Catherine Miller - The Gin Shack on the Beach

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

‘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.