Читать книгу Christmas at the Gin Shack - Catherine Miller - Страница 10

Chapter Two

It was hard to stick to any kind of agenda when there was a papier-mâché decoupage bum sculpture resting on the table.

‘I mean, why? Why would anyone go to all that effort? It seems so… pointless,’ Esme said.

Everyone had arrived for the meeting, but they were all too busy gawping at the butt for them to have gained any ground on the matters they were supposed to be discussing. Veronica and Randy had joined them, completing the Oakley West trio, and all of Olive’s beach-hut neighbours were there for the meeting: Tony, Esme and their three boys, along with Mark and Lily, Paul and Skylar.

Tony and Randy had been able to remove all signs of the vandalism with relative ease, but did it still qualify as an act of defilement if it was so easy to take off and hadn’t left any permanent damage to the actual sign? It was still plain rude, whether it was against the law or not.

‘And so deliberate,’ Paul said. It had even riled the quiet person among them. ‘That would have taken some effort. You’re talking weeks. And for the level of accuracy with how it covered certain letters and not others, that would have taken some research.’

Perhaps Paul knew more about paper crafting than Olive ever would have thought. But he was right. To have aligned it up correctly with the sign currently in place would have taken some measurements or knowledge of what they were adding onto.

‘Should we contact the police?’ Skylar asked.

Olive had really had her fill of police over the summer. The comings and goings at Oakley West Retirement Quarters had been shocking to say the least. She really thought they’d seen the back of anyone trying to put a stop to the Gin Shack. Why would anyone want to stand in the way of a place that she and many others considered to be a source of pure happiness? And this deliberate act appeared to be a clear signal that someone wasn’t in favour of the establishment. Even though she wasn’t keen on any involvement from the law, she was shaken up enough to consider the idea.

‘I don’t think they’ve really done anything wrong. The sign itself isn’t damaged and, unless anyone took a picture, there are no lasting effects. Maybe it’s a bit like yarn-bombing. We’ll have to see if anyone else gets the same kind of craft-fiti,’ Tony said.

‘What’s yarn-bombing?’ Randy asked, most of the room looking just as perplexed as he was.

Despite Tony’s explanation of the relatively harmless act of adorning postboxes or similar with decorative knitted extras, there was a hush in the room that proved none of them quite got it.

‘I still don’t see the point. Why go to all this effort, knowing it’ll be destroyed as soon as someone sees it? At least with those knitted hats for postboxes, they’re harmless. They’re just creating a kind of community spirit. This was spiteful with what they’ve said. Whoever they are.’ Veronica crossed her arms, signalling her disapproval of the act to everyone in the room.

‘I don’t think we need to involve the police,’ Tony said with some authority. ‘It’s a prank, no doubt by some local youth with nothing better to do, who wanted to flex their funny bones. We’ll ignore it and hope we hear nothing more on the matter.’

‘I’m not so sure it was a prank. This was done with intention,’ Olive said, not able to dismiss what the others seemed to be regarding as a practical joke.

‘It does seem like it’s been planned, but we’ll hold off reporting it and hope that’s the last of it. Is that okay for now?’

Olive nodded. She didn’t want to waste police time, but sensed this wouldn’t be the end of the matter.

To put a close to the buttocks being the major topic of conversation, Tony slid them off the table and propped them away in the corner.

Olive wasn’t able to stifle a quick giggle as a couple of brown streamers snagged off, leaving skid marks across the floor. She wasn’t the only one to notice as the room was taken over by various titters and Tony had to call order to proceedings.

‘On that bum note, I’d like to get round to talking about what we actually came to discuss. Is that okay with everyone?’

‘Just peachy,’ Randy said, not missing the opportunity for another pun.

‘I really want to make sure the Gin Shack continues to do well over the winter season,’ Tony said, after the giggles in the room settled. ‘The local paper has launched a Christmas cocktail competition and I really think we could win if we come up with some gin-based recipes between us. I thought we could get the customers involved and get them to vote and feature the cocktails on the menu in the run-up to Christmas.’

The Gin Shack was famous for featuring different gins. Every week customers got to try two new gin varieties and a cocktail featuring one of those gins. They were already known for their cocktail specials so it made sense that they should try and become award-winners to give their reputation some official gusto. Plus, it would be a fun way to keep attracting customers. Having had such a struggle in its early days, they needed to make sure the Gin Shack club was here to stay.

‘If it’s Christmas cocktails, does that mean they’re looking for Christmassy flavours?’ Olive’s mind was already sparking off all sorts of ideas. Christmas food was definitely in the top three of her favourite parts of Christmas. There were so many tastes they could play with, although she wasn’t sure turkey with stuffing would work as a cocktail.

‘Yes, it needs to have a name and represent the taste of Christmas. It’s open to all the pubs and bars in the Thanet area. I think it’ll generate a lot of interest. Winning won’t be easy, but, more than anything, it’ll be a fun way to keep attracting custom. I think if our clients feel involved with the decision as to what we enter, they’ll be up for trying all the recipes we come up with.’

Olive figured they would probably be doing that anyway, the popularity of the bar not having lessened despite the summer season ending. But it didn’t hurt to keep things fresh.

Tony moved on to other matters he wanted to discuss. Things like whether the staffing levels were working and the menu for the coming week.

Contemplating whether savoury flavours could ever possibly work as part of a cocktail made Olive zone out. There was every chance a turkey-and-cranberry-inspired cocktail would be repulsive, but she would only find that out if she experimented a little – and she knew the perfect place to do that – down in the original Gin Shack – her beloved beach hut. It would be fun to play with some of the ideas she had and they would need testing before being offered to the general public.

‘Was there anything else we needed to discuss today?’ Tony asked.

Surely the meeting wasn’t nearing an end already? Olive had been off in a world of her own, wondering how you turned Christmas puddings and mince pies into cocktail flavours. ‘Yes, yes, there is.’ Olive launched out of her seat, popping up like a cork with the realisation that she’d nearly missed her bus stop.

All right, not a bus stop, but the opportunity to talk about something she really thought was a missed opportunity, and wanted to try and get Tony and the others onboard with.

‘The floor’s all yours, Olive. What do you want to talk about?’ Tony sat down, letting her take over.

All eyes were on Olive now. She’d not meant to catapult herself into the spotlight with such lack of grace, but there was nothing like standing up to be counted.

‘Hummmmppphhh.’ Olive cleared her throat, not sure where to start. ‘I’ve been thinking and we should be making more use of the hotel. I know it was losing money for the previous owners, but I really think we could offer a lot more going into next year. I’m thinking hen and stag weekends, GINspirational weekends teaching the finer details of cocktail-making. That kind of thing. I know it would be a lot of work, but maybe we could do a trial one and see how it goes.’

‘I’ve been thinking about that too,’ Esme said. ‘The Gin Shack is Tony’s baby, but it runs well without much input from me these days. With the boys not needing their mum so much any more, I’d love to spruce the accommodation up. Opening it up all the time would be a big commitment, but I really like the idea of running occasional weekends. What do you think, Tony?’ Esme turned to her husband to see what he thought.

‘If you and Olive are happy to take it on as your project, then it’s fine by me. Maybe some of the others will want to help?’

There were enthusiastic nods from the rest of the room, especially from Randy and Veronica. It was fun to think the Oakley West trio would have something to keep them occupied. Life at their retirement quarters wasn’t as restrictive as it had been before, but Olive still wasn’t enthralled by the activities programme on offer. They were far better at providing their own entertainment.

‘That sounds like a plan then,’ Tony said. ‘Only question is what kind of trial weekend are you going to run?’

It didn’t take long for Olive to decide what she’d like to do. However much she fancied the idea of running a hen weekend, the chance of getting a group with the right number of people just before the end of the year was slim. ‘How about a Christmas Sparkle weekend? We could tie it in with the search for the perfect cocktail.’

‘That sounds like a great idea,’ Esme said, and there were several nodding heads agreeing with her. ‘It’ll be a Christmas gin-inspired weekend.’

‘That doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue though, does it?’ Randy said. ‘You need something catchier.’ Randy’s bushy eyebrows folded in thought.

‘Any ideas?’ Esme said.

‘How about a Jingle Bell retreat? But not Jingle, I mean Gingle,’ Veronica offered.

‘Gingle,’ Tony repeated, having his own proper laugh-out-loud moment. ‘GIN-gle, get it? That’s brilliant.’

Olive found herself laughing at the silly play on words and was delighted to be able to combine her favourite time of year with her favourite drink. She just hoped there wouldn’t be any more arsing around. Because, however funny the bum on the sign had been, it seemed more like a threat than someone larking about, and she didn’t like it one bit.