Catherine Miller - The Gin Shack on the Beach

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

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.