Welcome in the festive season with love, laughter and the perfect G&T in Christmas at the Gin Shack – the most uplifting holiday read of 2017!

Gingle bells, gingle bells, gingle all the way…

Olive Turner might have lived through eighty-four Christmases, but she’ll never get bored of her favourite time of year. And this one’s set to be extra special. It’s the Gin Shack’s first Christmas – and there’s a gin-themed weekend and a cocktail competition on the cards!

But, beneath the dazzle of fairy lights and the delicious scent of mince pies, Olive smells a rat. From trespassers in her beloved beach hut to a very unfunny joke played on her friends, it seems someone is missing a dose of good cheer.

Olive knows she’s getting on a bit – but is she really imagining that someone in the little seaside town is out to steal Christmas? More importantly, can she create the perfect gin cocktail before Christmas Eve – in time to save the day?

Christmas at the Gin Shack

Catherine Miller

ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

When CATHERINE MILLER became a mum to twins, she decided her hands weren’t full enough so wrote a novel with every spare moment she managed to find. By the time the twins were two, Catherine had a two-book deal with HQDigital UK. There is a possibility she has aged remarkably in that time. Her debut novel, Waiting For You, came out in March 2016. She is now the author of four books and hopes there will be many more now her twins have started school. Either that, or she’ll conduct more gin research on Olive’s behalf.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Author Bio

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Epilogue

Christmas at the Gin Shack Recipes

Endpages

Copyright

This dedication is the other half of the bookend. Because The Gin Shack on the Beach was dedicated to

Randolph, it’s only right that Christmas at the Gin Shack is dedicated to my gorgeous nan, Rose. If she

carries on being nice to me, I won’t let on that’s not actually her first name.

It’s possibly testament to how quickly I’ve written this book that I partly want to acknowledge all the snacks that have got me through. Rest assured, reader, I have consumed enough chocolate and gin samples to make ensure the Christmas spirit was added to this story. I have not had a mince pie, though, and despite it being September as I write this, I must rectify this immediately.

My thanks have to go especially to my agent, Hattie Grunewald, and all the team at Blake Friedmann Literary Agency. Your belief in Olive and the Gin Shack has given me more OMG moments than I could ever have hoped for.

A big thanks to Clio Cornish, the editor who originally encouraged me to write this series and who I’ve had the pleasure of working with for this second book. I’m looking forward to celebrating with a Christmas cocktail soon.

Last, I would like to thank the Olives (and Randys) in my life. I do honestly believe we all have a bit of Olive within us and I am so lucky to have had the love and support of so many beautiful woman like her. The last few months would have been so much harder without them… Mum, Nan, Amber, Eden, Brian, Sarah, Kat, Chrissie, Laura, Barbara, Pat, Lesley, Rosie, Jen, Wendy, Bea, The Romaniacs (Sue, Laura, Lucie, Debbie, Celia, Jan, Vanessa), Stacey, Steve, Gemma, Michelle, Abi, Leah, Diane.

The list could go on and on, but as I’m bound to miss names, I also want to give thanks to some of the groups that I’m lucky enough to be involved with: Twin mums, Southampton Competition Club, SW friends, Mumsnet Get Published FB group, Romantic Novelists’ Association, and all the supportive bloggers and readers. I feel very blessed to have so many wonderful people in my life. I really wish I could magic them on to the same beach and have a wonderful Christmas knees-up.

Prologue

There was something beautiful about traditions. They were rituals that brought comfort in their routine. Olive’s tradition had always been to toast her late husband, John, and their daughter, Jane, with a G&T at the end of the day. She’d lost them way too early and had spent far too much time trying to recover, especially the relationship with her son, Richard.

For many years that tradition had been followed at her beach hut. It had been a private affair without guests. A quiet moment of acknowledging what they’d had and what could have been. It was a ritual; a chance for her to reflect on the past and an opportunity to try new varieties of gin in the hope of finding the perfect combination.

Little had she realised that a lifetime of keeping things to herself was not the way forward. The way forward had been swinging open her beach-hut doors and inviting people in to join her quest. The way forward had been to talk to her son and celebrate life. It was focusing on what she was capable of, not on the limits the world thought she should conform to.

The small Gin Shack Club that had started at her beach hut as a once-weekly affair had soon escalated when it turned out Olive wasn’t the only person interested in discovering the perfect G&T. Never in a million years would she have thought the Gin Shack would become an actual bar, but an entire community pulling together, with her beach-hut neighbour Tony at the helm, meant it had happened with bells on.

And because of the number of places her heart now belonged to, it meant traditions had grown. In the same way some traditions might evolve from generation to generation, Olive’s was changing with the seasons.

As summer turned to autumn, Olive found sitting alone in her beach hut no longer held the same charm it once had. The appeal hadn’t disappeared, but it was hard to ignore the lure of spending time with friends at the Gin Shack or Oakley West so that she was in company when she had her nightly G&T and said her toast to those past and present.

Something else had changed as well. Her son was no longer not available to spend time with his mother. Richard made time every weekend to come and stay at the Gin Shack and help Tony out if needed. He’d also given up his teetotaller status and started to enjoy the occasional drink. So, they’d started their own ritual.

It was fitting that it took place at the memorial bench that lived in the Sunken Gardens on the clifftop of Westbrook Bay. It had been put there for her son’s benefit when he’d been a boy. He’d needed a permanent reminder of the man they’d both loved. Still loved. There was something very pleasing about meeting at a place that brought together the past and the present.

‘Beginning to get a bit nippy for meeting outside, don’t you think?’ Richard joined her on the bench.

‘Son, remind me who is the eighty-four-year-old?’ Olive wondered if it was too early to resort to getting her son slippers and a blanket for Christmas. He definitely had an old soul whereas Olive did not. Her body, on the other hand, was another matter.

‘I just don’t want you getting a chill.’ There was a chance Richard would never give up being the concerned son, but at least Olive knew it was always with her interests at heart, even if it had caused her much frustration in the past.

‘I’ve got three layers on, Richard. I’m hardly likely to perish. It’s October in Westbrook. We’re hardly facing an arctic freeze.’ Olive’s uniform of kaftan and linen trousers was finished off with a waterfall cardigan and bright pink fleece. She’d wrapped herself adequately enough to house fifteen bottles of gin if she’d chosen to. There was plenty of insulation to be keeping her warm.

‘Maybe it’s me that needs to layer up then. I should maybe practise what I preach.’ Richard was in a shirt and trousers. Less casual than he’d managed in the days when he always wore a business suit, but still not casual enough to lay testament to the fact that he’d in any way learned the art of relaxation. It was progress, though, at least.

‘What’s on the menu this week then?’ Richard said, their new weekly ritual already set in stone.

‘We can’t start until Tony gets here. You know that.’ Olive undid her fleece. Okay, so there weren’t nineteen gin bottles in there, but the internal pockets served very well for thermos flasks.

‘One day I’ll get a sneak preview before he does.’

‘Now we can’t go breaking with tradition and, as Tony runs the Gin Shack, it does seem fitting that he should get to taste the menu he’s going to be serving.’

Sourcing and trying new gins had always been Olive’s “thing”. It was rather lovely that her hobby had become so much more, and yet she was still able to indulge in her love of exploring upcoming varieties. Even though it had been Tony’s idea to turn the Gin Shack into an actual bar, he’d been happy to leave Olive to the sourcing.

Olive did it from her room at Oakley West Retirement Quarters with the help of fellow residents Veronica and Randy. The trio tried the new gins out, choosing what to pair them with, before Olive presented them to Tony and Richard on a Sunday morning.

They met before all the beach-hut neighbours had their weekly group picnic. It was the day the Gin Shack didn’t open until the evening, so it gave them a chance to all get together and catch up.

The menu was always changed on a Monday and they worked a week in advance, so if the two gins Olive had today were met with approval, then Tony would put in a bulk order ready for the coming week. No gin selections had been rejected to date.

Olive loved that her main role was as gin taster. It was a hard job, but someone had to shoulder the responsibility. She felt, at her age, it was about the level of burden she could cope with.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Tony said as he reached the entrance of the gardens and jogged down the steps towards them. ‘Esme asked me to move some stock. I think that’s my workout for the day complete.’

‘Mum wouldn’t let me try them out until you arrived. That’s favouritism, that is.’ Richard spoke to Tony like he was a sibling and, even though they weren’t, there was very much a family feel between Olive and her beach-hut neighbours, even more so considering what they’d been through over the summer. Moving to Oakley West had provided her with more entertainment than she ever could have imagined.

‘She knows my palate is better than yours. We can’t have you signing off on gins without supervision,’ Tony joked as he joined them both on the bench.

‘If you say so.’

Olive ignored the banter as it continued and got to the important task of pouring them all a drink. This week they’d selected a raspberry gin and a bathtub variety. They were both clean and refreshing on the palate and she’d enjoyed both very much.

Tony and Richard demonstrated their agreement with the noises they were making and the expressions on their faces as they took sips from thermos lids. It wasn’t quite the refinement of the Gin Shack, where they prided themselves on presentation, but this was just for the purpose of a taste test.

‘These are perfect before we head into Christmas season.’ Tony admired the liquid as if it had taken on female form. ‘Then it’ll be time to get festive.’

‘What have you got planned?’ Olive asked, like an excited schoolgirl.

‘I could tell you, but just as you’ve insisted with Richard, I can’t be giving away preview information until everyone is gathered. I’m going to arrange a planning meeting.’

Olive realised she was going to have to start being unbearable so he’d relent and give some information. ‘Plllleeeeeesssssssseeeee?’

‘Let’s just say it should be ginspirational.’

‘Give that man a drum,’ Richard said.

‘Now drink up. We’ve got a picnic to get to.’ Tony wasn’t going to say any more on the matter right now.

With the final dregs, Olive lifted her thermos lid to the clouds. ‘To John and Jane, wherever you are.’ It was the toast she always whispered.

‘And to family and friends,’ Richard said.

‘And to the Gin Shack,’ Tony added.

They all three chinked vessels and it always made Olive happy. This new weekly ritual. This nod to how all things change, but how that was sometimes for the better. It didn’t stop her wishing John was there with them. That she could be gifted the knowledge of how he would have aged or what profession their daughter would have taken up. But those thoughts no longer stopped her from appreciating the here and now. The fact she got to sit with her son and her closest friend every week, continuing the legacy she’d started with her husband, was a blessing. One she hoped always to continue. Family. Friends. Gin. They were the most important things in Olive’s life. She felt unbelievably lucky to have a life filled with all three.

Chapter One

Olive loved Christmas. There was no element of it that she didn’t like: the gift-giving, the chance to wear Christmas bling, the time spent with others. This year she was looking forward to it more than usual. Living at Oakley West Retirement Quarters meant it would be more of a celebration, with lots of people about (with no need to be the one cleaning up afterwards), and there were plans afoot at the Gin Shack they were due to discuss this morning. Tony was being very secretive about them and at long last she was going to find out.

It was the reason she was hotfooting it from her beloved beach hut earlier than she would normally choose to. She wanted to get to the Gin Shack on time, ready for them to discuss ways to keep trade up during the quieter winter months, especially as she had some ideas of her own. The opening of the new bar during the summer had been more of a triumph than they could have hoped for, but there was every chance the early success might fade with the tourists not about.

It was a crisp October day as Olive attempted to rush along the promenade. There was an early chill, proving that the best way to dress would be with many layers. She pulled her pink fleece tighter around her as she ambled along. Not for the first time, she considered whether she should invest in a skateboard to get her eighty-four-year-old backside along the concrete walkway quicker.

When Olive finished working her way up the slope towards the Royal Esplanade, she glanced across to the Gin Shack, the sun glaring off the silver signage. It would look pretty when it was decorated; all tinselled up and shimmering like a star on top of the Christmas tree. Maybe she should mention a few decor ideas at the meeting. If there was one thing Olive believed in, it was totally overdoing it at Christmas. It was perhaps an overcompensation that had developed over the years, but when Richard had been young and they’d been alone in those first few years, throwing herself into the season had been what got her through.

It wasn’t tinsel reflecting from the windows today. It was the sunshine creating quite the dazzling effect. There was something different about the frontage of the building, but she wasn’t quite able to see what.

Moving across the green to get a better view, Olive noticed the streamers hanging in front of the door from the sign. She knew something was different. Maybe Tony had decorated after all. But streamers weren’t very Christmassy and they’d not hosted many private functions yet, apart from a birthday party a fortnight ago, and they’d only had balloons for that occasion. There’d been no streamers, at least not that she’d noticed, and she was pretty sure she wasn’t senile enough to have missed them entirely, especially as they obscured the doorway. And she’d been through the door several times since without noticing them.

Olive shielded her eyes from the reflecting light and went to take a closer look.

It wasn’t just streamers that had been attached. Someone had gone to the trouble of decorating the entire sign. There was now a 3D pink mould attached to it, which looked odd. Unless someone was planning on converting it into a snowman, she didn’t know what was going on. Maybe Tony’s sons, who’d made the sign in the first place, had redesigned it for the winter season. It was probably part of the agenda for this morning’s meeting.

Olive couldn’t read it from the angle she was at, so she ventured towards it, and because of the glaring light, opted to cross the road to get a better look.

When she was finally able to focus on the new adjustments to the sign, she had to read it five times to make sure she was seeing right.

The added details of the sign meant it no longer said The Gin Shack. Instead the additions meant it read: The Gin’s Shite.

‘The gin bloody well isn’t,’ Olive said to no one in her astonishment. ‘We serve the best varieties in the world,’ she continued, wanting to put this invisible force to rights.

And what was worse, if the slur wasn’t enough, there was a rotund pink decoupage bum with brown streamers waving out of it. Never had diarrhoea been depicted so creatively.

If the Gin Shack was having any rebranding for the winter season, Olive was pretty certain this wasn’t it. Even Tony’s sons wouldn’t horseplay about like this. Olive thought they’d left all the antics of getting the Gin Shack running behind them. The additions to the sign told her otherwise. As things went, it was a pretty grotesque way of pointing out someone’s dislike of the place. One that made her feel uncomfortable when she considered the deliberate nature of the sign.

This really wasn’t how Olive had been expecting the day to go. She was early to the meeting because of her uncontained excitement for all things Christmas. Not because she wanted to be the one to discover they’d fallen victim to some kind of prank. Now she had to be the one to go and tell Tony he had an arse, complete with diarrhoea-brown streamers, attached to his building.

One thing was for certain: being involved with the Gin Shack would never let her become a boring old fart.

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.

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