The Gin Shack on the Beach. Catherine Miller

twinkle in Skylar’s eyes. It was either that or the reflection of the bottles.

      ‘Marvellous. Well, in that case, I have something a little special I’ve been waiting to try. My friend sent me some violet syrup. Apparently, if you add it to your G&T you have a Parma violet gin. That sounded rather fun, but I’ve not got round to trying it yet. Would you like me to make you both one?’

      ‘You just combined childhood sweets with alcohol. Of course I’d love to try one,’ Skylar said.

      ‘Me too.’

      ‘Fabulous. I never really liked Parma violets as a child, so I’ll have to see if the flavour is more acceptable in the form of alcohol.’ Olive set about putting the drinks together. It was a shame she was having to forgo ice cubes. They were an essential part of a G&T and, as she wasn’t able to have a fridge-freezer in the hut, she’d taken to using reusable freezable ice cubes. They weren’t the same as the real McCoy, but they were a means to an end. It did the job even if the magical sound of ice chinking on glass was missing. But today she didn’t even have those, not having been able to find anywhere to freeze them at Oakley West without raising questions. As she added the violet syrup to the G&Ts they each started to turn a bright purple. Stirring the liquid in with straws, she hoped she’d not added too much. They’d soon know if the taste was too overpowering.

      ‘Here we go,’ Olive said as she passed the drinks to her two guests.

      ‘Wow. These look amazing,’ Skylar said.

      ‘To beach-hut trips,’ Olive said, raising her glass in a toast.

      ‘This isn’t a beach hut,’ Veronica said. ‘This is a gin shack.’ She raised her glass with a smile. ‘To The Gin Shack.’

      And it was as simple as that. With a round of toasts and a lengthy discussion on what they thought of the Parma violet flavour, The Gin Shack Club was born.

       Chapter Eight

      Olive had always known life at Oakley West would take some getting used to. It wasn’t quite the tortuous process she’d imagined, where she was stripped of her identity. In fact it was far more like the cruise-ship retirement she’d once hoped for. It was an existence where she didn’t have to want for anything. The ex-hotel was so large it was almost like being on a cruise liner, only without a built-in bowling alley or cinema. Everything she needed was available to her. The only thing absent was towel origami. If the staff could start cracking out some towels folded as swans then she’d really feel she’d arrived.

      However nice it was to feel cared for in that on-holiday type of way, however, it didn’t make up for the sense of feeling trapped. It was the same as being on a ship and not being able to get off unless it was an organised trip when they were in port. It was only to be done in conjunction with the ship’s timetable.

      While it suited most of the residents, it wasn’t how Olive wanted to live her life. She’d already had a couple of moments where she’d wanted to shout: ‘We’re not on a boat. No one’s going to drown if we go out after dark.’ She controlled the need to vocalise her annoyance, not wanting to have herself marked as a troublemaker. Instead, she kept quiet, knowing that, along with Veronica, she was testing ways to get over the threshold without an entire women-overboard search being launched.

      Having perused the entertainment programme, they were opting for Friday night as the best time to escape. Every week they had a different act booked in to amuse the residents. It varied from singers to magicians to ventriloquists. According to Veronica they were generally not especially good, and when they were bad, most of the residents would make their way to bed early.

      ‘I think I’ll read my book this evening,’ Olive said to the auxiliary nurse who was currently in charge of her care.

      ‘Enjoy,’ she said. The young girl was busy making sure everyone who wanted one had a drink. They were certainly attentive here and choosing a time when she was distracted was a good moment to go. The plan was for Veronica to make a similar excuse a short while afterwards.

      Olive returned to her room and for a moment considered bundling up pillows in her bed to make it look like she was in it. She had no idea why she was quite so worried. They weren’t even planning on escaping tonight, just finding the best route to use. Wanting it to at least look like she’d been reading her book, she placed it on the bed, and somehow this made her worry less.

      Olive nearly dropped it when there was a gentle knock at the door. Despite knowing it was Veronica, she was clearly on edge. Who’d have thought trying to visit her beach hut would make her feel like a naughty schoolgirl?

      She opened the door quietly and slipped out. Hopefully they wouldn’t pass anyone on their travels, but if they did they planned to claim they were just having a walk, which was a perfectly plausible excuse as long as they weren’t anywhere restricted.

      Silently, they wandered along to where Veronica normally made her Tuesday-morning escape. They’d already chatted through whether this was a possibility. It was near the main staffroom, so, on a Tuesday when all the staff were occupied with deliveries, it was the perfect escape route, but they suspected the same wouldn’t be true on a Friday evening.

      As soon as they entered the stairwell it was evident because of the voices travelling from below that the route wasn’t clear and this way wouldn’t be an option.

      ‘Drat,’ Veronica said, perhaps a little too loudly as the voices from downstairs lowered, and they quickly made their way back through the heavy fire door.

      ‘Where next?’ Despite having lived here for the best part of a week, Olive still wasn’t familiar with the network of corridors.

      ‘The front isn’t an option. We’ll walk into way too many people. Do you know any other routes?’

      Olive shook her head. Surely there was some way to get out. ‘I only know one other way, but it’s a dead end so that’s no good.’

      ‘Let’s go and look anyway. It might lead us to another exit we don’t know about.’

      It took some effort to remember exactly where Randy had shown Olive the square patch of garden. From what she’d seen, she was sure there was no way out, but there were some unexplored corridors round that part of the building that might lead them somewhere. Of course, they were entering the section of the building they weren’t permitted in.

      ‘Here it is.’ Olive recognised the fire door propped open with a piece of card. Fortunately, there were a couple of windows out onto the courtyard so they were able to sneak a peek to see if anyone was out there. It seemed not.

      Unless, of course, they counted the two feet Olive spotted poking out from one of the bushes.

      ‘Is that what I think it looks like?’ Veronica asked.

      ‘It can’t be. We’d better check.’ It was dog-walkers who were supposed to come across bodies. Not OAPs living in retirement quarters. Olive didn’t have any plans to become part of the next Rosemary and Thyme, and she dreaded to think what would happen when they needed to report finding a corpse in the courtyard.

      Veronica went at quite a pace to get through the fire exit to see what was going on.

      Olive’s response wasn’t so fast. It was like her body wasn’t going to cooperate with her thoughts. She would be useless in an emergency. She’d proven herself to be useless in an emergency. Perhaps that was why she was frozen to the spot – an acknowledgement that she didn’t know what to do when things took a turn for the worse.

      Giving herself a mental shake, Olive hotfooted after Veronica to see what was going on. Different day. Different scenario.

      Entering the courtyard, it was easier to see the shoeless feet were propped up on a bench. Odd position to leave a body, but what did she know?

      Veronica got round the path ahead of Olive. ‘Randy! What