The Heavenly Italian Ice Cream Shop

by Abby Clements

  ‘Surf at sunset? x’.

  His message made her smile. She tapped back a reply.

  ‘See you at 4.30 down at the arches x’.

  Imogen went out into the studio, skirting quietly past the shoot Lauren was doing of a young couple with their Pekinese dog.

  It was great, Imogen thought, that Lauren, a schoolfriend she’d recently reconnected with, had her own studio now, and that she got so much session work – even more so that she enjoyed it. Just the thought of days spent cooped up indoors snapping photos of newborns and pets made Imogen feel stifled. All of those staged scenes and uncooperative children and canines – rather Lauren than her. After struggling at school, and a long search for work after college, Imogen was finally getting the kind of work she was most passionate about.

  That afternoon, after she left Lauren’s studio in the north laines, Imogen walked down to the arches for the second time that day. This time she passed Vivien’s and carried on walking, past the souvenir shop run by their grandmother’s friend Evie, and on to Finn’s surf school. Inside, Finn was closing up with his friend and business partner Andy.

  ‘Hey, Andy,’ Imogen called out.

  ‘The traveller returns,’ Andy said, brightly.

  Imogen kissed Finn hello.

  ‘He’s missed you loads, you know,’ Andy teased.

  ‘Ahh,’ she said, turning to her boyfriend. ‘Is that true?’

  ‘Don’t believe a word of it,’ Finn said.

  ‘He was unbearable, moping around the place,’ Andy said.

  ‘So, you all set?’ Finn asked, throwing his friend a stern look.

  ‘Ready.’ Imogen nodded.

  She looked at the boxes of surf equipment that were filling up the room Finn and Andy used for tuition, before they took the students out. ‘You’re kind of outgrowing this place, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s what we were just talking about,’ Andy said. ‘We’ve had a lot of demand from students to sell boards and equipment, but we just haven’t got the space for it here.’

  ‘Victims of your own success,’ she said warmly.

  Imogen and Finn left, and headed over to his van.

  ‘Maybe you should think about expanding,’ Imogen said, looking back at the shop. Finn had set the surf school up a decade before, when he was in his mid-twenties and long before he’d met Imogen, and in the past couple of years business had really picked up. The surf school was located a couple of doors away from Vivien’s Heavenly Ice Cream Shop, in one of the arches on the seafront in Hove, a stretch of shops and cafés with a warm, friendly atmosphere. The shop owners – Anna and Matteo, Finn, Evie, who ran the souvenir shop, and an assortment of others – regularly met up and helped each other out. They would bring each other hot drinks and snacks and stop by to chat. In the summer the place really came to life, with parties on the bandstand, barbecues and fundraising fairs for local charities – the community spirit that Vivien and Evie had invested so much in over the years was still going strong.

  ‘If we did expand, where would we go, though?’ Finn said. ‘I wouldn’t want to move, but everyone here at the arches has settled in for good.’

  ‘There must be somewhere,’ Imogen said, mulling it over.

  They got into the van, and Finn drove down the main coastal road out of town. As the hazy winter sun lowered in the sky, they headed towards their regular beach, a secluded cove a half-hour outside town.

  She looked out of the window at the sandy cove they were approaching. ‘We’re going to be the only ones out there today. Perfect.’

  Finn parked and she leaped out of the passenger-side door. Together they got their surfboards down from the roof of the van, then slipped on their wetsuits.

  ‘Race you,’ Imogen called out, already running with her board. Finn caught up with her as they hit the waves and brought her down into the water. She emerged from the surf spluttering and laughing. ‘Get out there, then, and let’s see what you can do.’

  Finn paddled far out into the sea, but Imogen stayed closer to the shore, and stopped and waited for the right wave to come. She wasn’t tempted to compete – Finn had been surfing since he was a kid and she had only been doing it for a couple of years, since she’d met him. She was content that she was no longer learning from him – he’d taught her the basics but after that she’d taught herself, responding to the ocean’s ebbs and flows, guided by nature, the ocean something she knew well from diving. Going deep underwater, diving and taking photos of the sea life and coral, had once been her only way of experiencing the sea – and down there she was the one taking the lead, showing Finn the way.

  She dipped her head underwater until her face, neck and hair were totally immersed, the freshness of the water waking her senses. Finn was just a dot in the distance. She took in a lungful of sea air and caught a wave, popping up to her feet swiftly and skilfully. She rode into shore, barely feeling the cold air as she was caught up in the buzz of it. Knowing Finn was out there, somewhere, thinking of her, made her feel she was capable of anything.

  She’d met him back when she was running Vivien’s, and after a summer of working alongside each other in the arches – at points harmoniously, others less so – they had found their way together at a party there. Imogen hadn’t been looking for a relationship – she’d been burned by the way things had turned out with her ex, Luca – but being with Finn had just happened. When they first kissed, on a quiet spot on the beach, she’d felt a rush of excitement, but she’d also felt torn. She hadn’t wanted to stay back in Brighton when there was so much of the world still to explore. When the time came for them to make a decision, she’d persuaded him to come back to Thailand with her, giving him a career break, and her opportunity to put her photography project together.

  The time in New York, where a friend, who’d become her agent, had arranged an exhibition for her, had changed Imogen’s life. It was in those humid summer days in the city that her dream of becoming a professional photographer had finally become reality – and the offers for her work had come in. After the years that she’d struggled at school, her visual memory and different way of seeing the world holding her back, those same things were now taking her further than she’d ever dreamed possible.

  When they had got back home to Brighton, and moved into Finn’s house together, she’d worked hard to keep up with the contacts she’d made. She’d decided to part ways with her agent and go it alone. Things seemed to be working out, with plenty of initial requests for new projects, most of them abroad. That was the way she wanted it. As much as she liked Brighton, when she was away from home good things happened to her. It had always been that way.

  When Finn came up onto the shore, his usually warm skin tone was pale, his lips turning blue. She kissed him in an attempt to warm them. Both of them were shivering.

  ‘Pub?’ Imogen said. ‘I think we need to warm up.’

  ‘Great idea.’

  Half an hour later, Imogen and Finn walked into the Rose, their local pub, lively with chatter from the locals as the weekly quiz started up. Finn and Imogen greeted the bartender and a few of their neighbours, then took a seat in a cosy booth with wooden seats and original frosted-glass panelling, away from the noise.

  The feeling was slowly returning to Imogen’s chilled hands and feet.

  ‘It was great out there today,’ she said. ‘I love it when there’s no one else out there but us.’

  ‘It was so peaceful today. And being with you beats saving a group of beginners from drowning, that’s for sure,’ he said. ‘It’s good to have you back.’ He put his arms around her and brought her towards him for a kiss. She kissed him back.

  ‘Oh, I meant to ask you,’ Imogen said. ‘OK if we go round to Anna and Matteo’s for dinner this Sunday night?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said. He paused. ‘Hang on, isn’t that Valentine’s?’

  ‘Yes, but . . . I mean it’s just like any other day really, right?’ Imogen said.

  ‘I guess,’ he said. �
�If you’re fine with it, I’m fine with it. It’ll be good to see her and Matteo.’

  ‘Great. Because I kind of already said yes.’

  He laughed. ‘Right. Any other arrangements you want to let me know about?’

  ‘Nope. Although hopefully there will be soon. I’m meeting with that author, Sally, about the Amazon trip next week.’

  ‘The pink-dolphin lady?’

  ‘Yes. Two years studying them – it’s amazing how much she knows, and she’s been working on this book the whole time. She’s been looking for the right photographer to go with her out to the Amazon on her final research trip.’

  ‘Didn’t she take photos of her own out there?’

  ‘The publishers weren’t sure about the quality of them, and by the sounds of things, they’re going in big on the book. They want it to be their lead title for next year, so she seemed confident that there’d be a budget to send me out there.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ Finn said. ‘For how long?’

  ‘I don’t know – weeks, months maybe?’ Imogen said, picturing it. ‘She’ll be able to tell me more when we meet.’

  ‘Right, so you’re going to be sunning yourself in South America while I’m braving the wintry English Channel with beginner surfers in wetsuits.’

  ‘I’ll be back soon to tell you all about it,’ Imogen said brightly, landing a kiss on Finn’s mouth. ‘And I’ll make sure I send a postcard.’

  That Sunday night, Imogen and Finn were at Anna and Matteo’s for dinner, with warming, home-cooked Italian food and good red wine on the table between them.

  ‘Great pasta, Anna,’ Imogen said, twirling more of the tagliatelle around her fork.

  ‘Thank you,’ Anna said. ‘I’m getting the hang of the pasta machine Matteo got me for my birthday. It’s a bit fiddly but I think it’s worth it.’

  ‘Look at you, making everything from scratch,’ Imogen said, laughing. ‘Will you just stop? I can still barely cook an egg.’

  ‘Oh, come off it! You’re a good cook these days,’ Anna said.

  ‘Is she?’ Finn said, with a mischievous smile.

  ‘Finn does most of the cooking at ours,’ Imogen admitted.

  ‘And you . . .?’ Anna asked.

  ‘I provide the entertainment,’ Imogen said.

  ‘Pretty much what happened back at home when we were growing up, then,’ Anna said, laughing.

  ‘You seen Mum and Dad lately?’ Imogen asked.

  ‘Yes, we dropped in to see them at Elderberry Avenue last night.’

  ‘How are things going over there?’

  ‘Good, I think,’ Anna said. ‘It’s still a bit chaotic in there, with the decorating, but they’re making progress. Martin’s plan is to open it at the end of March, so they’ve got just over a month to get things sorted.’

  The house in Elderberry Avenue had always been a place where people felt welcome. Vivien had a habit of taking in friends, old and new, and letting them stay for a while. She had been generous by nature and, after the death of her husband, had valued the company.

  ‘Has Dad been round much?’ Imogen asked.

  ‘I’m not sure how much Dad is really helping, to be honest,’ Anna replied. ‘He’s making sculptures for the front garden, and helping make a bit of furniture, but I think there’s a lot of daydreaming going on.’

  ‘That’s Dad for you,’ Imogen said. ‘It can’t be easy for him – seeing Granny V’s house change. I hope it’s not setting him back, being around so many of Granny’s things, watching as his old family home turns into something different.’

  ‘I was wondering the same,’ Anna said, her brow creased with concern. ‘Mum said there are some rooms he hasn’t even been in yet.’

  ‘It’ll be good, in the long term. For us all to have the guesthouse, for Dad to see the place move on. There’s no going back to how things were, after all. I mean we all have memories, don’t we?’

  ‘Do you remember the slumber parties we’d have upstairs? Granny would pretend not to hear us.’

  ‘But, when we opened the door at midnight, she’d have left us snacks there, so we could have a feast.’ Imogen smiled at the memory.

  ‘Dad and Martin must both have a million memories like that,’ Anna said. ‘They grew up there – as kids, as teenagers. Dad bought his first motorbike when he was living there. But the only way to keep those memories alive is to keep the place alive, full of people, love, laughter.’

  ‘Hopefully, Dad’ll get used to things in time,’ Imogen said. ‘But, if he still seems resistant, I’ll talk to him. Has Mum said anything?’

  ‘She’s been giving him a gentle nudge towards having a proper look round, but she doesn’t want to force the issue. In any case, she’s been busy arranging the launch,’ Anna said, ‘sending out press releases and getting local publicity.’

  ‘So much for being retired,’ Imogen said. ‘I knew she wouldn’t be sitting still for long.’

  ‘My mother’s the same,’ Matteo said. ‘Happiest when she’s busy.’

  ‘Your family should all come and stay again,’ said Imogen. ‘Once the guesthouse is open there’ll be much more room, they won’t be squashed into the spare room at Mum and Dad’s cottage.’

  ‘Good point,’ Matteo said. ‘The Elderberry Guesthouse – it has a nice ring to it. As English as fish and chips. I’m sure Mum, Dad and Caro would love it.’

  Anna flashed her sister a look, and Imogen instantly regretted what she’d said. The previous Christmas – which Matteo’s family had joined them for – hadn’t been a tremendous success. A week had felt long to them all. Elisa, Matteo’s mum, a confident and forthright woman, had taken charge, and made more than one comment about Anna and Matteo still not being married. She’d also swamped her grandchild with gifts, even though Bella, at only a year old, was only really interested in the wrapping paper. On the day that Elisa, Giacomo and Carolina left, they’d all breathed a sigh of relief. Elisa meant well – but the truth was that Anna often struggled to get on with her.

  Conscious of her sister’s unease, Imogen quickly backpedalled. ‘I mean in the future, next year or whatever. The place isn’t even open yet, after all.’

  A small cry came from Bella’s room, then all fell quiet again.

  Anna went out into the corridor to listen out.

  ‘Anna, leave her. She’s asleep,’ Matteo said. ‘Don’t worry.’

  ‘You’re right. Nothing now. I thought she’d woken up. You know how she loves a party.’

  ‘She’s a Mediterranean girl at heart,’ Matteo said, with affection. ‘She’d stay up till midnight if we let her.’

  ‘Your mother says you were the same,’ Anna added, recalling the stories that Elisa had told her over Christmas.

  ‘I was. Carolina and I would be running through the square on festival nights, playing games with the other children and hiding underneath the dinner tables. No one minded us staying up late.’

  ‘We won’t be trying that one out with Bella,’ Anna said, shaking her head. ‘She’d be impossible the next day.’

  ‘I like the sound of it,’ Imogen said, Matteo’s description capturing her imagination. ‘It sounds like a wonderful way to grow up. All that freedom. Hanging out with kids of different ages. Better than how it was in our house, in bed at seven whether you were tired or not. You were all right, Anna – burying your head in a book or whatever – but I remember going out of my mind with boredom on the days when I wasn’t sleepy. I think the Mediterranean way of life sounds much more child-friendly.’

  ‘You see, Anna,’ Matteo said, nudging his wife gently. ‘There’s a lot to be said for the Italian way of things. The occasional late night isn’t going to make any difference to Bella.’

  Imogen clocked her sister’s expression and sensed that she might have touched a nerve.

  ‘I didn’t mean for Bella, necessarily,’ Imogen said. ‘I’m just speaking generally.’

  ‘I know,’ Anna said. ‘I do wonder if she’s more of an Italian at h
eart. But this is where she’s growing up.’

  A look passed between Anna and Matteo, and Finn, sensing the tension, jumped in to change the subject.

  ‘How is everything going at Vivien’s?’ he asked.

  ‘Really well,’ Anna said. ‘The winter menu’s gone down well – though I think we’re both looking forward to spring, and being able to bring back the sorbets.’

  ‘I remember that first summer,’ Finn said. ‘I was in there all the time looking for an excuse to chat to her . . .’ He looked over at Imogen.

  ‘So it wasn’t just our ice creams you were interested in?’ Anna raised an eyebrow.

  Finn shook his head and laughed. ‘Nope.’

  ‘I didn’t think she’d ever meet a man who could tempt her to stick around here,’ Anna said.

  ‘Well, it looks like I did,’ Imogen said, briskly. ‘Anna, didn’t you say you had a new recipe you wanted to try out on us?’

  ‘Yes!’ Anna said, brightening. ‘Of course. I almost forgot. You are in for a treat. Come on, Matteo, let’s get the desserts ready.’

  Anna and Matteo came back into the dining room a few minutes later with steaming hot mugs.

  Imogen caught a scent of the drinks, carrying on the air. ‘Cocoa?’

  ‘Yes, but more than that.’ Anna put the mugs down on the table. ‘I hope you two are up for being our guinea pigs.’

  ‘Always,’ Finn said.

  ‘Hot ice cream,’ Matteo pronounced. ‘Our winter ice cream revolution. For you, on Valentine’s Day.’

  ‘Homemade cocoa,’ Anna said, ‘with a scoop of praline ice cream, a scoop of dark chocolate, and a sprinkling of finely chopped hazelnuts on top.’

  ‘Give me that,’ Imogen said, clamouring for it. ‘Sounds amazing.’

  She passed Finn’s mug over to him.

  They both took a sip. ‘Oh, this is good,’ Finn said. ‘Really good.’

  ‘You have to put this straight on the menu,’ Imogen said. ‘No question.’

  ‘I can’t get enough of what you guys make,’ Finn said to Matteo. ‘But a lifetime of ice cream – you never get tired of it?’