Christmas at the Gin Shack. Catherine Miller

mouthful of pulled pork-filled baguette into her gob, she relaxed on her seat, taking in the scene. It was as blissful as could be.

      Everyone was merrily munching, too busy filling their faces for chat. It was only Tony who wasn’t eating, clearly too tired from long hours at the Gin Shack. He was leaning back on his deckchair with his sunhat covering his face.

      It was a shame because Olive liked nattering with Tony on a Sunday. The business took up so much of his time that they didn’t get the chance to chat the way they had during his brief period of unemployment.

      Richard was too busy chomping away at his food to talk, and more engaged with keeping an eye on Lucas than wanting to make conversation with his dear old mother.

      Too stuffed to carry on eating, Olive decided to relax a bit more on her deckchair, allowing her stomach to stretch out. If she was lucky, if she rested, she might find her second wind to enjoy the rest of her plateful. The pulled pork was too yummy to want it to go to waste.

      There was comfort in listening to the sea. In the way it could drown out the thoughts that sometimes overcrowded the mind. Olive’s mind was calmer these days, now her son was in her life more. There were still the shadows, but the present-day was more apparent and she herself more content than she’d ever been. Today it was the stupid crafted arse that was troubling her. If there was anything she didn’t like in life, it was bullying and viciousness. However harmless a manifestation the craft-style-graffiti had taken, it still stunk of both. It was possibly the most passive-aggressive form of insult she’d ever come across. It had obviously been planned and meant with intent, and Olive was certain this would not be the end of it. Whoever had placed that sign would be back to cause trouble again. The only questions left were: why had they and why would they even bother? But so far there’d been nothing more, so it was hard to put a finger on why it was still bothering her. She certainly seemed more concerned than anyone else.

      There was a new pitch in the air. Above the sound of the waves and the boys playing cricket. It was such a unique sound there was nothing to compare it to. It was somewhere between the sound of snoring and the slurpy noise the bath plug makes when the last of the water exits.

      It was the death rattle.

      Olive sat up immediately, unable to fathom why she was hearing the sound. Maybe it was an echo. A memory. She’d worked at the hospice for many years until her retirement. She’d lost count of the number of people she’d observed as they passed away. She remembered the last lady she’d been with when she’d died. The family lived an hour away and had opted not to stay overnight. Typically, when the time came, it was during the night and too quick for the family to be by her side. As it was Olive’s last shift, she’d volunteered to stay with the lady to make sure she was comfortable in those final hours. It was more like minutes, and Olive had held that lady’s hand while the warmth remained, but life did not. Her death rattle had been short and sharp, those gasps where the body was grasping for air, but the heart had weakened too much to help the lungs in their battle.

      That noise didn’t belong here. Olive glanced over at Randy and Veronica, wondering if the sound of old codgers snogging might create a similar sound effect. Fortunately, despite their obvious affection for each other, they’d not started French-kissing like teenagers at every given opportunity, but there was always a chance they would.

      They hadn’t. Instead, like pretty much everyone else, they were busy enjoying the feast on offer today.

      Olive told herself she must be imagining things. There were plenty of odd noises to be heard here. Even the seagulls could squawk in a way that made it seem like there was a mass bird strangulation occurring. Maybe they were having a spat over a chip.

      And then there it was again.

      The rasp. So distinct. So clear. A sound that etched on a soul if heard. That throaty gathering of air that was barely doing its job of keeping the person alive.

      Without thinking, Olive moved quicker than she had in the longest time. She knew exactly where the sound was coming from and it was so entirely out of place.

      She was old. She should be making that noise. It should be her. Or Randy. Or Veronica. Not Tony. They were so much closer to death than he was. He was barely in his fifties. He had teenage children. He’d started a new career with the Gin Shack. This wasn’t his time.

      With two quick manoeuvres, she batted away the hat that had everyone else thinking he was snoring, and did something she’d never had to do before in her life. Whereas previously she’d only had to hold a hand to make sure someone wasn’t taking their final journey alone, this time, there was no way she was letting life exit without a fight.

      So, despite its being nearly twenty years since she’d left the NHS, and having never performed it on an actual person, Olive found it within herself to pummel Tony’s chest like life itself depended on it. Because it really did.

      And, with every compression, Olive willed it to be the other way round. It should be her trying to die on them in spectacular fashion. Not Tony. It was way too early for Tony.

Chapter Four

      Entering the hospital doors two days later, Olive let a tremble shake through her still-aching arms. Things could have turned out so differently. Everyone at the gathering had genuinely believed Tony was snoring. Had it not been for Olive’s astonishing actions, Tony’s death rattle stopping might have gone unnoticed.

      Olive took Richard’s arm. All at once she felt frail. It hadn’t been long into her CPR efforts that her son had taken over the harrowing task, and he’d done it all while on speakerphone to the emergency services. And while she’d looked on, all the shock and adrenaline had caught up with her.

      The history of her past meant emergencies terrified her. The loss of her husband and daughter in an accident had seen to that. But it would seem she had less of an aversion to blue lights than she used to. In fact, since the start of the Gin Shack Club she’d had run-ins with all the emergency services, and some of them now frequented the Gin Shack on their days off.

      With Tony, that sense of terror hadn’t been there. It had been instinct. She knew what to do and she’d been the only person aware there was a problem. It wasn’t until they had him in the ambulance – barely alive – that the sense of fear had started, and it hadn’t let up yet. And being eighty-four, having something concern her enough to age her was always going to take its toll.

      Tony had needed emergency surgery as soon as he’d arrived at the hospital. It had been a massive heart attack and a triple emergency bypass had been required to get everything working as it should again. The hours of waiting to find out how he was were the longest Olive had ever experienced. They took the decision not to open the Gin Shack that evening, and instead, while Esme and the boys were up at the hospital, the rest of them sat in the snug area of the bar at a loss as to what to do.

      It had been a strange period of time, with little said, and Olive had spent most of it cuddled in a blanket with Lucas, Skylar’s boy, appreciating what a blessing it was that he was happy to snuggle with her. Admittedly, he was mostly agreeable over it because his mum was letting him play on his tablet, giving him unprecedented screen time, but even this young boy was feeling the effects of what had happened. And as she had the biggest soft spot for him, she was glad to be distracted by making sure he was okay, even if she was useless at helping with the game he was playing.

      And, quite frankly, even though she’d been hiding it well, Olive had also been terrified. Tony was one of her closest friends. She’d watched his family grow. Together they’d somehow taken an idea of Olive’s and turned it into so much more, and the Gin Shack was thriving under his guidance. Olive couldn’t imagine life without him. She’d never wanted for another husband after losing John, but Tony had become her work husband, for want of a better term. He was the one she chatted to enthusiastically about new limited-edition varieties of gins coming out. She was the one he grumbled to about the quotes he’d been given for upgrading the bathrooms. They’d become more than friends. They were a work team. They shared a passion and were