Vivien's Heavenly Ice Cream Shop (7 page)

‘I promised Jess a hundred,’ Anna said. ‘The thing with the waffle is we need to roll it while it’s still warm. It should be ready by now, I think.’

Imogen took the tray of waffle sections out of the oven and laid them gently on a rack to cool. After a moment she took one off and rolled it on a wooden board into a loose cone shape. ‘Like this?’ she asked.

‘Messy!’ Alfie called out from his high chair.

‘He might, erm, have a point,’ Anna said, tilting her head as she examined Imogen’s handiwork. ‘Maybe stick to the picture a bit more?’

‘Fine,’ Imogen huffed, looking back at the photo on the recipe.

‘Like this,’ Anna said, as she deftly rolled three and placed them in one of the dozen circular stands Jess had dropped off for them to use, ready for the scoops of chocolate mousse to be added.

Imogen sighed, tried again and produced two neater cones.

‘That’s more like it,’ her sister said approvingly. ‘Now we just need another ninety,’ she smiled. ‘With enough time left over for me to get ready for the wedding. Not sure Jess would think much of me turning up like this.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. The apron kind of suits you,’ Imogen said, ‘and the chocolate on your jeans gives them a fancy touch.’

Anna gave her sister a playful swipe with a clean spatula. ‘Well, that’s eighty quid I’ve wasted at Karen Millen then,’ she said, thinking of the coral silk dress she hadn’t been able to resist, now hanging up on her wardrobe door.

‘But seriously, Anna. You’ve always looked at home in the kitchen, you’re such a natural at this stuff. Everyone says so. Why don’t you do something with it?’

‘You mean as a job?’ Anna said. ‘I always thought of it as a hobby, something I do to unwind. I never considered it something I could do for money. But lately, I suppose, I have started to wonder … ’

‘I saw your face in the shop,’ Imogen said. ‘I know that Granny V’s not the only reason you don’t want to sell that place.’

‘To the bride and groom,’ Anna said, chinking her champagne glass with Jess’s Uncle Gareth in the marquee at Jess and Ed’s wedding.

‘These ice cream things are incredible,’ Gareth said, cracking one of the cones with his teeth. ‘Jess tells me we’ve got you to thank.’

‘Yes, me and my sister made them,’ Anna said, glowing at the compliment. ‘I’m glad you like them.’

Anna glanced over at Jess, who was seated at the top table. In an ivory satin 1940s-style pencil dress with lace sleeves, and high T-bar heels, she looked more beautiful than ever. Her black curls were loose, adding a natural, unfussy touch to her stunning outfit, and a simple bouquet of pink roses set off her complexion. She was one of those brides who still looked like themselves – just a particularly stunning version. She caught Anna’s eye and smiled.

‘Hey, sweetheart,’ Jon said, taking his place next to Anna and putting his arm around her waist. He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Do I need to watch out for this guy?’ he said, nodding at the man in his sixties Anna had been talking to, who was currently reaching for his second miniature ice cream.

‘I think he’s more interested in the cones than me. You’re safe,’ Anna said, kissing Jon gently on the mouth. ‘Where did you disappear to anyway?’ she asked. ‘You missed Jess’s dad’s speech.’

‘Ed’s mum was feeling faint, and he asked if I could go out with her for some air.’

‘Is she OK now?’ Anna asked, concerned.

‘Oh yes, she’s fine. Got a bit carried away with the fizz and she’s not meant to drink on her medication. She’s back to her brightest. Now, let me try one of these famous ice creams,’ Jon said, reaching towards the stand. ‘These ones are dairy-free, right?’

‘Yes,’ Anna said. ‘You got your own personal batch. So you can go for your life.’

He ate one in a single bite. ‘Delicious,’ he said, squeezing her hand.

As Jess and Ed’s first dance came to an end, the bride desperately encouraged her guests onto the fairy-lit marquee’s dancefloor.

Jon took Anna’s hand. ‘Shall we put them out of their misery?’ Anna nodded her agreement.

‘I thought no one else was ever going to come up,’ Jess said, laughing. ‘We look like a right pair of prats up here on our own. You know what a terrible dancer I am, last thing I need is a spotlight.’

‘The two of you look gorgeous up there,’ Anna said. ‘So happy.’

Anna and Jon started to dance together, and she nestled into his shoulder.
Maybe we’re getting there too
, she thought to herself. After two years of ups and downs, with Jon adjusting to his new life, and both of them trying to balance Alfie’s at the same time, things finally seemed to be on an even keel. And that was more than enough. Perhaps one day it would be the two of them getting married, but for now, being held by Jon, feeling secure and going home to the flat they both loved – it all felt just right.

‘It’s been a perfect day,’ Jon said, whispering into Anna’s ear. ‘And I don’t think I’ve told you yet, but you look beautiful in that dress.’

Anna smiled and lifted her face to meet Jon’s in a kiss. In that moment, the music from the live band washed away the sadness and stresses of the previous couple of weeks, leaving only lightness.

That is, until she felt a shoe land squarely on her toe. ‘Ouch,’ she yelped, lifting it up instinctively.

‘So sorry.’ She turned to see the awkward perpetrator, a young man in a navy suit, handsome in a way he seemed unaware of. ‘Two left feet, me,’ he said. ‘God, I feel terrible.’

‘You’ll probably want to put some ice on that,’ said his partner, as Anna bent down to remove her shoe and inspect the damage. ‘When Ian gets me I usually need to.’

‘Right, yes.’ Anna said. Her little toe was throbbing fiercely, but at least it wasn’t bleeding. She put her shoe back on and looked up to see the woman she was talking to. In a green 1950s-cut dress, her dark-red hair styled into a sleek chin-length bob, she was composed and elegant.

‘Oh, Mia,’ Anna said, attempting to stand up straighter. ‘Hi. I didn’t realise it was you.’

‘Hi,’ Jon said, giving his ex-wife a kiss on the cheek hello and shaking Ian’s hand.

‘Hi,’ Mia said. ‘Sorry about this, Anna. What a way to start the evening’s dancing. Let me get you some ice from the bar.’

‘Booze is still free, then?’ Imogen said, when she arrived twenty minutes later. She picked up two glasses of champagne from a table and passed one to Anna.

‘Yes, all night.’ Anna said, taking a sip of the drink gratefully: it numbed the pain in her foot a little. She’d only been able to tolerate holding the ice on it for a short while.

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ Anna smiled, ‘even if you have nicked one of my favourite dresses.’

Imogen had arrived for the evening party in a one-shouldered silver dress that fell to just below her knees. She’d pinned her hair up loosely, with sun-kissed strands spilling out onto her tanned, lightly freckled shoulders. It was such a glamorous look you could almost miss that she’d teamed it with black flip-flops.

‘I knew you wouldn’t mind,’ Imogen said with a wink.

‘I don’t,’ Anna said. ‘But honestly, Imo, you could have at least stolen some decent shoes to match it,’ she shook her head in disapproval.

‘So which one is she?’ Imogen put down her drink and scanned the room, without attempting to hide her intention. ‘Not the one talking to Jon at the moment, surely?’

‘That’s her,’ Anna said, taking another sip.

‘Hmmm,’ Imogen said, then let out a whistle. ‘She’s pretty hot.’

‘Thanks. Yes, I’m aware of that.’

‘She’s also a heinous, unfeeling cheat who doesn’t know a good thing, of course.’

‘Also true. Although I don’t think I’ll ever know the full story on that.’

‘What full story?’ Imogen said. ‘She had a young kid, then shagged the neighbour. End of.’

‘I think Jon still blames himself a bit for leaving her on her own with Alfie. He’d just started his new job and was travelling for work a lot.’

‘Oh come off it. Other women manage not to sleep with their neighbours,’ Imogen said, rolling her eyes.

‘Shhh, will you?’ Anna said, conscious that other guests might know who they were talking about. ‘Anyway, Mia’s a wonderful mother, and she’s always been open to including me in Alfie’s life.’

‘You’re so darned
reasonable
, Anna,’ Imogen said. ‘Is there nothing that fazes you?

‘It’s none of my business what happened back then.’

‘I guess,’ Imogen said, accepting her sister’s point. ‘Anyway, it’s plain to see Jon’s smitten with you, which is what matters. It’s revolting really.’

As the band struck up a new song, Imogen tugged on her sister’s arm. ‘Finish up your fizz. I know you’re the walking wounded, but I love this one.’ She took off her flip-flops. ‘Put these on, give me yours and let’s join Jess for a dance.’

Imogen had the flat to herself on Monday morning, and now that her champagne-head had cleared, she felt energised and ready for some detoxing.

She whipped herself up a mango-and-passionfruit smoothie in the kitchen and rolled out her yoga mat. She was going to start the day just the way she did back on the island, with a series of sun salutations, facing out towards the sea. Yes, it was a grey, murky kind of sea, but it was the sea all the same. She let her breath carry her fluidly from one pose to the next, each one stretching her muscles and relaxing her.

There, in Downward Dog, as she tried to declutter her mind, there was one thought she couldn’t shift: tomorrow she would be on a flight back to Koh Tao. Soon she’d be in Luca’s arms, on the beach, taking photos underwater again – enjoying star-filled nights and golden days. Imogen smiled to herself, and focused on pushing her bum up as far towards the ceiling as it would go, ignoring her complaining hamstrings.

The ring of her mobile cut into the silence. Reluctantly
getting to her feet, she strode over to the coffee table, ready to silence the phone. She read the name on the screen with a sigh: Mum. Any chance of relaxing was already shot; just the thought of her mother made the muscles in her shoulders tense up.

She pressed the green button. ‘Hi, Mum,’ she said, attempting to retain some of her yogic serenity.

‘Imogen, you’re there. Good. Have you got a moment?’

‘Sure,’ Imogen said, sitting down on the sofa and bringing her legs up underneath her. ‘What’s up?’

‘It’s your dad, Imogen. I’m afraid he’s in a bit of a state. He’s locked himself in his studio and he’s refusing to come out.’

As soon as she’d hung up the phone, Imogen left the house and went straight to the station, boarding the first train to Lewes. On the journey she thought back over the past week, the long evenings sorting through her Grandma Vivien’s things – old photos and ornaments and toys from his childhood. It was Martin who’d done most of the talking, with her father conscientiously sorting and filing his mother’s belongings. The emotion of being in his childhood home, surrounded by memories, must have taken its toll.

Once she reached the small town, she walked the familiar route to her parents’ cottage, and up the front path. She lifted the knocker on the front door and let it fall. Her mum was there to answer it in just a few seconds.

‘Thanks for coming, darling,’ Jan said, ushering her in
and pulling out a chair for her at the kitchen table. ‘I have to say I didn’t know what else to do.’

‘How long’s he been in there?’ Imogen asked, looking out of the window towards her father’s shed in the garden.

‘Since yesterday morning. He slept in there last night, and for hours now he’s just been sitting on the floor. I can see him through the window, but I couldn’t persuade him to come out.’

‘Has he been eating anything?’

‘I’ve been putting sandwiches through the gap under the door, but I’ve no idea if he’s touched them.’

‘Do you think it was last week that brought it on?’ Imogen said. ‘It can’t have been easy going through all of his mother’s stuff … but I didn’t think, I mean … Mum,’ she said, looking at her mother directly, noticing the strain in her forehead and new wrinkles around her eyes. ‘Dad doesn’t get like this,’ she said, searching to make some kind of sense of the situation. ‘He doesn’t get depressed.’

‘Martin and your dad were discussing what to do with Granny Vivien’s house,’ Jan said, in a measured tone. ‘It seems Martin wants to sell it as soon as possible, and has already got an offer from a developer. He’s told Dad he wants them to accept and draw a line under it all. Tom isn’t against selling as such, but the developers plan to knock Vivien’s house down and build a block of flats.’

‘That’s awful,’ Imogen said. ‘I mean, the two of them had to decide something, of course – but so soon after Granny’s death? How could Martin agree to that?’

‘Well, exactly. And it’s not hard to guess who has put Martin up to it. But you know your dad and his brother – I don’t think they’ve had an argument since they were teenagers. He’s barely said a word since he spoke to Martin apart from to tell me what happened, but it’s clear it’s tearing him up.’

‘He doesn’t have to give in,’ Imogen said. ‘The split is fifty-fifty. Martin can’t go ahead without his agreement.’

‘You know your dad,’ Jan said, her voice softer than usual. ‘Once a hippy, always a hippy. He’ll give in, to keep the peace.’

As Imogen got up from the table she noticed something she’d never seen before. Her mum looked as if she was about to cry.

‘I’m going out there,’ Imogen said, with determination.

‘You do that, love,’ her mum said. ‘I’m hoping you might have more luck than me. You two have always shared something special. You’re the apple of his eye, you know.’

Imogen left her mum and went out into the garden, walking towards her father’s studio.

‘Dad, I know you’re in there,’ Imogen said, through the studio wall. She waited for a moment, but there was only the sound of a distant woodpecker.

‘Listen, I’m leaving the country tomorrow, so I hope you’re going to talk to me.’

Imogen waited a few minutes for a reply, and when none came, she sat down with her back to the door, rays of gentle midday sun warming her face on the early April day.

In front of her, in the sprawling garden her mother
despaired of ever beating into submission, was a broad oak tree. Up in the top branches she could see the slats of wood, nailed together, and a sheet of corrugated metal for a makeshift roof. Over fifteen years ago, her dad had made that treehouse, a den that she and Anna had played games and whispered secrets in. He still hadn’t taken it down.