by Sue Watson
I couldn’t really make any plans until I’d spoken to Gina to find out what she was doing with the café, so thought this was a good time to try to find a contact number for her. I felt a pang of guilt wondering how Mum would feel if she knew I was trying to contact Gina, but told myself that just because Mum was holding onto some Italian grievance from the bloody 1970s didn’t mean I had to. My friendship with my cousin didn’t have to be connected to my mother, I was a grown-up now and if I wanted to re-establish our relationship then surely it was up to me?
I googled Gina and eventually found her agent’s number, quickly dialling it before I could change my mind. My mouth was dry, my heart beating high in my throat when eventually a woman answered.
‘I’m trying to contact Gina…’ I said, and explained who I was and where I was calling from. She was American and sounded like a big film star agent and proudly told me Gina was working on ‘a big movie in LA darling’. I gave her my number and she said she’d ask her to call me when she had time.
‘Can I ask what the movie is?’ I ventured, before putting the phone down.
‘Sorry, it’s top secret, honey,’ the woman said. ‘She’s working with Leonardo and he likes discretion.’
Wow, I thought as I clicked off the phone. My famous cousin! I thought she’d ‘retired’ from films, married her millionaire and was enjoying the good life in Bel Air, but this was exciting. I couldn’t wait for her call, I was dying to hear all the Hollywood gossip. I desperately hoped she’d come to Appledore soon and we could just start again where we left off, me and my beautiful blonde cousin.
Eventually, I had a customer – but it was Ben; smiling, happy, laid-back Ben peering at me from the other side of the hatch.
‘You open?’
‘Yes of course I’m open – I just don’t have any customers.’
‘Well don’t sweat it – early July isn’t exactly crazy busy here, even last wills and testaments are thin on the ground this time of year.’
‘Now he tells me,’ I said. ‘I thought you said this was a thriving hub of business potential?’
‘Yeah, during July and August – you know, summer?’
‘I just feel a bit adrift, literally – like I’m a little boat bobbing about in the middle of this beach. I’m not waving but drowning and no one’s noticed.’
‘You aren’t doing anything wrong, it’s just different now…’ he said, looking around the beach at an older couple walking their dog.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, Sophia had advantages you don’t – she had the café and she sold ice cream long before any of the big brands.’
’Yes, she had the ice cream monopoly around here. I guess I need to do a bit of blue-sky thinking.’
‘Well, we’ve got the sky for it,’ he said, gesturing above to the endless blanket of blue.
‘Exactly, it’s sunny, but chilly, and too early in the season for ice cream, I’m so stupid. People want to be out under this big blue sky, but not necessarily eating ice cream, right?’ I said, an idea forming.
‘Yeah… so you could also serve hot drinks?’ he suggested.
‘Yes I could, that’s a good idea, but what about branching out even more? Okay, so I haven’t sold a single bloody cone yet… and I’m offering this amazing ice cream, but until they taste it they don’t know it’s amazing.’ I remembered something I’d read recently in a food magazine. ‘What about ice cream sandwiches, made with croissants, or brioche… they’re the new black, or the new breakfast – or something.’
‘That’s a brilliant idea,’ Ben said. ‘Okay… hang on, don’t go anywhere.’
And he was off up the beach, I wasn’t sure if he was running away from me or running towards something else. I had to giggle because he almost fell over a dog and a small child as he threw himself Ben-like up the beach and into the deli on the front. After a few minutes he came out carrying a large brown paper bag and ran back to the van even faster than he’d left, only just avoiding a large hole in the sand.
He plonked the bag on the counter while trying to get his breath. ‘Those… in there… brioche.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, taking the bag gratefully, he was so supportive, so enthusiastic on my behalf I wanted to hug him. ‘Perhaps people are more likely to buy something any time of the day if it’s called a sandwich,’ I said, opening up the bag and breathing in the warm, sweet, bready fragrance. ‘Yum, these smell delicious,’ I took one out and gently prised it apart with a short knife as curls of sugary, buttery steam exuded from the soft dough. I reached in with my scoop and squidged in a blob of butterscotch, sweet and crunchy with an echo of salty caramel. I took a bite and Ben’s hand reached in, seizing the warm brioche from my hand and taking a bite too.
‘Wow that is delicious,’ he said.
The combination of the warm, buttery sweet bread and the cold crunchy ice cream was sublime and we playfully fought each other to finish it.
‘Yeah, the ice cream needs something to sell it at the moment – and I reckon this is one way,’ I said. ‘It’s a sort of brunch sandwich. I could even add maple syrup… or bacon, yes crunchy little niblets of salty bacon in maple syrup ice cream. I’ll make posters to stick on the van advertising ice cream sandwiches; I can just pop the bread in the microwave.’
‘But you don’t have a microwave in the van…’
I shook my head, I was so excited about my idea, for once I was forgetting about the basics. It wasn’t like me to get carried away like this – but it felt good.
‘I’ll get a microwave next week,’ I said, feeling like a creative entrepreneur. I wanted to lean out of the hatch and kiss him but I resisted, thank God, business was bad enough without me doing that!
‘Yeah – this is the gateway drug to Ella’s ice cream,’ he said, holding up the half-eaten sandwich.
‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ he said, as he scampered back up the beach like an overgrown puppy. He was shouting, turning round to see me and running backwards. ‘We’ll have them crazy for it,’ he yelled as he fell down the hole he’d narrowly missed earlier and disappeared for a moment. Emerging a few seconds later with his thumbs up like nothing had happened.
I laughed aloud, and watched him go, loving his enthusiasm, his optimism in the face of an empty beach and a lonely ice cream seller. Perhaps he was a mentor, an idiot, a dreamer? I didn’t care – I was enjoying now, with him, and nothing else mattered.
Eventually he returned with a small microwave from his office, and a couple of large sheets of paper. God only knows what his father thought of him stealing all this office equipment for an ice cream van. Together, like two little kids, we created a picture of the brioche and ice cream with the wording: ‘Ice Cream Sandwiches, a delicious anytime snack’.
We proudly stuck the poster on the side of the hatch where it could be seen by anyone passing by. Within a few minutes a woman had read the sign, bought a brioche, and walked away eating it from the paper napkin. She waved and shouted ‘This is delicious!’ and I glowed. It wasn’t much, but to me it was everything and I almost wept with gratitude. Ben was the only person who’d tasted my ice cream and as my friend and supporter was always going to tell me how good it tasted. My idea had worked, this was a good feeling, and here was a total stranger who also thought it was delicious – I just hoped she’d tell her friends.
I don’t think ‘brioche woman’ got the word out because the rest of the day was quiet, except for the time when I was drinking a cup of coffee and someone asked if they could buy one too. In my new entrepreneurial way, I thought a sale is a sale, and immediately boiled the kettle and added ‘hot drinks’ to the poster on the side of the van.
But by the time 5 p.m. arrived I was feeling quite low and was just about to close up when a whole load of school kids appeared – there must have been about twenty. They all clamoured at the van and I was suddenly overcome with customers; they were loud and rude and fighting among themselves, but I didn’t care – they were customers.
I sold seven strawberry cones, four vanilla, six chocolate and several fruity ice lollies I’d made from puréed fruit. Again, it wasn’t much, but it was a sign that perhaps it was worth sitting here all day every day, and for kids it didn’t matter what time of year it was they loved ice cream.
I had to have patience, so gave it another couple of hours and eventually saw a gaggle of women jostling across the sands. ‘Hey… hey you’re not closed yet are you, we need ice cream,’ they chorused, as they staggered across the beach.
There were at least ten ladies, all keen to know the flavours and discuss and decide on toppings, and all excited.
‘We’ve just been to our slimming club, you see,’ one of them explained, ‘and we go a bit mad when we get out – we’ve got a whole week to weighin so tonight anything goes – can I have double chocolate sauce and nuts on mine please?’
I was delighted. These ladies would appreciate the different flavours, the fresh ingredients, the lovingly made sauces. I opened the freezer, waffle cones in hand to start making their orders, but on opening the lid of the chocolate ice cream I could see it had melted and gone to liquid. My heart was in my mouth as I opened the butterscotch, the fresh raspberry, the rich and creamy vanilla… all melted! I couldn’t bear to look any further, and when I checked the freezer temperature it was clear the freezer had completely broken down. I wanted to cry, and with my back to them, all I could hear were their excited voices discussing exactly what they were going to have. Slowly I had to turn round, swallow hard and explain what had happened.
‘Look, I’m so sorry but I don’t have any ice cream left,’ I said.
They stood there open-mouthed, the deep disappointment clear on their faces. I looked back at the contents of the freezer and back at the faces in front of the van, what could I do?
‘Perhaps… you’d like to come back next week… and I’ll make sure the freezer is working,’ I tried, but they weren’t impressed. They wanted it now and I couldn’t turn customers away, they might never come back again. Then I recalled watching an episode of The Apprentice with Mum some weeks before when they’d made a fortune selling smoothies and suddenly an idea came into my head.
‘But what about a thick shake instead?’ I offered, because the melted ice cream was now looking just like a thick shake.
The disappointment didn’t move from their faces, so I offered free toppings and squirty cream, which seemed to soften them slightly.
‘And… if you come back next week and show me your slimming club badges I will give you an ice cream for half price… with free toppings.’
They seemed almost happy with this and as I handed them various flavoured milkshakes crowned with squirty cream, nuts, sugar strands and syrupy sauces in every flavour, I did my market research.
‘As you’re all slimming ladies perhaps you might be interested in my pure fruit lollies next week?’ I suggested.
At this they all laughed loudly like I’d just told the best joke ever, then there was a blanket of silence.
‘On a Monday night we come straight out of slimming club and head for something far naughtier than fruit lollies,’ one of them explained.
They all giggled and another lady pointed out that the ice cream van was actually a stopover on the way to the chip shop.
‘Then we go to the pub for cocktails,’ another said and they all laughed as the first one added, ‘When you’ve been dieting all week a fruit lolly is the last thing any of us wants.’
I said I understood and happily promised them all kinds of fabulous, fattening ice creams the following week and made a note to stay late every Monday evening for the ‘slimming’ girls.
And half an hour later as I closed the van, and they headed for the chip shop, I waved them off, pleased with my quick thinking, knowing I had guaranteed customers for Monday and also that I had to think outside the box to make this a success. Ben was right, things were certainly different from when Sophia had been the queen of ice cream. All hail the new queen, I thought, with a smile.
14
Strawberry Shakes and Sex on the Stairs
‘When life gives you melted ice cream, you make milkshakes!’ I said to Ben later, when I bumped into him in the deli, buying myself a bottle of wine and some olives.
‘You’re bound to have a few teething problems,’ he said.
I appreciated his upbeat energy most of the time, but I was angry at myself. I still had a lot of melted ice cream to shift and though I’d not actually lost any sales, it was a textbook error. ‘I hadn’t checked the freezer properly – I’d been so busy making ice creams and planning a summer of flavours I hadn’t actually done a test run on the van. I’m so bloody stupid,’ I was saying, shaking my head.
‘You’re not stupid,’ Ben put his arm around me. ‘You’re clever and funny and I like the way you put your finger to your mouth when you’re thinking hard. It’s cute.’
I laughed. ‘I am not cute. I’m this savvy, creative businesswoman coming up with plans and ideas and forecasts… until her ice cream melts.’
We both smiled at this, I couldn’t stay down for long with Ben around and he asked if I wanted to ‘hang out’.
I said, ‘That’s what my kids do, but if it means you want to take a look at the van freezer while I make ice cream, then I’ll “hang out” with you.’
Eventually, when Ben had mended the freezer we put a couple of small containers of ice cream inside and sat in the van with the freezer on to see if it was working. An hour later, and the ice cream was as cold as it had been when we put it in, and Ben gave a little cheer as we closed up the freezer again.
We then took all the frozen ice cream to the café and drove back to my apartment. I wanted Ben to try the ‘milkshakes’ from the remainder of the melted ice cream and he sampled them while I cooked a late supper.
Ben was so supportive, so enthusiastic, I couldn’t help but think he’d make a great husband or partner for someone, it was a shame he couldn’t settle down. Mind you, his clumsiness could drive someone mad, the amount of milk on the floor when he’d finished adding toppings to his various milkshakes was ridiculous.
I was wiping up the milk he’d spilled when I spotted an old carrier bag lying on the floor, with the word ‘Coin’ emblazoned across. This rang a bell and I remembered this was an Italian department store – Mum often talked of going to Coin in Naples with Grandma and Aunt Sophia years ago.
‘Do you know where this has come from?’ I asked Ben as I reached for it. He was still ‘experimenting’ with melted ice cream and not really listening, but eventually managed to answer.
‘When I pulled out the freezer in the van to check the connection, it was stuck in there. I meant to tell you, but forgot. Funny place to put a bag, behind a freezer, there’s loads of old papers in there, it’s probably rubbish.’
I was grateful Ben hadn’t just thrown it away, but in case there were any important documents in there I moved it out of the way – I didn’t feel it would be safe to leave paper anywhere near a ‘milkshake-sampling’ Ben. I stuffed the bag in a drawer and got back to cooking the marinara sauce, a rich, tomato seafood concoction of my grandma’s – a recipe my mum had taught me.
When the sauce was ready, I filled a huge bowl with steaming tagliatelli and poured it on. We ate outside, overlooking the sea as we had the previous evening, but this time the air was sparkly. After sharing a kiss, I wondered if we might last the summer – and as I tasted the rich, tangy tomato and sipped on warm Italian red I tried not to look too far into the future.
There were already many x factors in this new life and I wondered again if I was doing the right thing? Could I stop myself if I began to fall for this man?
Before we’d even finished our pasta, he’d reached out and touched the tips of my fingers with his and my stomach was filled with electricity. I could think of nothing else but his lips on mine and I could tell by his face and the urgent touch of his fingers that he felt the same.
I stood up from my chai
r and moved towards him. It was like a dance; he knew exactly what I was doing and where I was going and despite being the clumsiest person I knew he moved back in his chair. I sat on his lap, we started to kiss and the world stopped and so did I. The sea was still under a silent blanket of stars with no yesterday, no tomorrow – just now.
We kissed each other gently at first, just like the night before, but now more slow and meaningful, exploring each other with our lips and eyes. His hand moved under my T-shirt and he took my breath away as he touched my breasts, my own hands now cupping his bristly face. In his kisses I tasted the sea, and felt the swirling waves beneath us as he lifted me and carried me inside and up the wooden slatted stairs. Before we even reached the bedroom he put me down on a step, it was strange and uncomfortable but exhilarating as he climbed onto me and still kissing we tore each other’s clothes off. As he moved into me I felt an explosion of stars in my head and I cried out in ecstasy. I felt uninhibited, as wild as the sea, unable to stop until the tidal wave of pleasure licked over me.
I didn’t know where this was going, but the uncertainty only heightened the excitement. I’d thought I might never love again after Richard, not that this was love – but here, now in this new life I felt different, more alive than I had for years.
Afterwards, we lay together on the bed, naked, his hand on my tummy, mine on his chest, breathing together and thinking apart. Having felt wonderful, I suddenly felt vulnerable again, like a shadow coming over me.
‘Ben, I’m scared,’ I heard myself say into the darkness.
‘There’s nothing to be scared of… this is good, we’re good together, you and me.’
‘Yes, we are aren’t we? But it’s not just this… you and me. I’ve made this big decision to move my life in a different direction… but sometimes I wake up in the night and think what have I done? I still have my home but now I have here too, and I’m scared to stay and scared to go back. I feel like I’m in no-man’s-land – terrified of the unknown and what might happen.’
