The Vintage Ice Cream Van Road Trip (Cherry Pie Island - Book 2) (15 page)

‘I don’t know, Holly. The morning after we had sex you were gone. You didn’t get in touch.’ He tipped his head to one side. ‘I only hear from you when you find out you’re pregnant and have already made the decision to keep it.’

‘That’s completely untrue,’ she said.

‘Which bit?’ he asked, reaching down to the floor to pick up his blue shirt. Shrugging it on, he did up one button and then pulled on a pair of jeans.

‘All of it,’ she said with a frown. ‘I left the morning after because I just presumed…’

‘Presumed what?’ he said, leaning up against the windowsill so they were as far apart as they could be in the room.

‘That you didn’t want anything else to happen,’ she said quietly.

He shook his head. ‘That’s ridiculous, Holly.’

‘No it’s not,’ she said, and she could feel herself getting muddled, floundering. ‘You’re a cad,’ she said.

He made a sound like a laugh but less nice, ‘A what?’

‘Oh I don’t know how to put it. A cad. A playboy. All fast cars and polo and lots of no-strings affairs.’

‘Holly, I’m thirty-four not twenty.’ He raked a hand through his hair, sighed with frustration. ‘You’re just going on what you’ve read about me.’

‘And it’s not true?’

‘Not since I met you.’

She opened her mouth to say something but stopped.

Wilf shook his head, exhaled a deep breath and said, ‘This is too hard, Holly. You’ve made it too hard.’ He swallowed.

Holly looked at the floor. At the knots and grains in the wood.

‘I think you should go home,’ he said. ‘I’ll book you a flight. Don’t worry about the van. I’ll drive it back with Emily.’

Holly sucked in her top lip and nodded.

Then she turned and walked to the door.

‘I’ll send you money for the baby,’ he said and she nodded again without turning round, ‘And we can work out visiting rights, all that stuff. It’ll be fine.’

‘Yeah,’ she said with a nod and a quick glance over her shoulder, then she went down the corridor to her room to pack.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The earliest flight stopped in Amsterdam for three hours but Holly said that was fine because she was just so desperate to leave.

No one had asked why she was going so soon after the wedding, the looks on both her and Wilf’s faces were answer enough.

Wilf borrowed Alfonso’s Ferrari to drive her to the airport and inside the car it was dark and claustrophobic. Holly felt like she couldn’t breathe. Wilf didn’t say much, just checked that she had everything she needed.

At the airport the traffic police were ushering people on, not allowing them to stop for more than a few minutes in the quick drop-off area. Wilf said he’d go and park in the short stay, but Holly shook her head.

He got her a trolley for her bag and then they stood facing each other in silence. Before either of them could speak, a policeman said something in French and beckoned for Wilf to move his car.

‘I’ll call you when I’m back. Probably next week. Week after, latest,’ he said, climbing into the driver’s seat.

‘Yep, no rush,’ Holly said, then watched as the car roared away.

She sat outside on a bench with her head in her hands for a good ten minutes, then she went to get a cup of tea and a pain au chocolat because she felt sick again but this time it didn’t feel like it was because of the baby.

The flight left on time. Wilf had got her a seat in first class which she hadn’t realised. The flight was too short for a film so she stared out the window the whole way and watched the clouds.

In Amsterdam it was raining.

Grey, constant drizzle that ran down the windows and blocked out any view.

The flight home was delayed because of storms.

She sat replaying the night before, the speech, the dinner, the song, the feel of his hand on her back, the grass between her toes, the kiss, the smell of his room, the open window and the curtain rippling in the breeze, the feel of his skin, the sex, the warmth of him, the fear of the future as she lay with her eyes open, the hope, the sleep like she was safe. Dreamless, deep. The smell of the sunshine in the morning.

Her phone rang.

‘Hey, Dad,’ she said, leaning against the window, her feet curled up under her.

‘So I hear you’re having a baby.’

‘Oh shit. Sorry. I’m really sorry.’ She touched her hand to her forehead, annoyed with herself.

She heard him laugh. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I heard it from a Rolling Stones sound tech of all people. The whole island knows. You didn’t tell me, did you? I haven’t lost my mind?’

‘No,’ she said, smiling, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.’

‘Well it would have been nice, but to be honest I’ve been bloody terrified I’ve got dementia. When’s it due?’

‘About five months time.’

‘Boy or a girl?’

‘You can’t find out yet.’

‘And, er, forgive me for asking, but who’s the father?’

Holly closed her eyes, ‘Wilf Hunter-Brown.’

She heard her dad do a sort of gasp laugh. ‘You don’t mess around, do you, Hols? Only the best.’

She covered her eyes with her hand and then proceeded to tell him everything that had happened. At the end she heard him say, ‘Mmmm.’

‘So that’s it,’ she said. ‘I’m coming home.’

‘Explain to me again why?’ her dad said.

‘Because it would mean living in France otherwise,’ she said, picking the most practical of reasons why because she couldn’t face the emotional stuff right yet.

‘France is lovely place to live,’ her dad said.

‘But what about you?’

There was a pause, then her dad said, ‘France is a lovely place to visit.’

She turned to look out the window, saw her face reflected back at her and put her hand up to draw in the mist her breath had made. ‘I don’t think he loves me, Dad.’

‘Are you sure?’

She shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Has he said he doesn’t want to be with you?’

‘No. I think he might have actually said he does want to be with me.’

Her dad was silent for a while and Holly had to check that she hadn’t run out of signal. Then he coughed and said, ‘I’ve joined the book group at the library.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yes. We’re reading some bloody awful book at the moment, but that’s beside the point. The woman who works there gave us all a free Internet lesson.’

Holly smiled, pictured them all peering, perplexed, over the librarian’s shoulder as she went through how the World Wide Web worked.

‘She showed us about podcasts. It was very informative. So I’ve bought an iPhone and I’m downloading them. They’re marvellous. I can listen to anything when I’m working on the boats. And your bloody Annie has roped me into watering your allotment, so when I’m doing that as well. They’re brilliant, these podcasts. I’m now an expert on the American presidential voting system and growing chrysanthemums. I can’t remember my point now.’ He paused, then said, ‘Oh yes, so I listened to one about life coaching.’

Holly rolled her eyes, first Annie’s mum and her apps and now her dad and his podcasts.

‘And the woman said, you should never be afraid of change. The world, Holly, is about change. That’s what life is. Otherwise you’re just standing still.’

Holly paused, mid-doodling on the window, and bit her lip.

‘I saw you, Holly, I saw you in that boat at the Olympics and I’ve never seen someone stronger and braver and tougher than you. I think sometimes though, you’ve had so many coaches and people telling you what to do that you get stuck making your own decisions. If I was your coach now, Holly, apart from the fact I never recommend parent/child coaching relationships, it’s never a good idea, but if I
was
your coach, I’d tell you to go for it.’

Holly shook her head, ‘I don’t know, Dad.’

‘Don’t “I don’t know me”, young lady!’ he said, then asked, ‘That’s the kind of thing they used to say, isn’t it? I don’t remember you ever daring to answer back to them.’

Holly laughed. ‘No, you’re right. I didn’t answer back to them. I was too scared. They’d have made me do a hundred sit-ups as punishment.’

She heard her dad laugh. ‘Maybe not the best thing in your condition. Perhaps I should just give you advice as your silly old dad ‒ go and grasp it, my girl. Because otherwise you’ll be left standing still while the world moves on without you.’

Chapter Twenty-Seven

When Holly had got out of her Olympic boat, she had thought that the future would hold freedom.

In her mind, freedom had been wide open fields and horizons as far as the eye could see. It hadn’t been a baby or a love affair. It hadn’t been choices or forks in the road. It had been nothing but a clear path ahead.

But as she sat in the airport after hanging up the phone to her dad, the rain drizzling down the window, she realised that freedom was also the ability to change one’s mind. To turn around or go in a completely new direction. As she looked over at the Starbucks and the TravelEx, watched the tourists and the business people checking the flights for delays, watched the cleaners emptying the bins and the police strolling through in their uniforms, saw white clouds pushing away the grey and planes starting to land and take off, she realised that she was the freest she’d ever been.

It was sweltering hot on the polo field.

The ponies were sweating. The players were sweating. The spectators were sweating.

Alfonso and Wilf were playing on opposite teams to even up the handicap. Wilf had managed to piss off the umpire by arguing every foul and penalty. Playing like an angry demon, he was demolishing the poor, unsuspecting French team and had moved onto his sister, who was playing for the opposition and currently had the line of the ball. Charging away with her blue hair flapping out from under her helmet, she could hear Wilf’s pony thundering after her.

So it was a shock when she glanced over her shoulder and saw that he had pulled up short.

Then she heard the sound of an old ice cream van’s nursery rhyme drifting through the air and allowed herself a momentary little scrunched-nose smile of delight before dashing off with the ball.

The French players paused in shock as the argumentative Brit was suddenly cantering the wrong way across the field towards a Camionette des Glaces that had just pulled up in the car park adjacent to the match.

Alfonso stopped playing for a moment to punch the air with his stick as he saw Wilf leap down from his horse and go jogging towards the van as the driver’s side door opened.

‘You came back?’ Wilf said, panting, out of breath, stopping just in front of Holly as she stepped down from the van onto the grass.

The light around them was hazy, iridescent from the sun.

‘I came back,’ Holly said, biting down on a smile.

Wilf wiped the sweat off his forehead and tried to catch his breath. ‘Why?’ he asked, half-reaching out her way, tentative.

She lifted her hand and allowed her fingers to trace down the bare skin on his arm. ‘It’s like the blossom,’ she said. ‘You wake up one day and you just know.’

Wilf closed his eyes for a second. ‘Thank God for that,’ he whispered.

The sound of hooves pounding grass, umpire shouts, spectator applause and the chug of sprinklers filled the air around them. As the sun shimmered down, and the heat prickled, he bent down, cupped her face with his rough, polo-worn hands, and he kissed her.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

So it kind of looks like I might be staying.

I can see your smile from here.

Yes. It’s all lovely. And feels quite perfect. And I understand now when people say that they just know. It’s taken me a while but I’m starting to trust my instinct.

I’ll see you in a couple of weeks when I come back to pack, but I thought you’d want this update! Thank you for your advice. It was very useful.

The rest Emily will have to tell you. She’s bought the manor house. Did you know? Cherry Pie won’t know what’s hit it. Maybe she’ll even bring back the festival…

Saying that, I heard rumour that Jack Neil is back? Is it true? That’s going to throw some cats among the pigeons. I’m almost jealous I’m not there to see it.

Almost.

Holly x

PS Hope your roof is fixed.

PPS Emily has promised to watch over the allotment. I said that you couldn’t be trusted and were killing everything.

PPPS You’ll have to watch over Emily watching over it. I think she has the potential to kill everything as well. Between you, I’m sure something will survive.

PPPPS What happened with Enid’s diary? Have you found it yet?

PPPPPS I’ve thought of a pro: I think I might love him. x

Loved The Vintage Ice Cream Van Road Trip?

Look out for
The Great Allotment Proposal!

Socialite Emily Hunter-Brown has just bought the old manor house on Cherry Pie Island – and her friends think she’s gone mad! Still, they should have known that wild-child Emily will try anything once…even settling down!

But when Emily discovers she has an allotment to take care of as well as the crumbling mansion, she’s unexpectedly flummoxed! It’s all very well knowing that you have to swap your high heels for Hunter wellies….but it’s quite another actually getting dirt underneath her Chanel Rouge Noir polished nails?

And what is she supposed to do with her bumper crop of courgettes anyway?!

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