbrook Bay. Because, rather than carry out the early morning brawl they should have, Olive and Matron were being nice to each other.
Rather than leaving Olive to it, Matron helped her to her feet and walked her back to Oakley West to make sure she got there safely. And when Matron (who was insistent on being called Helen) told Olive she was occasionally sleeping on the beach-hut floor, Olive didn’t get angry about her beach hut being used when it shouldn’t, and instead vowed to do something to help.
It was why she was at the Gin Shack now, hoping to speak to Richard. Although as none of the doors were open, it didn’t look that hopeful that he was up yet.
If he was even there?
With the whole intruder at the hut/getting folded like a sandwich/being rescued by homeless Matron saga, it would have been easy to forget the earlier incident in the evening when Skylar had run away.
Richard would have escorted her home if it hadn’t been for her insistence that he make sure Skylar get back home okay. Was it too much to hope that his absence from the Gin Shack this morning was a positive sign that things were okay between the fledgling couple?
It left Olive at a bit of a loss as to what to do. Her Segway was still stuck in her beach hut with no battery charge. She’d have to get someone a bit more fit and able to wheel it up the slope for her so she could get it somewhere ready to recharge it. The closest place for that would be the beach café, and of course that wouldn’t require any dragging it up any slopes, but she didn’t think she wanted to start getting friendly with her friend’s ex, who’d already shown his behaviour was poor.
It was something to sort out another day because, right now, she didn’t have the energy to fetch the charger let alone anything else. Last night had left her so tired she was ready to sleep for thirteen years, and that really was a problem at her age.
Olive whizzed off a couple of messages in the hope of locating her son and, as the outside seating hadn’t been popped outside yet, went in search of a seat.
There was one obvious place to go and she was glad of an excuse to. She’d missed it in the weeks since Tony had been poorly. She’d have to make some special visits to her husband’s memorial bench until they reinstated their weekly meetings. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too much longer. As it stood, she knew the next cocktail on the menu was Tony’s and he’d gone for a mulled wine theme. Olive hadn’t tasted it yet and wasn’t sure if wine and gin worked, if indeed they were the ingredients. She would have to wait to savour that one.
Olive would be privy to all the cocktail recipes soon. She needed them for the Gingle Bells retreat as she was in charge of the cocktail masterclasses. She’d decided with Esme that, as it was a Christmas-themed weekend, teaching their Christmas cocktails would be the best type of tutorial to include. Esme was also planning a big Christmas lunch and the classes would be fitted around that, with one in the morning and one in the afternoon.
Now the plans for the weekend were firmly in place, Olive was looking forward to it and it would be a welcome distraction from everything else that was going on. Rival bars being opened by less-than-savoury characters was the last thing they needed in Westbrook Bay.
Olive smoothed a hand over one of the weathered wooden slats of her husband’s bench as if the gesture somehow brought them closer together. Oh, how she wished it would. There were so many things she would tell him if he were here. And so many questions she would ask.
‘What would you make of it all?’ Olive asked out loud, truly wondering and hoping the wind would bring an answer.
There was no one about. Not a soul was stirring on the beach, seeing as it was before breakfast time in the average household. There was a chance there might be some dog walkers about on the clifftop, but would they hear her when she was surrounded by bushes and the garden was below the clifftop level? Hopefully not.
‘Why do I still feel uneasy?’ The doctor had said everything was okay. The TIA clinic appointment had revealed the same. It wasn’t illness causing her to feel like this. It was too many uncertain changes occurring all at once.
Of course, John couldn’t answer, but if he was in another realm, hopefully he would hear her and keep an eye on all of them. After all, it was because of their shared love of gin that Olive had continued her search for the perfect G&T after his death, and that the Gin Shack had ever come into existence. She was pretty sure, if he was still about (in whatever form), he’d have a vested interest in making sure all of the Gin Shack crew were okay.
‘I can’t even explain it,’ Olive said, still chatting to herself and not sure what she hoped to gain from doing so.
Knowing Matron was the person using her beach hut for her own purposes should have alleviated Olive’s worry. They’d chatted about it on the walk to Oakley West and Helen had explained how she had a job at another local care home as an overnight carer. It was a sleeping job, getting up as required, so in order to save money she’d remained of no fixed abode as she’d lost her living quarters at Oakley West when she’d lost her job. It meant there were a few nights when she’d not managed to get a cheap room at the local TravelStop, and that was when she’d taken advantage of Olive’s hut. Getting in had been easy as she had a copy of the key back from the days when Oakley West had been put in charge of the beach hut. She’d just failed to hand that one item back. She’d been using Olive’s towels as a pillow, and her disappearance the morning Olive had discovered an intruder had been easy as Olive hadn’t been paying attention when she’d been awaiting the arrival of Randy and Veronica metres away from the hut.
They were all logical explanations. They provided the reassurance that Olive wasn’t losing her marbles after all, but still there was unease resting in her thoughts.
Partly it was the thought of Matron – sorry, Helen – being homeless. Despite how horrid Helen had been when she’d worked at Oakley West, in part it had only been in an attempt to protect her family, and Olive could understand that. Who wouldn’t do what they were able to for the ones they loved? She certainly didn’t deserve to be without a home as a result. And Olive hated to think she might have had a part in the poor woman’s falling on hard times.
The thought of family made Olive realise exactly what it was that was leaving her feeling so ill at ease. It was the man who’d shown up out of the blue: Pete. He was undoubtedly responsible for the bottom stunts, and how heartless not to have mentioned his arrival to the mother of his child. It was not the kind of behaviour Olive expected from any decent human being.
What would happen was yet to be seen. It wasn’t something to welcome at any time of year, but especially in the run-up to Christmas. It made Olive even more flustered to think that someone would try and ruin a special time of year. It made her want to make it up to Skylar and Lucas and surprise them by turning her beach hut into a little grotto, like she used to do for Richard when he was a boy. It was years since she’d done it and if she could find the time it would be fun to do.
Strangely, thinking about her little beach hut made her realise it wasn’t just Pete making her feel uneasy. It was three pieces of paper. Three brown scraps of tissue paper attached to her beach-hut sign. She wanted to know who’d put them there and why. Matron had sworn it wasn’t her. That just left the question of who had.
Olive stroked the bench again, this time for reassurance. She had nothing to support the notion, but the opening of Bottoms Up seemed to spell trouble, and she was sure those streamers were linked to the place. And if they were, it was very unsportsmanlike. And it meant it was more than likely Pete knew where Skylar’s beach hut was. And if that was the case, there was no way the opening of his business on the bay where Skylar spent most of her time was an accident.