Christmas at the Gin Shack. Catherine Miller

the opportunity. She pushed those thoughts away, though. She’d deal with that if it ever came to it.

      ‘Did you know Richard was coming to interview, Esme?’ Veronica asked.

      ‘Nope. There wasn’t a name on the application. I thought it was a no-hoper who wasn’t able to manage the most straightforward question there was. Anyway, as we’ve agreed, we can’t fairly give you the job, Richard, without your demonstrating your cocktail-making skills.’

      ‘With pleasure.’ Richard went behind the bar and took a few extra ingredients out of his weekend bag.

      It was really nice to think Richard had gone to some effort. Olive wasn’t sure of his motives for wanting to work there, but she knew it would be a great comfort to Tony if someone capable of doing the job was left in charge.

      ‘Right, I must confess that having some insider knowledge of what the Gin Shack has featured has helped make my decision easier. I’m not sure even my mum has tried this one before.’

      Richard carefully poured out measures of gin with some fresh lemon juice, adding them to the cocktail shaker. He then raided his own supplies again, adding sugar and runny honey. ‘This cocktail is called the Bee’s Knees and it dates back to Prohibition. So it’s a bit vintage, but we could say that about some of our best customers.’

      Richard offered Olive a cheeky smile. The cheek of it, referring to his mother and friends as vintage. But then he might have a point and, quite frankly, there was nothing wrong with that. As far as she knew it was the “in” thing and she had no problem with being in.

      ‘I’ve been practising this next bit. I don’t think even Tony can do this.’ With his cocktail shaker fully charged, Richard did an impressive little routine, including a throw in the air as he spun round, ready to catch it. There were delighted shrieks from everyone, the loudest coming from Skylar.

      Richard took a little bow and Olive couldn’t help but lead a round of applause. It was hard to believe that her uptight son, who used to get his knickers in a twist over the thought of Olive enjoying herself, was now here delivering quite the spectacle. He had hidden depths and it would appear they were more alike than she ever could have imagined.

      Richard passed them all a sample of the drink to try. The cocktail was a gorgeous golden colour, like a rich champagne only without the sparkles.

      Her son had been right – Olive hadn’t tried this before. What a gorgeously simple recipe and how was it she had never thought to try something similar.

      Olive always tended to close her eyes on the first taste of a new drink, as if cutting off the sense of sight aided the tasting experience. The Bee’s Knees cocktail was sweet and sophisticated all at once. The sugar cut across the sour and the outcome was delectable.

      ‘What do you think?’ Richard asked.

      For a moment, Olive was so taken away with the flavours, she’d forgotten where she was. The murmurs from everyone else were in agreement with Olive’s own thoughts. ‘One of the nicest cocktails I’ve ever had. The only thing is… it’s not very Christmassy, is it?’

      ‘Ah. I knew you’d say that, so, in true Gin Shack tradition, that was just a sampler, trying it in its true form. I had to think about what would go with it and make it more festive. The Bee’s Knees Christmas-style coming up.’ Richard showed off his skills with the cocktail shaker again. Once he was done, he placed their drinks in front of them and, unlike the last one, this was ruby-red in colour.

      ‘What have you added in here?’ Randy asked, holding it up to the light.

      Along the rest of the bar everyone else was sniffing or peering at the drink, trying to work it out before having a taste.

      Olive was pretty sure she knew what it was and how pleasing it was that her son might have inherited a feel for good flavour combinations. She went in for a taste to confirm whether she was correct. Just as she thought, Richard had added a cranberry liquor. Not too much so the honey wasn’t apparent, but enough to give a taste and, although it didn’t sing Christmas in the way mulled wine might, it did say seasonal with a slight twist on a classic.

      ‘I thought cranberry counted as a Christmas flavour,’ Richard said, confirming the taste to anyone who’d not worked it out.

      ‘This is gorgeous,’ Veronica exclaimed, with everyone else agreeing.

      ‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ Randy said, glancing along the bar to catch everyone’s attention.

      And as if they’d all practised it, in a very Apprentice-style manner, they all said (including Tony, if it was possible to identify the tiny voice)…

      ‘You’re hired!’

Chapter Eight

      Even though Olive was allowed to exit through the front door of Oakley West these days, today she was scooting out via a side exit. It was because she’d had to make use of the fridge in the staff break room to stow away an ingredient or two.

      Retrieving what she’d hidden, Olive set off on her venture down to her beach hut. It was nice there was no longer the worry of being discovered by Matron. Admittedly not quite as thrilling, but she’d just have to get her kicks elsewhere.

      It was why she was so delighted about the cocktail competition. It was all very well being on a journey to find the best G&T, but when there were so many delicious gins these days, it was almost an impossible task. Formulating a winning gin-based cocktail seemed like a challenge she could master, though. Especially given the theme. She’d thought long and hard about the flavours that would work well together. Richard’s take on the Bee’s Knees cocktail had been delicious, no doubt about it, but it didn’t say ‘Jingle Bells’ all the way. Or even Gingle Bells, come to that. The thought reminded her she needed to talk to Esme about their planned weekend in the hotel part of the Gin Shack. She would quite understand if it was something Esme no longer wished to undertake, given she was helping her husband recuperate. She’d have to find a quiet moment with her to see whether the plan was going to be scrapped or go ahead. Because if it was going to happen, they would need to get a move on.

      Not able to do any more about it right now, Olive concentrated on attempting to start her recipe idea. The combination she was trying today was a risk. There was every chance it would taste foul, hence why she was carrying out some experiments to see if she could make it work. She wanted to create the taste of a mince pie in a drink. She’d had the idea that infusing the gin with the mincemeat and letting it soak up the taste might work really well. But having never really done anything like that before, she wasn’t sure if the taste would be taken on by the gin, and even if it did infuse, there was every possibility it would be disgusting. The only problem was she didn’t have a clue about measures or what length of time to let the permeating carry on. Or what other flavours it might need to create the right balance.

      But Olive was determined to crack it. And if she worked hard to get it right, it might be the perfect Christmas cocktail. She just hoped nobody else produced anything similar and, of course, that hers was the best.

      The morning was a crisp one. Olive was glad she wasn’t planning on a dip today because she didn’t fancy getting chilled to the bone. All was silent, other than the comforting roar of the waves and the wind carrying the early calls of the seagulls. Westbrook Bay was blissful when she was the first to arrive in the morning. Not a soul about to distract her from her thoughts and just the sweet harmony of the sea chorusing in her direction.

      The walk along to the beach hut was getting harder, although Olive didn’t like to admit to the fact. And it wasn’t because her fitness levels were rubbish. It was simply because she was getting older. Joints that once had a full range were now creaking in a way they never had. Aches that once never bothered her were beginning to take their toll. More than once, a mobility scooter had been mentioned to her now that the once ten-minute walk was taking her nearer to twenty. But there was something so defining about having one. She didn’t want to