Ottercombe Bay – Part Three: Raising the Bar

‘No way. You’re not leaving here without a bath.’ She put more water in the tub; perhaps her water to bubble ratio was off, she wondered. As the water level increased so did the bubble mountain. It rose above the edge of the bath and both Daisy and Bug watched it grow like an out-of- control experiment. Perhaps she’d put too much shampoo in? She switched off the water, put her arm in to check the temperature and then turned her eyes on Bug – he just gave his usual wide-eyed stare.

‘Right,’ said Daisy. She meant business and lunged towards him. Anticipating his dash to her left she grabbed the wriggling bundle and deposited him in the bubble-filled bath and he promptly disappeared. Daisy parted the bubbles but there was no Bug. Could he drown in that much water? She started to panic and frantically swept giant lumps of foam out of the way and onto the bathroom floor. ‘Bug,’ she called. It wasn’t that big a bath, where the hell was he? She could hear him scurrying about under the suds but she couldn’t see him. As she gave one big sweep of her arm to remove another layer of bubbles the bathroom door burst open. Daisy jumped in fright and Bug leaped up from the foam, out of the bath and escaped downstairs trailing streams of bubbles behind him.

Aunt Coral surveyed the foam-covered bathroom and Daisy who looked like she’d stuck her head in an out-of-control candy floss machine. ‘What happened?’ asked Aunt Coral looking bewildered.

‘Bath time,’ explained Daisy, blowing foam off her nose.

‘For whom?’ asked Aunt Coral, shaking her head and retreating fast.

Chapter Two

The evening at the Exeter Gin Bar started off well. She’d had a message from the builder to say the wall was down and the water was connected, so although it was November and they were seriously behind schedule things were starting to happen. Max was wearing the same outfit he’d worn to Reg’s funeral, with the exception of the tie, and it reminded Daisy how well he scrubbed up. Unfortunately, despite her best efforts, he was particularly uncommunicative and appeared more interested in looking out of the train window than talking. Although she had impressed Jason with her newly acquired bat knowledge.

The Gin Bar was a short walk from the station. It occupied what had once been a tailor’s and still retained a lot of its olde-worlde charm. Ross, the owner, was exuberantly friendly and had loads of useful tips for setting up a bar and some great contacts in the trade. He went through some basics around different standards and types of gin and what, in his opinion, made certain ones stand out from the crowd. This was a conversation Daisy could now contribute to and she was pleased to see both Ross and her friends look impressed with her newly garnered knowledge.

They quickly segued into a full-on tasting session, which Tamsyn had seemed to treat as if it was Tequila shots. None of them seemed keen to spit out the gin and even though they were only having a sip of each it felt to Daisy like it was all adding up. But then this also felt like a bit of a celebration now her own bar was back on track. Ross stocked a lot of gin varieties and in an hour they only scratched the surface, but Daisy jotted down the ones they all liked the best. When they moved around to the public side of the bar and began working their way through the gin-based cocktail menu, Max excused himself and disappeared outside.

‘He’s not much fun tonight,’ said Daisy, who felt her efforts at chatting to Max had been thwarted by his disagreeable attitude.

‘Got a lot on his mind,’ said Jason, with a knowing nod.

‘Under a lot of pressure at work, is he?’ Daisy asked. She knew it was uncalled for but, as far as she could see, Max didn’t have any major problems in his life.

‘Pasco.’ Jason put his finger to his lips after he’d said the name, but the finger wasn’t in the centre of his lips – he was drunk too. ‘And his ex, Jenni with an “i”, got engaged.’

‘Jenni with one i,’ said Daisy, with a giggle.

‘Poor woman.’ Tamsyn shook her head dramatically. ‘I didn’t even know Jenni only had one eye.’ Nobody was sober enough to explain.

‘What happened to Jenni?’ asked Daisy.

‘Went off travelling and didn’t come back,’ said Jason.

‘Did she die?’ asked Tamsyn.

‘No.’ He shook his head for emphasis. ‘She hooked up with a mechanic in Dover and missed her ferry.’

Daisy was still processing this when Ross passed some cocktails and straws across the bar and said something, but it was lost as a pack of wild girls entered the bar with feather boas flowing and t-shirts declaring it was Olivia’s Hen Night.

They teemed around the bar forcing Daisy and Tamsyn to grab their glasses and retreat to a table in a dark corner. ‘How are the job ideas coming along?’ asked Daisy

‘I’ve been thinking about what I was good at in school and seeing if there’s a link to a job.’

‘Good approach. What’s on the list?’

‘Spelling and Irish dancing,’ said Tamsyn.

Daisy opened her mouth but she couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say, so instead she focused on the cocktails. ‘They all look different,’ noted Daisy, pointing at them. ‘Shall we have a try of each other’s with the straws?’

‘Nope. One, two, three …’ said Tamsyn and she tipped back her drink in one smooth motion. ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘I could do another of those.’ She pointed a finger in the general direction of her glass.

‘You didn’t even taste it,’ said Jason, with a shudder. He and Daisy tried each other’s cocktails with their straws while Tamsyn looked on.

They were distracted by a kerfuffle at the bar caused by the hen party making whooping noises. ‘It’s like the mating call of the baboon,’ said Jason, glancing distastefully at the noisy group. A few of the party broke into a slurred rendition of the stripper music.

‘Looks like they’ve got some traditional hen night entertainment,’ said Daisy, trying to get a better look at the man among them, who wasn’t actually having to strip as the women seemed to be doing that for him. A shirt flew out of the crowd landing on the floor between Jason and Daisy. They were giggling as they looked at the pale blue shirt until realisation finally struck them.

‘Max!’ they both yelled, jumping to their feet and ploughing into the hen party.

Max was on the floor fighting hard to hang on to his trousers. ‘Get off him. He’s not a stripper!’ shouted Daisy, but the women were making too much noise for her to be heard.

‘Enough!’ hollered Jason, sounding manlier than Daisy had ever heard him before. ‘I’m a police officer—’

Daisy wasn’t sure what he said after that because the women clearly thought he was also part of the act and started to excitedly grab at his clothes too. Daisy got pushed out of the chanting circle, her drink-addled brain failing to come up with a better strategy for rescuing her friends. Eventually Ross rang the last orders bell and kept on ringing until everyone took notice. Daisy pushed her way back through the crowd and offered a hand to Jason who was sitting on the floor clutching his ripped shirt to his chest. Max was busy being straddled by the bride-to-be who was oblivious to the bell and was trying hard to kiss him.

‘Excuse me,’ said Daisy, tapping the woman on the shoulder.

‘Yeah, come on, Olivia. Apparently he’s really not a stripper,’ said one of the others.

Olivia burst into hysterics and had to be lifted off an embarrassed-looking Max who was trying to rub the bright pink lipstick off his face, but only managing to smear it further. Daisy offered Max a hand to help him to his feet. He hesitated and Daisy tilted her head. ‘Come on. This is my chance to return the favour.’

‘What favour?’ Max looked puzzled.

‘This is me saving you. We’re quits now. Okay?’ She gave him a cheeky smile.

Max smirked. ‘Yeah, right.’

‘I can ask the ladies back if you like.’ She went up on her toes as if about to try to get their attention.

‘No. You’re okay.’ He took her hand and she pulled him to his feet. She noticed how his stomach muscles clenched as he stood up and how toned his body was. It took her a few moments to drag her eyes back up to his face.

‘Are you sure you’re not my stripper?’ slurred Olivia, staggering back towards them.

‘NO!’ chorused Daisy and Max together.

Back at the table they found Tamsyn doing a sitting down version of Irish dancing and Jason inspecting his trashed clothing. Max scooped up his shirt from the floor and put it back on quickly discovering it no longer had all its buttons. He let it hang open and sat down opposite Daisy who was forcing herself not to stare at his bare chest – his tanned taut chest with its tantalising smattering of neat chest hair making a path down his lightly sculpted abs to …

‘Daisy. For Christ sake are you dozing off too?’

‘What?’ Daisy jolted her head up and tried again to maintain eye contact but all she was doing was opening her eyes super wide and making herself look like she was startled.

‘Where’s mine?’ Max pointed to the row of empty cocktail glasses. Tamsyn still had a straw between her lips, it didn’t take a genius to work out what had happened.

Ross appeared at the table. ‘I am mortified about them.’ He motioned towards the loud women. ‘My speciality martinis – on the house. You’ll have all this to deal with when you open up.’ He laughed and went over to speak to the rowdy group.

‘How do you deal with people like that?’ said Daisy, realising her voice didn’t sound quite right. She gestured towards the hen party who were now boob flashing men through the window. She would be solely responsible in her bar and it bothered her.

‘You call the police,’ said Jason, swaying towards her and then away again with a silly grin on his face.

‘Yeah, you’ll be brilliant,’ she said, giving his ripped shirt a tug. Perhaps this needed more thought.

‘Ohh, I love this shirt,’ said Jason, pulling at the shreds.

An hour or so of drinking later she realised it was definitely time to go home when she found herself having a cross purposes conversation with a tall youth.

‘It’s like everything he does, he does to wind me up. He chews his own toenails. That’s not normal is it?’ Daisy said, scowling at the recollection.

‘Could be a fetish,’ suggested the youth.

Daisy pouted as if considering this explanation. ‘You see he’s black, but I’ve told him he still has to have a bath but he doesn’t get it,’ she slurred.

‘He doesn’t bath? That’s disgusting,’ said the youth.

‘I know,’ agreed Daisy. ‘Sometimes after he’s been on the beach he stinks to high heaven. It’s as if he likes smelling like a dead fish.’

There was a long pause before the youth answered. ‘Is he a fisherman?’

Daisy swayed away from the youth, narrowing her eyes until they focused. ‘Dogs don’t fish, you idiot.’ She looked about her. Tamsyn was half asleep muttering to herself about joining Riverdance. Jason was blinking repeatedly at his phone as if trying to concentrate. He slowly looked up at her.

‘Last train leaves in fifteen minutes.’

‘Bye, bye,’ Daisy said to the youth, waving him away, and he good-naturedly sloped off towards the hen party. ‘You grab a cab and I’ll grab …’ Daisy looked around. They were missing someone. Where was Max? Daisy tried to stand up and achieved success on her third attempt. She felt like an old person. She scanned the bar and located an open-shirted Max who had the full attention of two of the hen party. She was about to wave to get his attention when one of them started to kiss him. She felt something primal course through her. Daisy wanted to march over there but a stagger was the best she could do. Bloody gin, she thought. She unintentionally bumped the chair the kisser was sitting on, which quickly stopped the tongue onslaught.

‘Whoops, sorry,’ she said, not feeling sorry at all. ‘But Prince Charming here needs his beauty sleep. Come on, last train leaving in fifteen minutes.’ She had no right to stop him kissing someone but to hell with that, it made her uncomfortable and now was not the time to explore why. She pulled Max to his feet and gave her best cheesy grin to the hen party as Max snaked an arm around her shoulders to steady himself. The four of them thanked Ross too many times and meandered off in search of their last train home.

The next morning someone was drilling inside Daisy’s head. She opened one eye to see Bug sound asleep on her pillow snoring so loudly it was making the pillow vibrate. She made a mental note to make sure he was properly shut in the kitchen at night from now on – he escaped more often than Houdini. She gave him a nudge and he grunted to life. He started to lick her face and the stench of his doggy breath made her gag. ‘Eurgh.’ Dogs and hangovers did not go together.

‘I’m never drinking again,’ said Daisy, followed by a moan as she headed in search of juice. She knew she was in trouble when she opened the fridge and the small light was like a laser penetrating her brain. She grabbed her aunt’s sunglasses from the drawer and put them on. She might have looked like Lady Gaga’s granny but at least she was able to look in the fridge without being blinded.

Showered, dressed and on her third black coffee she still felt like someone had forcibly transplanted her organs in the night but at least she’d stopped yawning for the time being. She took two paracetamol and forced down some toast, truly hoping it stayed down. Today she was back onsite at the old railway building; she was keen to see how far the workmen had got and if there was any hope of them being open in time for the lantern parade. She was prepared to get stuck in to claw back some time because the longer the delay the less likely it was she’d still be open by the summer.

She stepped into the fresh November day, took in deep breaths of icy air and lengthened her stride, perhaps a little light exercise might wake her up before she got there?

She wasn’t surprised to see Max was already there. He was definitely a morning person, with or without a hangover. He was sitting on the platform nursing a takeaway coffee cup.

‘How’s your hangover?’ She tapped his head as she passed and started to unlock the doors. It was chilly on the platform.

‘What hangover?’ he asked brightly jumping to his feet and joining her at the door. She gave him a doubtful look, there was no way he was hangover free after the amount they had all put away but he just grinned back at her.

‘Go on then, let’s see.’ He pointed at the door. Daisy turned the handle and they both hurried inside.

The smell of freshly sawn timber hit her first. ‘Blimey,’ said Daisy her eyes darting around. It looked quite different. Losing half the wall made it seem much bigger. She ran her fingers along the smooth surface of the newly installed bar top. It was better than she had ever imagined. She turned to face Max. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think I want a job here.’

‘It’s yours,’ she said, her mouth moving faster than her brain.

‘Really?’

‘Yep. Any evenings you like.’ She didn’t want to think too much about her reasons why. She knew he had experience as a cocktail waiter, and she told herself she would need people she could trust and that someone like Max would be good for dealing with any unruly customers, unless of course they were hen parties.

The rest of the morning Max was sickeningly upbeat; she guessed it was an act because he had consumed just as much alcohol as she had. Uncharitably she hoped it was taxing him to keep up the pretence. Daisy felt she had learned a valuable lesson – gin was lethal stuff. And she was pleased she had learned it in someone else’s bar and away from the prying eyes of Ottercombe Bay residents. It had also been useful to meet Ross and pick up a number of contacts and tips about starting out in the gin trade and extending the list of gins she wanted to stock.

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