Christmas at the Gin Shack Read online

  Welcome in the festive season with love, laughter and the perfect G&T in Christmas at the Gin Shack – the most uplifting holiday read of 2017!

  Gingle bells, gingle bells, gingle all the way…

  Olive Turner might have lived through eighty-four Christmases, but she’ll never get bored of her favourite time of year. And this one’s set to be extra special. It’s the Gin Shack’s first Christmas – and there’s a gin-themed weekend and a cocktail competition on the cards!

  But, beneath the dazzle of fairy lights and the delicious scent of mince pies, Olive smells a rat. From trespassers in her beloved beach hut to a very unfunny joke played on her friends, it seems someone is missing a dose of good cheer.

  Olive knows she’s getting on a bit – but is she really imagining that someone in the little seaside town is out to steal Christmas? More importantly, can she create the perfect gin cocktail before Christmas Eve – in time to save the day?

  Christmas at the Gin Shack

  Catherine Miller

  ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

  When CATHERINE MILLER 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 HQDigital UK. There is a possibility she has aged remarkably in that time. Her debut novel, Waiting For You, came out in March 2016. She is now the author of four books and hopes there will be many more now her twins have started school. Either that, or she’ll conduct more gin research on Olive’s behalf.

  Contents

  Cover

  Blurb

  Title Page

  Author Bio

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Epilogue

  Christmas at the Gin Shack Recipes

  Endpages

  Copyright

  This dedication is the other half of the bookend. Because The Gin Shack on the Beach was dedicated to

  Randolph, it’s only right that Christmas at the Gin Shack is dedicated to my gorgeous nan, Rose. If she

  carries on being nice to me, I won’t let on that’s not actually her first name.

  It’s possibly testament to how quickly I’ve written this book that I partly want to acknowledge all the snacks that have got me through. Rest assured, reader, I have consumed enough chocolate and gin samples to make ensure the Christmas spirit was added to this story. I have not had a mince pie, though, and despite it being September as I write this, I must rectify this immediately.

  My thanks have to go especially to my agent, Hattie Grunewald, and all the team at Blake Friedmann Literary Agency. Your belief in Olive and the Gin Shack has given me more OMG moments than I could ever have hoped for.

  A big thanks to Clio Cornish, the editor who originally encouraged me to write this series and who I’ve had the pleasure of working with for this second book. I’m looking forward to celebrating with a Christmas cocktail soon.

  Last, I would like to thank the Olives (and Randys) in my life. I do honestly believe we all have a bit of Olive within us and I am so lucky to have had the love and support of so many beautiful woman like her. The last few months would have been so much harder without them… Mum, Nan, Amber, Eden, Brian, Sarah, Kat, Chrissie, Laura, Barbara, Pat, Lesley, Rosie, Jen, Wendy, Bea, The Romaniacs (Sue, Laura, Lucie, Debbie, Celia, Jan, Vanessa), Stacey, Steve, Gemma, Michelle, Abi, Leah, Diane.

  The list could go on and on, but as I’m bound to miss names, I also want to give thanks to some of the groups that I’m lucky enough to be involved with: Twin mums, Southampton Competition Club, SW friends, Mumsnet Get Published FB group, Romantic Novelists’ Association, and all the supportive bloggers and readers. I feel very blessed to have so many wonderful people in my life. I really wish I could magic them on to the same beach and have a wonderful Christmas knees-up.

  Prologue

  There was something beautiful about traditions. They were rituals that brought comfort in their routine. Olive’s tradition had always been to toast her late husband, John, and their daughter, Jane, with a G&T at the end of the day. She’d lost them way too early and had spent far too much time trying to recover, especially the relationship with her son, Richard.

  For many years that tradition had been followed at her beach hut. It had been a private affair without guests. A quiet moment of acknowledging what they’d had and what could have been. It was a ritual; a chance for her to reflect on the past and an opportunity to try new varieties of gin in the hope of finding the perfect combination.

  Little had she realised that a lifetime of keeping things to herself was not the way forward. The way forward had been swinging open her beach-hut doors and inviting people in to join her quest. The way forward had been to talk to her son and celebrate life. It was focusing on what she was capable of, not on the limits the world thought she should conform to.

  The small Gin Shack Club that had started at her beach hut as a once-weekly affair had soon escalated when it turned out Olive wasn’t the only person interested in discovering the perfect G&T. Never in a million years would she have thought the Gin Shack would become an actual bar, but an entire community pulling together, with her beach-hut neighbour Tony at the helm, meant it had happened with bells on.

  And because of the number of places her heart now belonged to, it meant traditions had grown. In the same way some traditions might evolve from generation to generation, Olive’s was changing with the seasons.

  As summer turned to autumn, Olive found sitting alone in her beach hut no longer held the same charm it once had. The appeal hadn’t disappeared, but it was hard to ignore the lure of spending time with friends at the Gin Shack or Oakley West so that she was in company when she had her nightly G&T and said her toast to those past and present.

  Something else had changed as well. Her son was no longer not available to spend time with his mother. Richard made time every weekend to come and stay at the Gin Shack and help Tony out if needed. He’d also given up his teetotaller status and started to enjoy the occasional drink. So, they’d started their own ritual.

  It was fitting that it took place at the memorial bench that lived in the Sunken Gardens on the clifftop of Westbrook Bay. It had been put there for her son’s benefit when he’d been a boy. He’d needed a permanent reminder of the man they’d both loved. Still l
oved. There was something very pleasing about meeting at a place that brought together the past and the present.

  ‘Beginning to get a bit nippy for meeting outside, don’t you think?’ Richard joined her on the bench.

  ‘Son, remind me who is the eighty-four-year-old?’ Olive wondered if it was too early to resort to getting her son slippers and a blanket for Christmas. He definitely had an old soul whereas Olive did not. Her body, on the other hand, was another matter.

  ‘I just don’t want you getting a chill.’ There was a chance Richard would never give up being the concerned son, but at least Olive knew it was always with her interests at heart, even if it had caused her much frustration in the past.

  ‘I’ve got three layers on, Richard. I’m hardly likely to perish. It’s October in Westbrook. We’re hardly facing an arctic freeze.’ Olive’s uniform of kaftan and linen trousers was finished off with a waterfall cardigan and bright pink fleece. She’d wrapped herself adequately enough to house fifteen bottles of gin if she’d chosen to. There was plenty of insulation to be keeping her warm.

  ‘Maybe it’s me that needs to layer up then. I should maybe practise what I preach.’ Richard was in a shirt and trousers. Less casual than he’d managed in the days when he always wore a business suit, but still not casual enough to lay testament to the fact that he’d in any way learned the art of relaxation. It was progress, though, at least.

  ‘What’s on the menu this week then?’ Richard said, their new weekly ritual already set in stone.

  ‘We can’t start until Tony gets here. You know that.’ Olive undid her fleece. Okay, so there weren’t nineteen gin bottles in there, but the internal pockets served very well for thermos flasks.

  ‘One day I’ll get a sneak preview before he does.’

  ‘Now we can’t go breaking with tradition and, as Tony runs the Gin Shack, it does seem fitting that he should get to taste the menu he’s going to be serving.’

  Sourcing and trying new gins had always been Olive’s “thing”. It was rather lovely that her hobby had become so much more, and yet she was still able to indulge in her love of exploring upcoming varieties. Even though it had been Tony’s idea to turn the Gin Shack into an actual bar, he’d been happy to leave Olive to the sourcing.

  Olive did it from her room at Oakley West Retirement Quarters with the help of fellow residents Veronica and Randy. The trio tried the new gins out, choosing what to pair them with, before Olive presented them to Tony and Richard on a Sunday morning.

  They met before all the beach-hut neighbours had their weekly group picnic. It was the day the Gin Shack didn’t open until the evening, so it gave them a chance to all get together and catch up.

  The menu was always changed on a Monday and they worked a week in advance, so if the two gins Olive had today were met with approval, then Tony would put in a bulk order ready for the coming week. No gin selections had been rejected to date.

  Olive loved that her main role was as gin taster. It was a hard job, but someone had to shoulder the responsibility. She felt, at her age, it was about the level of burden she could cope with.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Tony said as he reached the entrance of the gardens and jogged down the steps towards them. ‘Esme asked me to move some stock. I think that’s my workout for the day complete.’

  ‘Mum wouldn’t let me try them out until you arrived. That’s favouritism, that is.’ Richard spoke to Tony like he was a sibling and, even though they weren’t, there was very much a family feel between Olive and her beach-hut neighbours, even more so considering what they’d been through over the summer. Moving to Oakley West had provided her with more entertainment than she ever could have imagined.

  ‘She knows my palate is better than yours. We can’t have you signing off on gins without supervision,’ Tony joked as he joined them both on the bench.

  ‘If you say so.’

  Olive ignored the banter as it continued and got to the important task of pouring them all a drink. This week they’d selected a raspberry gin and a bathtub variety. They were both clean and refreshing on the palate and she’d enjoyed both very much.

  Tony and Richard demonstrated their agreement with the noises they were making and the expressions on their faces as they took sips from thermos lids. It wasn’t quite the refinement of the Gin Shack, where they prided themselves on presentation, but this was just for the purpose of a taste test.

  ‘These are perfect before we head into Christmas season.’ Tony admired the liquid as if it had taken on female form. ‘Then it’ll be time to get festive.’

  ‘What have you got planned?’ Olive asked, like an excited schoolgirl.

  ‘I could tell you, but just as you’ve insisted with Richard, I can’t be giving away preview information until everyone is gathered. I’m going to arrange a planning meeting.’

  Olive realised she was going to have to start being unbearable so he’d relent and give some information. ‘Plllleeeeeesssssssseeeee?’

  ‘Let’s just say it should be ginspirational.’

  ‘Give that man a drum,’ Richard said.

  ‘Now drink up. We’ve got a picnic to get to.’ Tony wasn’t going to say any more on the matter right now.

  With the final dregs, Olive lifted her thermos lid to the clouds. ‘To John and Jane, wherever you are.’ It was the toast she always whispered.

  ‘And to family and friends,’ Richard said.

  ‘And to the Gin Shack,’ Tony added.

  They all three chinked vessels and it always made Olive happy. This new weekly ritual. This nod to how all things change, but how that was sometimes for the better. It didn’t stop her wishing John was there with them. That she could be gifted the knowledge of how he would have aged or what profession their daughter would have taken up. But those thoughts no longer stopped her from appreciating the here and now. The fact she got to sit with her son and her closest friend every week, continuing the legacy she’d started with her husband, was a blessing. One she hoped always to continue. Family. Friends. Gin. They were the most important things in Olive’s life. She felt unbelievably lucky to have a life filled with all three.

  Chapter One

  Olive loved Christmas. There was no element of it that she didn’t like: the gift-giving, the chance to wear Christmas bling, the time spent with others. This year she was looking forward to it more than usual. Living at Oakley West Retirement Quarters meant it would be more of a celebration, with lots of people about (with no need to be the one cleaning up afterwards), and there were plans afoot at the Gin Shack they were due to discuss this morning. Tony was being very secretive about them and at long last she was going to find out.

  It was the reason she was hotfooting it from her beloved beach hut earlier than she would normally choose to. She wanted to get to the Gin Shack on time, ready for them to discuss ways to keep trade up during the quieter winter months, especially as she had some ideas of her own. The opening of the new bar during the summer had been more of a triumph than they could have hoped for, but there was every chance the early success might fade with the tourists not about.

  It was a crisp October day as Olive attempted to rush along the promenade. There was an early chill, proving that the best way to dress would be with many layers. She pulled her pink fleece tighter around her as she ambled along. Not for the first time, she considered whether she should invest in a skateboard to get her eighty-four-year-old backside along the concrete walkway quicker.

  When Olive finished working her way up the slope towards the Royal Esplanade, she glanced across to the Gin Shack, the sun glaring off the silver signage. It would look pretty when it was decorated; all tinselled up and shimmering like a star on top of the Christmas tree. Maybe she should mention a few decor ideas at the meeting. If there was one thing Olive believed in, it was totally overdoing it at Christmas. It was perhaps an overcompensation that had developed over the years, but when Richard had been young and they’d been alone in those first few years, throwing h
erself into the season had been what got her through.

  It wasn’t tinsel reflecting from the windows today. It was the sunshine creating quite the dazzling effect. There was something different about the frontage of the building, but she wasn’t quite able to see what.

  Moving across the green to get a better view, Olive noticed the streamers hanging in front of the door from the sign. She knew something was different. Maybe Tony had decorated after all. But streamers weren’t very Christmassy and they’d not hosted many private functions yet, apart from a birthday party a fortnight ago, and they’d only had balloons for that occasion. There’d been no streamers, at least not that she’d noticed, and she was pretty sure she wasn’t senile enough to have missed them entirely, especially as they obscured the doorway. And she’d been through the door several times since without noticing them.

  Olive shielded her eyes from the reflecting light and went to take a closer look.

  It wasn’t just streamers that had been attached. Someone had gone to the trouble of decorating the entire sign. There was now a 3D pink mould attached to it, which looked odd. Unless someone was planning on converting it into a snowman, she didn’t know what was going on. Maybe Tony’s sons, who’d made the sign in the first place, had redesigned it for the winter season. It was probably part of the agenda for this morning’s meeting.

  Olive couldn’t read it from the angle she was at, so she ventured towards it, and because of the glaring light, opted to cross the road to get a better look.

  When she was finally able to focus on the new adjustments to the sign, she had to read it five times to make sure she was seeing right.

  The added details of the sign meant it no longer said The Gin Shack. Instead the additions meant it read: The Gin’s Shite.

  ‘The gin bloody well isn’t,’ Olive said to no one in her astonishment. ‘We serve the best varieties in the world,’ she continued, wanting to put this invisible force to rights.

  And what was worse, if the slur wasn’t enough, there was a rotund pink decoupage bum with brown streamers waving out of it. Never had diarrhoea been depicted so creatively.