Читать книгу The Gin Shack on the Beach - Catherine Miller - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Olive had already seen the room she was destined to move into. When she’d visited, it had reminded her of a bed and breakfast: quaint in its own way, but it would take some time for her to call it home. Even with her bags now here and mostly unpacked it didn’t take away from the fact it felt like a temporary stopping gap. There was no escaping the sense it was a hotel room and she was on holiday for a week. It probably wasn’t helped by the fact that Oakley West had once been a thriving hotel. The whole place had a very art deco feel to the interiors and was grand enough to be classed as five-star living. The building itself was rectangular with a turret on each corner of the building making it look like a miniature castle. Inside it was all high ceilings and every room was much larger and more imposing than it needed to be. It wasn’t exactly homely.

‘Can I help you unpack anything else?’ Richard asked, returning from placing her towels in the en-suite bathroom. Of course, they supplied their own, but Olive didn’t want to give up all the familiarities of home.

There were only Olive’s clothes left to unpack and after this morning, especially after this morning, she didn’t think Richard needed the added embarrassment of unpacking her smalls. ‘There’s just the pictures to hang on the walls.’

She said it without thinking about the photos or the memories they contained. She should have waited. Got one of the staff to put them in place later on.

‘Where do you want them?’

The first was an old black and white photo. It was the last taken before their world had changed. When their family was complete. A lifetime ago. The last evidence of a time when they were whole.

Richard didn’t even glance at the image. Just waited on directions of where it should be hung.

This was where they differed. Richard spent so much of his life sweeping it under the carpet. Pretending things hadn’t happened and then moving on like they never had. Olive wasn’t like that. She couldn’t forget. She didn’t want to. She immersed herself in happy memories from the past.

But what provided comfort for one was a source of pain for another. It had always been like that, the fractures the past had created still so apparent despite the years in-between.

‘That one can go by my bed.’ Olive scraped enough air from her lungs to create a sentence. She wanted to say so much more. She wanted to talk about the past without the fear of causing upset. Some days the tension wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but at times it was so present it affected their every interaction.

Rather than bearing the awkwardness of Richard ignoring the pictures, Olive went through them and selected two for the other hooks. She’d have to see if she could put more up in the room – either that or have the smaller prints upright in photo frames. As she propped them against the wall ready for him to put in place she realised they were all old photos. None of them was of recent times. They were all from decades ago.

‘Are we ready for the tour?’ Matron burst into the room without knocking.

In that instant, Olive decided she didn’t like her. ‘Do we really have to call you Matron?’ It seemed a little ridiculous considering they weren’t in a boarding school. The formality was unwarranted especially if they were trying to create the warm and welcoming environment all the brochures harped on about.

‘Everyone does. I like to keep this place as shipshape as possible and I’m sure it helps, knowing who’s in charge.’

It was a bit of a lame reason for making Olive feel like she was moving into a Carry On film, but she wasn’t going to argue. If it made the woman feel important then she wasn’t going to point out her role didn’t involve any nursing at all.

Oakley West was a retirement complex. If it was in America they’d be coasting around on buggies and spending their days basking on a golf course. But it was an old hotel on the British coast instead. It was being run by a new company who were selling it as the comfortable way to retire. Rather than warden-controlled flats where you sat by yourself, the hotel facilities allowed for a communal atmosphere where residents ate together and had staff on hand if they required help. It was for the active oldies of the world who wanted companionship and an easier way of life. And instead of golf courses, Oakley West had a programme bursting at the seams with activities on offer. It was enough to make a person want to retire all over again just looking at the timetable.

‘Shall we?’ Matron coaxed them to follow her, obviously in a hurry to get on with it. ‘I know we showed you when you came for a look round, but it’s good to have a refresher now you’re here, to help you settle in.’

Olive thought letting her finish unpacking might help with settling in more, but she couldn’t remember where she needed to head at dinnertime and she was a woman with her priorities in the right place. Knowing where to locate food was obviously very high on the list.

As they followed Matron through the plushly carpeted corridors, Olive wondered why the woman needed to wear a uniform. It took away from the relaxed atmosphere Oakley West was supposed to convey. There was no doubting she was a woman who liked to exert authority. She was one to be aware of, and as she was in charge, it wasn’t the best of starts.

Matron coaxed them into the lifts and they travelled to the ground floor. The reception area was grand and open, with marble floors and lots of seating, not unlike how it would have been when run as a hotel.

‘Here’s reception,’ Matron said, as they reached the front desk. ‘We have a strict policy about people coming in and out. It’s important we have a handle on who is here at any particular time. If anything were to happen we need to know where all our residents are, so the desk is always supervised and we ask that you sign out, letting us know where you’re heading. We ask that all residents are back by dinnertime.’ There was a jolly smile on Matron’s middle-aged face that had a touch of “if you do everything I say, we’ll all get along swimmingly.”

‘What if I wanted to go out for dinner? Surely that’s allowed?’ Olive didn’t like how this woman wanted to take away aspects of her freedom when she wasn’t prepared to let them go.

‘There are lots of opportunity for evening excursions within the activities programme that you can sign up for. There are regular trips for dinners out, theatre visits and the cinema. If there’s anything particular you want to do just let Melanie, the activities coordinator, know. She’ll add it to the schedule for you. We just prefer that, after dark, our clients are supervised.’

‘That seems sensible.’ It was like Richard sensed Olive was ready to argue. ‘This move is to ensure your comfort and safety. They’re not stopping you going out for dinner. In fact, it sounds like they’re encouraging you to participate in a wider variety of activities.’

‘What if I want to just enjoy my own company?’ Olive didn’t know anyone here. She was used to being alone a lot of the time. Being with other people constantly was going to be a rather large shift in her personal dynamics. She wasn’t sure she was ready to be thrust into always being part of a crowd.

‘You can spend as much time in your room as you like and the library is always quiet. And you’re welcome to go out by yourself in the day.’

Richard cleared his throat. ‘My mother rents a beach hut. I’ve some concerns that she’ll spend too much time down there by herself. I’ve asked that she only go down there when she has someone with her. I’m trying to arrange it with her beach-hut neighbours. I’ve been worried for some time that, with the beach terrain, she’s going to end up falling and breaking a hip.’

‘We have supervised trips to the beach as well. I’m sure we can come to some arrangement to make sure you’re happy, Mr Turner.’ Matron smiled at Olive’s son. She had one of those expressive faces that gave away everything. There was a definite twinkle in her eye.

It made Olive shudder. They must be similar in age, and while she’d spent many a year hoping her son might find someone to settle down with, this woman would certainly never get a mother’s approval.

‘Right, let’s show you the rest of the place.’ Matron pushed on at a pace that proved she was a busy woman.

There were rooms upon rooms to be reintroduced to: the day room, the dining hall, the library, the downstairs toilets, the cloakroom, the old bar that was now used as a games room. Every space was large and easy to get lost in, with people milling about in every area. Finally, there was the out-of-bounds area for staff only – practically a quarter of the downstairs area, where the staffroom and accommodation were and residents weren’t supposed to go. Matron did an excellent job of making that very clear while batting her eyelids for Richard’s benefit.

Luckily, her son seemed to be oblivious. Richard was too busy making sure she was okay. Ensuring she was mollycoddled to the nth degree. His concern for her was sweet. It had been that way ever since it was just the two of them, but there were times when it suffocated her. She was the parent. Even in her eighties, it felt like it should be her looking after him, not the other way round.

When the tour was at last over and Richard was satisfied she was settled enough, it was a pleasure to finally be able to close the door and have some time to herself. She was tired. It was only three in the afternoon, but it had been quite the day. Life had changed beyond recognition. These four walls were the new confines of her life and, although it was something she’d agreed to, she wasn’t sure if she was ready for it.

The moment that had driven her decision flicked into her mind. The time a teabag became a flying saucer and she wasn’t able to move. She was here in case it ever happened again. She was here to be looked after, and even if Matron was a prickly personality to deal with, she needed to make it her home.

Remembering some items she’d packed in hopes of creating a sense of homely comfort, Olive raided her suitcase.

It was something she normally did at the beach hut. Her end-of-day ritual. She’d not thought to pack a glass. She’d thought there’d be some in the room, but it seemed she would need to supply her own. There was a teapot with two cups and saucers by the kettle. It was very quaint and B&B-like. It wasn’t how she’d usually prepare a G&T, but the teapot provided a perfect mixing vessel.

Carefully, Olive measured the gin and tonic in the correct proportions for her tastes before adding some lemon slices and a sprig of mint. She’d not worked out how to transport ice cubes so it was lacking in one aspect, but it was better than nothing. She replaced the gin in her bag, hiding it in case her son returned. It was a local variety that her husband, John, had favoured. To this day, it remained one of her top choices and she was never too sure if that was down to the taste or nostalgia. She suspected both.

Olive had a choice of places to sit and enjoy her drink and she opted for the obvious: the high-backed chair in the bay window that enjoyed views of the bay. It really was the perfect spot. It was a dream to have this view. A lifetime of wishful thinking had finally given her the perfect vantage point of her beloved beach. So, it was bittersweet to raise her glass, or rather teacup, as she always did, wishing John and Jane well, wherever they were.

It was no good, though. However pleasant it was drinking G&T poured from a teapot, gazing out at the perfect view, it wasn’t the same as having her evening nightcap on the patio of her beach hut. There was something more grounding about being at one with the lapping waves and the sea breeze. There, she was somehow more connected to the past.

The rules Matron imposed on Oakley West were all very well and good, but not if she wanted to enjoy a quiet G&T at the end of the day as she always did. And if Matron wasn’t going to let her out for an evening stroll by herself, then she’d have to find a way to make it happen without her knowing.