Catherine Miller - Christmas at the Gin Shack

‘Go on.’

Tony was always such a comfort to talk to, Olive didn’t worry about sharing her darkest fears with him. ‘This is going to sound stupid, but I couldn’t remember if I rolled or folded my towels. I swear I’ve always rolled them when I put them away at the beach hut, but the other day, when I went there, they were all folded. And for a moment, I couldn’t work out if it was something I’d done and maybe I’d never rolled them and my mind was playing tricks on me.’ It did sound silly talking about it.

‘You do always roll them. I’ve borrowed one off you enough times to be able to tell you that. So, you folded them by accident?’

Tony didn’t have any wires or drains hanging from him now and looked so extraordinarily like nothing had happened that Olive wasn’t sure she would ever stop staring at him with a sense of disbelief. How incredibly lucky they were that he was still here.

‘No, I haven’t. At least I don’t think I have. I guess that’s my worry… that I’ve done it without realising.’ What a thing to be worrying about. With all the problems in the world, towels and how they were placed in a draw seemed like a pretty pathetic thing to concern herself with. But then, if she did have a screw loose, she would like to be one of the first to know about it, not the last.

‘It’ll be Skylar or Lily or someone that’s done that. There must have been some out when I had my little incident and they may well have used some to help with clearing up. They wouldn’t have left them. They obviously took them to give them all a clean. You’ll have to ask, just to ease your mind.’

It made sense with Tony’s rational thought process. She’d have done the same if she’d been left behind that day. It had gone by in snapshots, much like the traumatic day she’d lost her husband and daughter. That thought made it all the more wonderful that Tony had survived. Balls to being embarrassed. She was going to embrace going all starry-eyed every time she saw him.

‘I knew I was being silly. It’s just been worrying me that it didn’t make sense.’

‘If I’ve eased your mind, can you help do the same for mine? Can you tell me what’s happening with the Gin Shack? Any luck with getting a replacement for me yet? Esme won’t tell me anything. She keeps saying concerning myself with it isn’t going to get me better, but what she hasn’t realised is it’s making me worry more. I keep thinking she’s not telling me anything because it’s all gone to ruin without me there.’

‘There’s not too much to tell. We decided the best way to run interviews would be to get them to demonstrate their cocktail-making skills. Esme has the details of the applicants and is inviting them to interview in a couple of days. We just need to supply the ingredients and see if they have what it takes.’

‘Blimey. You mean you’re carrying on like an episode of Cocktail and I’m missing out?’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll report back. I’m sure I can get one of your boys to set up a webcam or something if you’re that desperate not to miss out.’

Olive would have invited him to come along – sitting and watching people make cocktails didn’t seem that strenuous. But he needed to take it slowly. Plus, Esme would actually kill her because of her bad influence and she didn’t want to fall out with anyone, especially when it wasn’t worth risking Tony’s renewed health.

‘If I’m out of hospital and bored at home, then we need to sort that out. Just don’t tell Esme that’s what we’re doing. She’ll think it’s potentially going to stress me out, but really, it’s no worse than watching Masterchef , only I’ll have a bit more of a vested interest in this episode.’

‘I’d say so.’

‘And Olive, if it really is worrying you, you should go to your doctor. I’m pretty much testament to not ignoring things that don’t seem quite right.’

Olive nodded. If even Tony was telling her she needed to, then she needed to consider it. ‘I will. If anything else happens, I will.’

Chapter Seven

It was two days later that most of the Gin Shack crew were gathered in the bar making sure everything was ready for the interviewees. Esme was there, looking flustered, the strain of taking on the role of employer alongside her worries for Tony showing on her features. She was a woman in desperate need of a good sleep, preferably followed by a spa break. Olive would have to talk to Tony and see if they could arrange something as a surprise.

Besides Esme, all three of the Salter boys were there: TJ, Aiden and Noah. Randy and Veronica were there for the show along with Skylar and Paul. Mark and Lily weren’t able to join them, but, to be fair, the interview panel was already larger than most people would be used to dealing with, so it didn’t hurt that those working conventional hours weren’t able to make it. They were lucky Richard was coming down from London a day early to cover a shift, but he couldn’t leave early enough to join them for this.

Olive was missing Tony being there. Somehow it didn’t seem right making decisions about the Gin Shack without him. Although, with Aiden’s assistance, Tony was going to get to view proceedings if they got the angle right. She stole a glance at Tony’s son, who was sitting on a bar-stool at the end of the bar, apparently uninterested in what was going on, too busy with his phone. Olive knew he was setting it up ready to do a Messenger call with his dad so Tony could watch the interviews from the comfort of home. Although, knowing Esme, he wouldn’t be allowed to hold it during the interview (too right, really), so Aiden was finding a way to angle it correctly without it being obvious what was going on. It looked like he might end up propping it up against the till.

‘Who’s in charge of asking the questions then?’ Skylar asked.

‘I haven’t really come up with any formal questions.’ Esme took a pew at the bar next to her son. She had a clipboard ready to take notes. ‘I thought I could bring them in and introduce them to everybody then let them get on and do their thing. I was hoping you lot would ask some questions almost like you were customers at the bar. Just ask whatever you think is appropriate. Nothing rude.’ Esme gave a motherly stare at her twin boys. They might both have reached adulthood now, but the two eighteen-year-olds still had the essence of being teenagers running through them. ‘Do you all want to take a seat? The first interviewee should be here soon.’

There were enough bar-stools for all of them and Olive wished she could take a photo of them all lined up, their reflections a picture in the mirrors behind the bar. If anyone had ever told her this was what she’d be up to at this stage of life, she wouldn’t have believed them. The Gin Shack constantly made her feel like she was getting the chance to live all over again.

The first candidate arrived and they all carried out their introductions. He was young, probably early twenties, and a little too sure of himself. When he was asked to produce his cocktail recipe, he replied with: ‘What? You really want me to make a cocktail? I thought that was a joke.’

He went on to make a martini with no flare whatsoever and Olive would have taken a bet on its being the only drink he could muster. She took an instant dislike to him, but there was every chance he was the best of a bad bunch. Young and cocksure might be as good as it got.

‘Well, he was rude,’ Paul said, once he’d left. ‘Who takes a request to present a cocktail as part of an interview as a joke? Talk about a timewaster.’

It made Olive smile. If Paul was saying aloud what she was thinking, it really had been a poor interview. It was funny to think that Paul, who hadn’t even liked gin before, was now becoming quite the expert.