Page 1 of The Seaside Cocktail Campervan

Chapter 1

Jack was prepped and ready to pour. A hundred polished prosecco glasses stood glinting in the soft early-May sunlight, lined up in perfect rows on wooden trestle tables which he had just finished setting out, working with the butler. Oh yes, there was a real-life butler. Jack grinned as he thought about it; every function was different. He certainly got to go to all sorts of swish places and meet all kinds of people with this job.

When he’d turned his pride-and-joy vintage campervan off from the narrow lane earlier, his jaw had dropped at the event’s stunning location. He’d arrived at the Birthday Girl’s country home, and what a home it was: weathered cream stone walls, three storeys high, set a mile inland from the golden sands and estuary of Budle Bay. The view from Jack’s designated parking spot – just off the gravel driveway on the front lawn of this impressive pad – was glorious, stretching across rolling green farmland to the inky blue-grey sea. All framed by a fading gold-tinted azure sky.

Jack liked to dress the part for every occasion. So, he had his tux and bow-tie combo for weddings and formal events, shorts and Ts for any festivals or fetes, and he was sporting his smart-casual, celebration-party look for the 21st Birthday booking this evening. He wore beige chinos and a crisp white shirt, teamed with a pressed black apron with his Jack’s Cocktail Campervan logo, stylishly swirled in grey lettering on the front.

He’d started up this mobile bar business four years ago. It was a bit of a risk putting his last wedge of savings into buying the characterful but rather rusty VW campervan – ‘Ruby’, as he’d named her. Over the following three months, he’d spent every weekend and many an evening doing her up, courtesy of a bank loan, with his own blood, sweat and tears, via many a YouTube ‘How To’ video, plus a bit of professional help on the engine and electrical side of things. It had felt like plunging in at the deep end when he finally handed in his notice at the bistro where he was working as the manager, having worked his way up from waiter.

Ruby was a glorious vintage red, and whenever Jack hit the driver’s seat and headed off on the open road, he just wanted to sing out ‘Ruby, Ruby, Ruby!’ so damned loud, in the style of the Kaiser Chiefs’ anthem. He had never looked back, even with the inevitable ups and downs of running his own business, and was proud of his venture, building it slowly but surely. He loved the freedom of being his own boss, and enjoyed the buzz of working a function, whilst making his clients’ wishes come true.

Abigail, Birthday Girl’s mother and the party organiser, suddenly came dashing down the grand stone steps of the hall, clucking away to herself about some pizza van she’d booked being late, all the while scouring the driveway as if she might be able to will it into view. She approached Jack, spouting a last-minute list of details and demands, whilst delivering a peaches-and-cream-coloured floral display for the drinks table. Jeez, that thing looked hideous, like some floral throwback from a 1970s wedding, but Jack kept schtum. He knew better than to upset the paying clients. And hey ho, what do I know about flowers, he mused? It was absolutely hideous, though.

Abigail’s voice cut in over the early-evening birdsong: ‘Now then, young man, do you have plenty of ice for the evening? There’re spare bags, if need be, in the chest freezer in the larder room. You may enter the house via the side door,’ she added pointedly.

Basically, as one of the staff, make sure you don’t go in by the front door, was what Jack grasped.

Abigail was on a roll. ‘Oh, and those pretty little violas, the ones you had at the tasting to decorate the Raspberry Fizz drinks, do you have those as promised?’

‘Yes, I have the flowers here, Abigail. I’m just waiting for the guests to arrive before I pour out the chilled prosecco, and then I’ll use them to garnish the cocktails, as agreed.’

Jack was thankful that his parents had a good-sized, well-stocked garden – his mum’s pride and joy – and they were happy for him to help himself to the various herbs, foliage and flowers he needed to support his cocktail venture, making it that little bit more unique.

‘Good … that’s good. They did look so pretty at the tasting.’ Abigail paused, taking in the table-top display, pushing it a couple of centimetres to one side, and then giving an approving nod. Then she was off again, ‘Oh, and can you ensure that Harriet’s younger brother, Hugo, takes no more than one drink, as he’s only sixteen?’

Oh yes, Jack had spotted him earlier – a tall, lanky youth of the blond floppy fringe variety, bit of a dickhead from what Jack had seen, to be honest, bossing around the butler and doing very little of any use himself.

‘And that Grandma Judith, who I introduced you to, is served an elderflower fizz rather than a gin or prosecco cocktail, as she’s on medication? We don’t want her having a funny turn or suchlike.’

Jack gave a smile, responding politely, ‘Of course, that’s no problem, Abigail.’ I am here to serve, smile and make sure that everyone has a good time, he thought wryly. And hopefully that no-one ends up in Abigail’s bad books or A&E.

Abigail tutted, then gave a heavy sigh. Jack feared he’d done something wrong for a moment, casting his mind quickly over all the arrangements, until the middle-aged woman commented tersely that the other caterer was terribly late. ‘Typical,’ she muttered, studying her wristwatch dramatically, ‘She’ll be arriving at the same time as the guests, which is no good. No good at all.’

‘Is there anything I can help with?’ Jack offered.

‘Well, not unless you can conjure up a hundred slices of cooked pizza in the next hour or so.’

‘Right-o! Sorry Abigail, that’s not quite in my powers.’ He put on his most charming smile, guaranteed to soften the hardest of hearts. ‘But I’ll make sure everyone gets a glass of something gorgeous to start their evening off well. And I’m sure the pizza company will get here any minute.’ Jack was trying his best to keep things positive. There was often a glitch or two at these occasions, and he’d learnt you just have to keep everyone calm and carry on. Half the time, the guests were often blissfully unaware of any issues, anyhow – especially a drink or two down the line.

‘Thank you, Jake.’

Jake? He didn’t bother correcting her. Abigail evidently had enough on her plate as it was.

‘Well, thank heavens I’ve booked my usual caterer to provide a finger buffet in the dining room. It’s just typical, Harriet persuaded me to try something new for the younger ones, and look what happens …’

After the organisational ear-bashing, Jack stood and watched Abigail’s rather large, pale-pink rear (she was clothed in a dress that unfortunately far too closely matched her skin tone) march back up to the house; all three beautiful stone-built storeys of it. It was the sort of place you might imagine spending a country weekend away in, with a bottle or two of Bollinger champagne and croquet on the lawn. (Not that Jack had ever had much chance to do that kind of thing.) The grounds were vast, with rolling lawns cut as smoothly as a bowling green for today’s event, along with shrub borders that were bold and beautiful with purple hydrangeas and pastel-shaded azaleas.

There was a moment of calm as chilled music and chatter drifted down from the house, and Jack double-checked that he had everything perfectly ready. There were just ten minutes to go until 6 p.m., when the first guests were due to arrive. It had been a beautiful blue-sky day so far and it looked like it was going to be a gorgeous night for a party. Summer had definitely started early this year in Northumberland.

Jack’s attention was drawn to the intriguing space opposite him which had been marked out with plastic cones, and wondered briefly what had happened to the other caterer. He wouldn’t want to be in their shoes, having to face the wrath of an already stressed-out Abigail, when they finally got here.

His thoughts drifted as he waited for the first arrivals. The house, the gardens, the family gathering … it pulled him back to the past. There was a tug, deep inside, as he remembered. This was all a darned sight different to his own – extremely low-key – 21st Birthday celebrations, held reluctantly at his family home in Alnwick, eight years ago now. A 1930s stone-built semi-detached property with a decent-sized garden. It was a great place to have been brought up in, full of warmth and love. Yeah, it was a good place for a party, with its big family kitchen, a few friends and family gathered around … or it always used to be.

But he hadn’t been bothered about having a party to mark his ‘coming of age’. It was his parents who’d persuaded him that he should in the end, that they all had to try to carry on, but Jack really didn’t have the heart for it. Just wanted to get it over with; after all, nothing would ever feel the same again after what had happened.

Jack found that his hands were trembling slightly as he pulled himself back to the present and started re-polishing a glass, intent on finding something to do. He shook his head; enough of those dark thoughts …

It was then he spotted a black Jeep, towing what looked like a horsebox rather erratically up the gravel driveway, having turned in from the lane. Blimey, was someone bringing a white steed or something for Birthday Girl to start her party off with? Honestly, you never knew what was planned at these events sometimes. He could write a book on it all!