Ella's Ice Cream Summer

by Sue Watson

  I assured him I might also die of boredom if he dared to make me read them, but as a new business owner I would go through them and sign as necessary. I ushered him in and offered him coffee – he asked for cappuccino.

  ‘Sorry, but I tried to work the cappuccino machine last night,’ I sighed, ‘but I can’t get it started, you wouldn’t happen to know how it works, would you?’

  ‘I’ve had many cappuccinos in this apartment,’ he smiled, ‘but never actually made one, Sophia always made a fuss of me…’

  I smiled, I liked that Ben was friends with Sophia, he was a genuinely nice guy and it made me feel a little better to know that despite having no family, she had friends here in her later years.

  ‘That sounds like my aunt. She loved making a fuss of people, always the hostess, wherever she was, I swear she was born to own a café,’ I smiled, fond memories slowly opening in my head like a flower. ‘Did she sit on the patio to eat in the summer?’ I asked. It was a small thing, but I wanted to know everything I’d missed.

  ‘Yes, she did that often, and sometimes if I was walking along the beach I’d wave to her. She was a friend of my mother’s, Dad too, and she was just such a big part of the community here, people were so fond of her.’

  I wondered again why this popular woman who everyone seemed to love was disliked by her own sister. While I was here I might just discover what had torn them apart, but that was for another day, this morning was about cappuccinos and new beginnings.

  ‘So you reckon you can get this cappuccino maker working?’ I said, walking to the kitchen door.

  ‘I can give it a go… oh and Sophia always had home-made little amaretti biscuits to eat with the coffee.’

  ‘I don’t have any of those,’ I said.

  He looked at me mock accusingly. ‘Do you mean you haven’t made a fresh batch for my arrival?’

  ‘No, because I’m now officially a selfish, self-centred woman who is going to look after herself for a change – and that includes not making bloody biscuits at dawn for a passing solicitor.’

  ‘Ouch,’ he laughed, joining me in the kitchen, making it feel even smaller with the two of us in there. I rather liked that it was cramped as we had to huddle together over the machine, our bodies touching – which wasn’t unpleasant.

  ‘My girlfriend had one of these… I’ll try and remember how turn it on…’ he started.

  Oh God he did have a girlfriend! Of course he did. I couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

  ‘So does your girlfriend bake biscuits for you every morning to go with that coffee?’ I was already slightly jealous of the beautiful woman that might have Ben’s heart.

  ‘No, she doesn’t.’

  ‘Good for her,’ I said, glad she wasn’t a domestic goddess and completely perfect. ‘She’s not slaving over a stove for a man…’

  ‘I haven’t seen her for a couple of years.’

  She was probably some amazing diving princess who jet-set around the world, checking in with Ben every now and then for passionate weekends.

  ‘Playing hard to get is she?’

  He laughed; ‘Yes, very much so. She ran off with someone else.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Ben.’

  I felt awful for being so flippant.

  ‘It’s okay; it wasn’t her, it was me… or something like that. I never stay in the same place long enough to get too attached. Women tell me I have commitment issues… but I do miss her cappuccino machine.’

  I was glad he was single, I needed a friend here, and I didn’t want some girlfriend getting the wrong idea.

  ‘It’s a bit rusty,’ he was saying as he opened up the back of Sophia’s coffee contraption. ‘Probably not been used for a while,’ he sighed. ‘It must be a few years since I had one of Sophia’s cappuccinos, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the last time it was used. But I think I can fix it – might just need a good clean. It’ll take me a little while, but it’s a good excuse to turn up late for work.’

  ‘So your dad will accept the excuse that you’re late because you were fixing a cappuccino machine?’

  ‘Mmm probably not, but you’re a client – so I can be doing all kinds of things for you.’

  I could feel the heat rise up my body, and move to my face. Was he flirting with me or was this just innocent banter, as the kids referred to it? Aware my neck and chest were probably now flushed red with embarrassment I leaned forward on the countertop, trying to hide my mottled decolletage. ‘You really are in the wrong job aren’t you?’ He was obviously practical and could fix machines, but give him a sheaf of legal documents and he was all over the place.

  He shrugged and wiped his hands on a tea towel. ‘Lots of people are in the wrong jobs – it’s just about finding the courage to get out. At least, I’ve got something to escape to.’

  ‘Wow, I’m running away to come here and you’re running away from here – funny really.’

  ‘Yeah – well that’s life I suppose, we always want what we can’t have,’ he said, a wistful look coming over him.

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I longed for peace and quiet and although I’ve only been here a day, I love it here, but I’m already missing the kids and my mum terribly! Silly isn’t it.’

  ‘They could always come to stay?’

  ‘No, the kids are doing their own things, and my mother simply refuses to come.’

  I’d called Mum on arrival the day before but she had been very monosyllabic and quite disinterested in my stories of how Appledore was still pretty, the sky blue and the sea bracing. But I kept talking, telling her about the new deli and the chocolate shop and how I’d made ice cream from a long-remembered recipe of Aunt Sophia’s.

  ‘And have you seen anything of Gina?’ she’d asked softly.

  I told her that Gina hadn’t come over from LA yet.

  ‘Typical, like a butterfly that one, she’s probably found something more interesting to do.’

  ‘Mum, Sophia’s gone and Gina’s thousands of miles away – whatever happened a long time ago just isn’t relevant any more…’

  ‘Yes and the past needs to stay long ago, there’ll be all kinds of gossip in town, but only those involved know the truth.’

  ‘If I knew what it was, I could put a stop to any idle gossip,’ I said, seeing an opportunity to lure my mother into spilling the beans.

  ‘No. You just keep out of it, water under the bridge,’ was all she’d said, and I’d had to leave it at that.

  I’d felt guilty leaving her, even though it was what she wanted, and talking about her and the kids brought a lump to my throat; I knew, like everyone else, I sometimes took my family for granted.

  Ben was now taking the cappuccino machine into the living room and laying it on a tea towel on the floor. Delilah had rushed over to help and he was rather distracted giving her the required attention (she was quite the princess). So guessing this might take some time, I offered him a cup of instant coffee until it was fixed. He seemed eager to stick around and I wondered if it was because he enjoyed my company as I did his – or if he just didn’t want to go to work.

  I went into the kitchen and boiled the kettle, thinking about that last conversation with Mum.

  ‘Ben, have you ever heard any gossip?’ I called through into the living room.

  ‘All the time,’ he called back. ‘But we deal in divorces, deaths and house sales – it’s a hotbed down at Shaw Associates. Sadly I’m sworn to secrecy.’

  I laughed while pouring the steaming water into our mugs. ‘I can imagine, but I meant gossip about the Caprioni family, about Sophia… Gina… my mother?’

  ‘No, nothing interesting or scandalous, if that’s what you mean, but like I say, I couldn’t tell you if I did. I would have to kill you.’

  ‘It would be worth it for a snippet about the scandalous Caprionis.’ I said, walking in with two steaming mugs of coffee and placing his on the floor. It felt natural to sit down next to him, but at the same time vaguely inappropriate, too intimat
e perhaps? But I did it anyway, and he didn’t flinch, he seemed comfortable, so I stayed.

  ‘Nothing scandalous, just the Mafia connection, oh and there was that brothel, the gun running and the drugs.’

  ‘Oh we all know about that,’ I laughed. ‘I want to know the real serious stuff – like why my mother and her sister stopped speaking to each other and why my mum’s so paranoid about my cousin Gina. Even on Sophia’s death bed there was no reconciliation.’

  ‘They’re Italians, have you never watched The Sopranos?’

  ‘No, but my mother has, again and again, she is pure gangster. I’m not quite so hardcore, but I’ve watched The Real Housewives of New Jersey and those brawling Italian mamas don’t hold a light to my family’s lifelong vendettas.’

  He sat back on his haunches surveying the machine from a distance and then looked at me. ‘I suppose, like all families, there were fallouts, but being Latin-tempered they took it beyond the grave.’

  I watched him take a sip of coffee, which was too hot and caused him to spill some on the floor, splashing the sofa and my pale pink dressing gown along the way.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ella, so clumsy of me,’ he said, standing up, his own sweatshirt now coffee-stained.

  ‘It’s fine – it seems to be something you excel in,’ I laughed as he sat back down.

  ‘Yeah, my mum used to say I wasn’t meant for a house, my legs are too long and I should be running on a beach or splashing in the sea. She was right. Funny, every time I accidentally hurl a glass to the floor or spill a drink spectacularly, I think of Mum and wonder if she’s watching and shaking her head.’

  I was smiling and he looked up from the machine, biting his lip, his forehead slightly furrowed over the technical problem he was encountering. And suddenly our eyes met and the sun came out, his smile spreading across his face as I felt mine do the same and for a moment we just bathed in mutual happiness. The sun was streaming through the window, the sea was glittering on the horizon and a really nice guy was sitting in front of me. It didn’t get much better than this.

  As is often the case, this lovely moment was followed by a rather awkward silence while we both recalibrated our thoughts. I was aware Ben was watching me and I wondered if he’d really turned up just to give me my street trader’s licence? He hadn’t alluded to it since he’d arrived and had just left it on the sofa, which was making me wonder what was happening here.

  ‘I made ice cream,’ I suddenly said, because the silence was too much and I wasn’t sure if this was awkward or not. Perhaps Ben was just having one of his confused moments and he wasn’t staring at me at all?

  ‘Oh wow! Are you going to do home-made ice cream for the van?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes of course, Sophia would turn in her grave if I sullied that van with profanities like Magnums and Cornettos.’

  I went into the kitchen, returning with a swirl of salted pistachio ice cream in a bowl, and handed it to him. He took it from me, his fingers brushing mine and sending hot waves of electricity through every nerve. Any longer and it would have melted the ice cream.

  ‘Oh wow, this is like nothing I ever tasted,’ he said, taking large spoonful after spoonful. ‘What’s in this – some kind of drug? It’s really, really good. I love the sweet and the salty – sun and sea, like a day at the seaside.’

  ‘I like that – the flavour could be called “A Day at the Seaside”?’ I said.

  ‘You could be onto something here. I mean the Caprioni ice cream van has been out of action for a year or so, and in the past few years it only sold packaged ice cream. But this reminds me of the stuff they used to make at the café when I was a kid, tastes of real cream, not sickly-sweet or fake tasting, just – real.’

  I was delighted at his reaction and planned to experiment with more flavours over the next few days. Ben had a mechanic friend who’d offered to look over the van for me and said I could pay him once I’d earned some money, which was brilliant. He said he’d let me have it by the weekend, so I had time to practise before I headed out on my first day.

  ‘Call me any time day or night if you need a taster,’ he smiled when he left an hour later. And I said goodbye and closed the door with a great big smile on my face while heading into the kitchen to pulverise some frozen strawberries.

  Ben was someone who could be a really good friend – he was so kind, and he made me laugh and he also inspired me. He didn’t live by the rules; he worked in his father’s office in order to do what he really wanted to do – dive in exotic locations. He made it happen, and I dared to think that perhaps I too could follow a dream that some may consider a flight of fancy. Could I really make a go of the rusty old van?

  Only time would tell.

  11

  Spilt Hot Coffee and Dog-Chewed Bacon

  I spent the next few days walking along the beach with Delilah. It was an idyllic existence, but at the same time I was very much aware that I had limited money and time was moving on. The van was due back tomorrow and I couldn’t afford to have it spray-painted so would have to do that myself.

  ‘I just hope I don’t make a pig’s ear of it,’ I’d said to Lucie on Skype one evening as I sat watching the tide come in, laptop on my knee. My daughter was looking well and happy and she’d asked for photos of the van and I’d managed to send them to her all the way in Thailand. She’d found a fancy app that showed me all the different combinations of colour I could paint it.

  ‘I want it to be pale pink and white, just like Caprioni’s used to be,’ I said, and within seconds my brilliant daughter sent me a photo of the van exactly as I’d imagined it.

  ‘Oh Lucie, you’re amazing, the cleverest girl I ever gave birth to,’ I sighed, longing to hug my little girl. She laughed and said it was easy and ‘even you could do it, Mum’. But I doubted it.

  Later I called Mum, who seemed quite flustered.

  ‘Hello, who is that, I’m flower arranging,’ she said. Mum had never arranged flowers in her life.

  ‘Mum, is Frederick with you?’ I said, knowing this was less about carnations and more like mother in flagrante delicto with Frederick on my pale cream sofa.

  ‘No… no,’ she said breathlessly.

  ‘Mum, I’m not being a know-all, but to my knowledge flower arranging doesn’t usually cause breathlessness. Are you sure Frederick isn’t with you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she snapped, ‘I’m flower arranging with… Leo.’

  ‘Leo?’ I said, presuming this was a new man and not the local florist.

  ‘Oh I’m sorry I forgot you don’t speak the lingo. It’s LEONARDO,’ she said this like it was a foreign word.

  ‘I understand that, you don’t have to speak Italian to understand your mother has a new boyfriend…’ I said, thinking this must be the third in as many weeks, whereas I hadn’t had a boyfriend for as many decades.

  ‘Leo’s not that new, dear, I’ve known him since Wednesday,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, you’ve been with him a whole two days, that must be getting stale,’ I said, but she was saying something to Leo and didn’t hear me. And just when it all seemed to be going so well and I had temporarily stopped worrying about her. My mother was now alone with a strange man in my living room. He could be a con man, a sex pest or a serial killer, but given the heavy breathing I wasn’t sure what worried me most, my mother’s safety or the condition of the soft furnishings.

  ‘Oh Ella,’ she sighed; ‘Leo’s a gentleman, he’s from the old country.’

  ‘Rochdale?’

  ‘You know exactly what I mean, so don’t be obtuse, Madam. He’s a very nice man and I’m enjoying his company.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it, Mum, but I’m worried about you. There’s a spare room here, you know. You could come to Appledore and I’m sure there are lots of eligible older men here too,’ I added, knowing Appledore and the spare room wouldn’t lure her, but the prospect of surplus single men might.

  ‘Has she arrived yet?’ she suddenly said, sounding like a frightened child.


  ‘No.’ I wasn’t in the mood to hear my mother bitch about my cousin, so I told her about me. ‘I’m taking the van out for the first time on Monday, it’s back from the garage tomorrow and I’m going to paint it…’

  ‘Come home, Ella, there’s nothing there for you.’

  My heart sank, she was back on this well-trodden path.

  ‘No Mum, I’m going to give this a go.’

  ‘Oh have it your own way. Look, I have to go, Leo’s having trouble mounting…’

  My heart almost stopped. ‘What Mum… what is Leo mounting?’

  ‘…the stairs. He has a stick, you see?’

  Once we’d established Leo hadn’t had a stroke, I told her I loved her and clicked off the phone. I didn’t have too much time to worry about what Mum was up to because a few minutes later Josh Skyped and Delilah and I ‘spoke’ to Aarya. As luck would have it, Delilah was wearing lounging pyjamas in dove grey, of which Aarya approved. I tried to ask them about Nepal, the people and the mountains but all Aarya wanted was a minute by minute account of Delilah’s moods, outfits and toilet times. Eventually I managed to get a few words in about my new van.

  ‘I told you, Mum, you should vlog it all – the van, the place, the ice cream… even Delilah, people love a dog on YouTube.’

  ‘Yeah I thought I might do that later in the summer,’ I smiled into the webcam before we said our farewells and I turned off the connection wondering what the bloody hell vlogging was. Honestly, I’d only just got used to Facebook and now Josh wanted me to vlog… I had no intention of even googling it. Life was too short and I had ice cream to make.

  Two days before my ‘debut’ on the beach, I moved into the café kitchens. I ordered all the ingredients to arrive there by late Saturday evening when the café would be closed and I’d have the place to myself.

  I walked through the café now; the grumpy guy was sitting behind the counter and ignored me as I passed. Being the friendly type, I always liked to try to win people over so I smiled at him and said, ‘I’m using the kitchens to make ice cream for the van.’

  He looked up, ‘Right.’