Catherine Miller - The Gin Shack on the Beach

You’re never too old to try something new!

When octogenarian Olive Turner is persuaded by her son to move into a retirement home, she congratulates herself on finding the secret to an easy life: no washing-up, cooking or cleaning. But Olive isn’t one for mindless bingo with her fellow residents, and before the first day is over she’s already hatching a plan to escape back to her beloved beach hut and indulge in her secret passion for a very good gin & tonic.

Before long Olive’s secret is out and turning into something wonderful and new. Only a select few are invited, but word spreads quickly about the weekly meetings of The Gin Shack Club. Soon everybody on the beach wants to become a gin connoisseur and join Olive in her refusal ever to be forced into acting older than she feels.

A journey of friendship, defiance and a quest for the perfect G&T.

Praise for CATHERINE MILLER

‘An emotional debut written straight from the heart’– Julie Cohen, author of Dear Thing

‘A great concept with a theme lots of women will relate to. I really enjoyed it.’ – Katie Fforde, author of A Summer at Sea

‘Memorable characters and a life-enriching, emotional plot. Love it.’– Sue Moorcroft

‘A highly-emotional, moving novel, full of longing, hope and surprises waiting just around the corner.’ – Becca’s Books

‘Only a few pages in, and I couldn’t stop reading, having found myself involved in Fliss’s story and eager to find out what happened next.’ – Portobello Book Blog

‘This book had many things I love in a good book and it kept me guessing with twists I wouldn’t have expectedand moments that made me giggle.’ – A Writer in a Wheelchair

‘I thought this book was very realistic in its depictions of modern motherhood.’ – Alicia (Goodreads)

‘ Waiting for You was an easy book to read as it was so engaging. The writing flowed well and it was well plotted out. There were quite a few surprises I had no idea were coming, just when I thought I had it all worked out!’ – Rock Chick Blog

‘A great read which I thoroughly enjoyed.’ – Fiona’s Book Reviews

Also by Catherine Miller

Waiting for You

All That Is Left of Us

The Gin Shack on the Beach

Catherine Miller

CATHERINE MILLER

When Catherine became a mum to twins, she decided her hands weren’t full enough so wrote a novel with every spare moment she managed to find. By the time the twins were two, Catherine had a two-book deal with Carina UK. There is a possibility she has aged remarkably in that time.

Catherine was an NHS physiotherapist, but for health reasons (uveitis and sarcoidosis) she retired early from this career. As she loved her physiotherapy job, she decided that, if she couldn’t continue, she would pursue her writing dream. It took a few years and a couple of babies, but in 2015 she won the Katie Fforde bursary, was a finalist in the London Book Fair Write Stuff competition and highly commended in Woman magazine’s writing competition. Soon afterwards she signed with Carina. Soon after that, she collapsed in a heap and was eventually revived by chocolate.

Catherine is one-eighth of the award-winning bloggers The Romaniacs: https://theromaniacgroup.wordpress.com/

You can follow Catherine on Twitter @katylittlelady

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Praise

Book List

Title Page

Author Bio

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Epilogue

Excerpt

Acknowledgements

Copyright

This one’s for my real-life Randolph. The best Grandad a girl could hope for. The world doesn’t have enough Randolphs, especially since this one left. It seemed right to address the balance by creating fictional ones. And while the Randy in this story isn’t based on my grandad, they both have one familiar trait: that cheeky twinkle in the eye.

Randolph Harris Austen

22 ndSeptember 1923 – 20 thMay 2012

Chapter One

Most days, there was nothing in the world more comforting than swinging open the beach-hut doors, thermos in hand, breathing in the sweet seaweed breeze of Westbrook Bay. This was Olive Turner’s sanctuary. Her place of restoration. Of being at one. A place to fart loudly where no one else could hear.

No one was ever here as early as Olive. The other beach-hut owners, people who’d become her friends over the years, were not early birds like her. The only other human being she’d ever spotted here at six in the morning was a lady similar in age to her whom she watched with guarded respect every week as she went for her swim in the sea. There was something about it that was equal parts admirable and crackers. Who did that? Although there weren’t many eighty-four-year-olds about who were unable to sleep in their own homes for all the ghosts walking around those familiar rooms. Here, by the beach, watching life go idly by, was her preference.

Which was why today was different. It was why every beach-hut owner in Olive’s row was going to break the mould and meet her here at eight-thirty. Because if there was one thing she wasn’t going to give up, it was her shabby-chic, duck-egg-blue, sanity-sparing beach hut.

Giving up her house wasn’t going to be the hardship she might have imagined. With a home, one should have foundations, a connection to the bricks and mortar that told the story of a lifetime. But whatever roots had been there for them as a family had died many years before. What had happened had been enough to shatter any sense of belonging. It was also enough to shatter the people left behind. And recent events meant she’d had a knock to her confidence. Living alone didn’t have the same appeal it once had.

Olive decided to continue her morning routine as usual. Nobody would arrive for at least the next couple of hours. She folded out her garden chair so it faced the rising sun. Even though it was July there was still a nip in the air at this time of the morning, so she grabbed her blanket from the ottoman inside the beach hut. The chink of glass as she hauled it out reminded her she’d need to replace it before anyone arrived. The last thing she needed was her son finding her stash of bespoke gins, giving him an even more valid reason to deprive her of the beach hut. A little alcohol never hurt anyone, although the same couldn’t be said for too much.

This wasn’t about that, though. This was about keeping some form of independence. She might be older than she once was and there might have been that one incident, but there was nothing wrong with her marbles or her constitution and she wasn’t going to let her son boss her about without a fight.

It was why she was glad she would have her friends here in her corner. If there was one thing guaranteed with Richard, it was that he wouldn’t like a show. It had been a strange and terrible thing to witness the relationship with her son go so sour over the years. It was as if neither of them had ever adjusted to the changed dimensions, even after all this time. She didn’t want to resent him, but it had been hard, watching him become so seemingly unfeeling when it didn’t need to be like that.