Ottercombe Bay – Part Three: Raising the Bar

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.