Ella's Ice Cream Summer

by Sue Watson

  And I wasn’t about to let my mum’s ancient feud ruin my chance of happiness now. Gina had been one of the main reasons I’d loved spending time in Appledore. And it was wonderful to think that we might spend some time there together now, as older women. I wasn’t the little twelve-year-old wrapped up in a towel, shivering by the sea while my mother told me what to do. I was perfectly capable of making my own choices about whom I spent time with. I just wished the kids, and Mum, would join me on this new journey.

  ‘Go on, come with me to the Ice Cream Café?’ I asked the kids, while trying to ignore the steam of resentment coming from my mother. ‘I used to love it there, little rickety tables, a great big plastic ice cream cone outside. I used to call it “The Giant’s Ice Cream,” that made my aunt laugh,’ I sighed.

  Mum didn’t respond and the kids barely lifted their heads, until, in the silence, Lucie looked up. She had a pained look on her face.

  ‘Mum, don’t take this the wrong way, I mean a few years ago we’d have loved a big plastic giant ice cream cone somewhere in Devon, but we’re a bit old for all that now. You just go… and read the will and have a nice time.’

  With Sophia’s will I had a sudden yearning to return to the holidays of my childhood, and I longed to share some of the past with my own kids. Everyone tells you that you don’t have your children for long, but when it happens, when they grow up and leave it’s a shock. I wanted to preserve what was left of my precious time with them, put it in a jar and close the lid for a while. They’d been my reason for living and as much as they’d needed me over the years, I realised now, I needed them too.

  ‘I just thought… it would be good. A trip down memory lane, a last holiday as a family… by the seaside?’

  ‘Yeah, but we’re heading off ourselves soon…’ Lucie said, a gentle smile on her face, desperately trying not to hurt me.

  I smiled back, I understood, but how I longed for those bygone days when the children would be so excited about going on holiday they couldn’t sleep the night before. When did my children grow up and leave me behind?

  I wanted to preserve what was left of my precious time with them, put it in a jar and close the lid for a while. They’d been my reason for living and as much as they’d needed me over the years, I realised now, I needed them too.

  They’d been my anchor, but it was time for them to move on – because there was a big old world out there just waiting for them. I’d passed them the baton, I hadn’t conquered the world so they had to do it for me, and they had far bigger summer plans than a few days in Devon.

  Lucie had finished college the previous year and been working to save up to go away and Josh was doing his A levels. In a few weeks Lucie was going with friends on a gap year starting in Thailand and Josh had just found out he’d been accepted for a summer volunteering programme in Nepal with his girlfriend. Their plans were made, their bags packed and I was proud of them, if a little disappointed that they weren’t prepared to indulge me for a few days first.

  ‘Don’t be sad, it’s all good, Mum,’ Josh smiled, as he passed me carrying his plate into the kitchen. He touched my shoulder and enunciated this clearly, like I was about a hundred years old.

  ‘Oh sweetie, I’m not sad,’ I lied. ‘I’m delighted you two have an exciting summer ahead… real grown-up adventures without your mum,’ then I added weakly, ‘Yay!’

  I suddenly felt very alone. I’d been buoyed by the news of the inheritance, going back to Devon, spending time with my family and now I just felt hollow. My future stretched out before me and there was no one else in it. The emptiness must have shown on my face.

  ‘Soz Mum,’ Lucie smiled and I put on a brave face; I didn’t want her to feel bad.

  ‘Oh no, don’t apologise, darling, I want you to go, what you’re doing is wonderful… brilliant. I just thought perhaps we could fit in a little family trip first,’ I said, my voice fading.

  I felt Lucie’s wave of pity wash over me and realised if I wasn’t careful, the healthy dynamic between me and the kids would alter and I’d become ‘poor mum, waiting at home’. I never wanted to be that.

  ‘Well, if you guys are both off around the world, I guess me and Nan will have to do Devon on our own?’ I sighed, making a brave face at the kids’ holiday rejection.

  ‘We can do the funeral and then the will,’ I said, attempting to sell it like a two-centre holiday. ‘Mother and daughter time, eh Mum?’

  My mother looked up from her meal and touched my hand gently. ‘Sorry love, I can’t come to Devon…’

  ‘What about Sophia’s funeral?’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘She’s your sister.’

  ‘I know, but she won’t be coming to mine, so I’m not going to hers.’

  ‘Mum, what are you talking about? Of course she won’t, she’s dead,’ I said, irritated by this churlishness; ‘Why are you being so mean, I can’t believe you’re still holding a grudge.’

  ‘I just don’t want to go back there, I don’t want to. You can’t make me,’ she said, sounding like Lucie whan she was about five years old.

  ‘There may be mini quiches?’ I tried.

  ‘Not for all the mini quiches in M&S,’ she said sadly.

  She clearly didn’t want to return to Appledore. So turning the funeral/will trip into a nostalgic family holiday, eating ice cream, sand between our toes and sunshine on our faces wasn’t happening.

  ‘Well, I still need to go,’ I sighed, realising I was daunted at the prospect of going back to Appledore alone. What had happened to the Ella I knew, the one who planned to chase my dreams and make life my adventure as my glamorous and successful cousin Gina had?

  ‘You can be anything you want to be,’ Gina used to say, ‘don’t let them tell you any different.’ And she was living proof that you could pack your bags and find that rainbow, but then she had never had any children. She hadn’t spent the last twenty years cooking and cleaning and nurturing – in between shifts at work. Kids have a habit of holding onto your heart, stopping you from running away.

  But now I was left behind on the shore waving everyone else off. I’d been so busy encouraging my kids to live for today and have an adventure, that I’d forgotten to book one for me.

  3

  Toyboys, Tinder and Tropical Moments

  The following morning I arrived at ‘Fashion Passion’, where I worked, feeling quite bereft. I parked up and climbed out of the car, eager to discuss my ‘inheritance’ possibilities with Sue my boss, who was also my friend. A former hairdresser, Sue had once been the proprietor of ‘Curl up and Dye’ in the Midlands, but after meeting a toyboy on Tinder, she’d sold up, lost her head and moved to Marbella. Six months later, she was back in the UK, most of her life savings gone, along with the toyboy, all she had to show for it was a tan.

  After what she called ‘my Tinder trouble’, she moved up north where property was cheaper and opened ‘Fashion Passion’, with what little money she had left. Sue’s aim had been to transform a rather stale dress shop into what she said would be a ‘classy and extinguished venue’, she’d meant ‘distinguished’, as I said, she often mixed up her words. Unfortunately, Sue’s taste was not to everyone’s liking and one woman’s ‘classy’ is another’s ‘Big Fat Gypsy Wedding’. Sadly, much of Sue’s stock involved a million sequins, lots of shine, and required a good cleavage and an ample reserve of courage.

  That morning I walked into the carpeted interior with its glitzy brocade walls with rows upon rows of blingy dresses and felt instantly comforted. I took off my coat, heading straight into the little kitchen at the back of the shop to put the kettle on.

  Sue was standing in front of the fridge with the door open; being a lady of a certain age with what she referred to as ‘ravishing hormones’, she often did this to calm the hot flashes, her ‘tropical moments’.

  I turned to her about to embark on my inheritance hopes, empty nest and Devon trip, when I saw she’d been crying.

  ‘Oh Sue…’
I started. I was as protective of her as she was of me; being in a confined space filled with flashing sequins eight hours a day had brought us very close. ‘I thought we’d agreed Tinder will only break our hearts,’ I said using the royal ‘we’ and sounding like a TV life coach. ‘I thought we’d agreed the places to meet decent men are mixed gender book clubs and hanging around the foyer of the Ship Inn on “widowers” Wednesday?’

  ‘Oh it’s not Tinder, I wish it were, love… but that’s a thought, I’d forgotten about “widowers” Wednesdays at the Ship, I could do with a nice rich man without a wife.’ Then she reached for the custard creams, and I knew we were in trouble; Sue watched her figure and rarely ate sugar, but always turned to custard creams in a crisis.

  ‘What is it, love?’ I said, turning on the tap and filling the kettle. This was clearly going to require tea – lots of it, along with several more packs of biscuits.

  She closed the fridge door and began fiddling with her rings.

  ‘It’s… the shop, Ella.’

  I stopped what I was doing and looked at her, my mouth suddenly dry.

  ‘We haven’t been bringing in enough to cover the overheads, and now the bank wants money and the landlord wants his rent and I… just don’t have it. I just kept hoping every week I could turn things around, but I’m so sorry, Ella…’

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing; ‘You mean, “Fashion Passion” might have to close?’

  She nodded.

  ‘But can’t you just get a loan…’

  She shook her head; ‘We’re past that stage, my love.’

  ‘Oh Sue, why didn’t you tell me, you must have been so worried.’

  ‘I was, but you’ve had a lot on these last months with your mother moving in and I didn’t want to add to your worry, I thought everything would sort itself out.’

  ‘So… what’s going to happen?’

  ‘It’s all over, oh my lovely shop.’

  With that she burst into tears and I hugged her tight as she sobbed on my shoulder and the kettle began screaming, an echo of my own feelings inside.

  Sue had taken me under her wing a few years before, promising to show me the ropes of high fashion, love and life. But if the toyboy trouble and the sea of sequins was anything to go by I should have known that Sue had little knowledge of fashion or passion. We sold very little, and despite her previous financial woes, I’d assumed she had capital and could afford for us to make minimum profits, allow customers to drink tea, chat for hours and buy nothing. But that obviously wasn’t the case, and as customers used the place like a social club, and Sue entertained them all, pronouncing on everything from Lady Gaga’s costumes to the new pasties at Greggs – no one was spending. In fact, the only person that spent anything in the shop was Sue – and that was on the mountain of tea and biscuits she doled out.

  I really felt for Sue, but selfishly this also translated into panic for me. I needed this job, we couldn’t survive on the pittance The Dick sent for the kids and I wanted to cry too, but had to stay strong for Sue.

  ‘It’s all my fault, I’ve always been erotic with money,’ she said through her tears.

  ‘Don’t blame yourself, you’re not erratic,’ I said, ‘the high street’s in decline, blame the government.’

  ‘This was my nest egg,’ she sighed over a calming cuppa a few minutes later. ‘When my ex-husband walked out with that tart I made a go of the hair salon, but then there was my Tinder trouble and…’ she took a sip of tea. ‘But listen to me going on you’re a single mother – what about you, love? How are you going to manage?’

  I told her I’d be fine, I even joked that as my kids were going away my food bill would be less and I’d be better off financially. This wasn’t the case, in order to keep a roof over our heads I’d agreed to pay the monthly mortgage payments. When he left, my ex had said he wanted half the house when it was eventually sold, but until that time I could live in it with the kids. It had always been a struggle to make ends meet, and to make things worse I’d just paid for both the kids’ flights on my credit card. My stomach swirled with worry as I tore open another packet of custard creams, desperately trying to recalibrate and work out what I needed to earn to cover my monthly outgoings.

  Sadly there were very few local businesses left in our town, so it wasn’t like I could just finish work here and find another job down the road. I suddenly had no income, and was responsible for two kids, a mortgage and a mother. The only slight glimmer of hope on the horizon was the possibility that my inheritance might offer me half a business to sell or earn from. Yes I might be in dire straits now, but I did have the prospect of the Ice Cream Café twinkling on the horizon.

  I’d been worried about going back alone to Appledore, I didn’t know what I might find there, and Mum’s reluctance had made me even more unsure. But now I had no choice but to go there as soon as possible and find out about the café and what it would mean financially. I’d been through worse than this: I’d been left alone with two young kids and no money and I fought through that, so I could do it again. This wasn’t about me, this was about my family and I was going to face all my fears to keep them going and be the mother, daughter, provider I’d always been. And in my heart I felt that one way or another it would all work out and this inheritance might just help me through a sticky patch. Little did I know.

  4

  Fake Teak and Melted Memories

  ‘Mum, tell me truthfully, do you miss Sophia?’ I asked, as we had a last cup of tea before I set off for Devon. It was very early in the morning, but Mum had got up with me, and made me some sandwiches to take. I felt like I was going on a school trip.

  ‘Sophia?’ she answered, pouring boiling water onto teabags. ‘No, I don’t miss her now; I haven’t seen her for so long. I miss when we were kids, when we played together, then later when we moved to Devon we had some fun. We were very popular with our schoolmates – something to do with our family owning a café that made ice cream,’ she laughed, bringing two steaming mugs to the kitchen table while I finished off my toast. It was rare to hear Mum talking fondly of the past, and especially of Sophia, but at the end of the day they were still sisters.

  ‘Do you ever wish you’d stayed in Devon?’ I asked.

  ‘Ooh no. Your dad and I wanted to get away, we needed a fresh start, and when he was promoted and transferred to Manchester our prayers were answered.’

  ‘But the café? How did you feel about leaving it?’

  ‘Sophia had made her mark on it by then, I’d not worked there for a long time – three miscarriages can put you off your stroke,’ she added sadly. ‘Then you came along and I wanted to be with you, my precious daughter,’ she squeezed my cheek.

  As a mother myself I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to lose three babies, and even now I saw the pain etched on her face. But the experience had made her the mother, and grandmother, she was – caring, loving and ferociously protective when it came to me and the kids.

  ‘I’ve been a good mum haven’t I, Ella?’

  ‘The best, Mum, the best,’ I smiled. It was a mantra often heard from Mum; she seemed to need reassurance that she’d done the right thing, that she’d been good to me and I always answered the same, ‘The best, Mum, the best.’

  She seemed sad this morning, I wondered if she might change her mind about coming to the funeral.

  ‘Are you sure, about today?’ I asked.

  She nodded, quite adamantly.

  ‘Mum, do you think on her death bed Sophia might have forgiven you for whatever…?’

  ‘No. We vowed never to speak to each other again, and it worked. No point raking up the past, Ella.’

  This made me feel sad, and despite Mum’s dismissal I knew it must have affected her. The sisters were once so close, and until recently they were all that was left of what Mum called, ‘the Devon branch of the Caprioni Dynasty’.

  I asked Mum again why they hadn’t stayed in touch, but her forgetfulness, like her Italian
accent came and went.

  ‘You can’t expect me to remember details about something that happened over forty years ago,’ she said, dismissing the feud like it was nothing.

  It seemed that whenever I mentioned the café and Sophia, or even Gina, my mother’s memory completely deserted her. And I wondered, not for the first time, what it was that made her want to forget? I tried to respect her need for privacy, but it bothered me. However, I didn’t have time to get into this now, I had a train to catch, so I stood up and began to gather my stuff together for my day in Devon.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Mum asked, suddenly.

  ‘I’m just putting some stuff in a bag, I’m going to Devon. Sophia’s funeral? The will?’

  ‘I’m not going.’

  ‘No, I know, but I am.’ We had discussed this many times.

  ‘Don’t… please don’t go.’

  ‘Mum, she’s my aunt. I loved her and she was always good to me – she’s thought of me in her will. I have to pay my respects.’

  ‘But you might not come back?’ she said, a haunted look on her face.

  ‘Mum, I’m back this evening, I have my train booked.’ I knew this was just another way for Mum to ask me not to go, but she seemed genuinely scared and it upset me. But even if I’d wanted to stay I couldn’t, I had to say goodbye to Sophia. Apart from Gina I was the only other family member who’d be there. I’d also arranged to hear the will on the same day, it made sense, the solicitor was happy to do it and it saved me an extra journey, not to mention another train fare. I didn’t want to worry Mum about our dire financial situation, but this inheritance might be the only way out of it.

  And so, on that sunny June morning at 5 a.m., I went against my mother’s wishes and set off for Devon.

  I sat on the train wondering again what it was that kept my mother from attending her own sister’s funeral. Mum had once told me they’d been very different growing up. Sophia had apparently been ‘the bad sister’ who’d left school early and fallen pregnant at nineteen. As a child, I’d once overheard my mum talking about how ‘Sophia had a shotgun wedding’, and I’d assumed this meant a Western theme with cowboys and saloon girls. It had all happened in the late fifties, the family were staunch Catholics, and Mum said they never forgave Sophia for ‘the shame’ of being unwed and pregnant. My grandmother eventually accepted Uncle Reginald, but in the early days had refused to go to the wedding. Clearly Mum was as stubborn as her own mother when it came to Sophia.