The Heavenly Italian Ice Cream Shop

by Abby Clements

‘Look, I know it’s not the Amazon,’ Finn said, ‘but how would you like a break away this weekend, a change of scene?’

  ‘I don’t know. I should probably be saving . . . I don’t know what work’s coming in for the next few months.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ Finn said. ‘I’ve got some savings. It would be good to spend some time together, just the two of us. It feels like ages since we did that.’

  ‘OK,’ Imogen said, brightening at the thought. ‘Let’s do it.’

  ‘This weekend?’

  ‘Do you really have to ask?’ She laughed. ‘I haven’t got any plans for the rest of the year.’

  That Saturday night Imogen and Finn were out in the New Forest, in a cosy log cabin, by an open fire. There were no other houses for miles around, and the evening was still and quiet. That day they’d gone horse riding together, the rest of the world disappearing for a while as they galloped through the trees. The owner of the cabin, a kind man in his midforties, had come and helped them saddle up, then left them to it. They’d come home to a fully packed fridge and cooked up chicken with roast vegetables, dining by the fireside and drinking wine before retiring to the sofa, where they were now sitting.

  ‘What a perfect day,’ Imogen said, leaning back into the sofa, content and tired. ‘That was just what I needed.’

  ‘It was great, wasn’t it?’ Finn said.

  ‘Thank you for arranging it,’ she said. She curled in closer to Finn, and kissed him. He stroked her hair back gently.

  ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘And I thought you looked like you could do with some cheering up.’

  ‘You were right.’

  ‘It’s just a bump in the road,’ he reassured her.

  ‘I know. I’m sure it won’t be long till I get something new. Lauren’s got me signed up to help with a wedding next week, and I’ve already heard about a couple of leads that sound promising – one thing in Nepal. With any luck, I’ll be away again in no time.’

  ‘Do you need to be in quite such a hurry?’ Finn asked, with a half-smile.

  ‘Of course not,’ she said, flippantly. ‘Don’t take it that way.’

  ‘It’s hard not to, sometimes.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ she teased him, light-heartedly.

  ‘I’m serious,’ he said, his tone changing. ‘Would it be all bad, having a bit of time over the summer together? You’ve been working back-to-back projects for almost a year now.’

  ‘You know how it is,’ Imogen said. ‘If inspiration hits – or I get a good commission – I can’t miss it.’

  ‘I do – and I completely respect that you’re passionate about what you do. It’s one of the things I love most about you. But, at the same time, I wonder if this might also be an opportunity for you to take your foot off the gas for a bit. Maybe this is selfish of me – but sometimes I wouldn’t mind seeing just a bit more of you.’

  His expression was calm but serious, and she realised that it wasn’t the time for off-the-cuff replies any more.

  ‘OK. I guess I see what you mean,’ she said. ‘And I’d like to see you more. If I had the choice . . .’

  ‘But don’t you?’ he asked, gently. ‘Don’t you have that choice, right now?’

  ‘Why are you saying all this? You just want me to stay here in England, taking safe little photos, living a safe little life . . .’

  ‘Of course I don’t,’ Finn said, shaking his head. ‘That’s not what I mean at all. I just happen to be in love with you, Imogen. And I’d like it if we got to see each other more.’

  ‘When you talk like this’ – her heart raced – ‘it all makes me feel tied down.’

  ‘When I say that I’d like to spend a bit of time with you now and then, in between your travels?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, hotly. ‘It makes me feel trapped.’

  ‘God, Imogen! Do you know what you sound like?’ She glanced down at the floor. ‘You’re not the only one in this relationship. I’m not trying to stop you doing anything you want. I just want us to think about the future, how we could try and find a bit more balance. Is that really such a bad thing?’

  Chapter 9

  Since Anna had seen the shop in Italy, it seemed as if one thing after another was starting to fall into place. She and Matteo had put down a deposit on it that week, with a six-month commitment starting in May. A friend of Anna’s from her old marketing job had been in touch looking for a place to rent in Brighton and was interested in her flat. Anna felt much better about the idea, knowing that their home wouldn’t be lived in by strangers, but by someone she knew and trusted. The only issue that remained was whom to entrust the ice cream shop to.

  Anna was typing ideas into her iPad when Matteo joined her for their morning coffee.

  ‘So, how does this sound?’ she asked. ‘“A splash of English Eccentricity on the Italian shores. Come and taste our delicious port-and-Stilton sorbet, and mojito ice lollies!”’

  As Anna had noted down some ideas for the sorbet menu that morning she’d felt a buzz of excitement at what lay ahead for them. Anna thought of the traditional Italian granita – the closest equivalent to the English sorbet, fresh and light with crunchy ice, weighed down deliciously with the fresh fruit flavours it carried. They would be producing those, of course – and Matteo was an expert at making them – but she also wanted to make the light, almost fluffy lemon sorbets of her youth, the tangerine sorbet her grandmother used to make her and Imogen, hidden away inside a real tangerine, appearing when you lifted the cut lid.

  A whole summer out in Italy. And it now seemed as if that might just be the start.

  ‘You look excited,’ Matteo said, happily.

  ‘I am. Now that it’s taking shape, I really am. I know some of it’ll be challenging, but how amazing to have a new start, and, with the business here doing well, we can afford to take some chances and experiment with the Italian shop. It’s always paid off for us here, after all.’

  ‘Carolina is so happy that we’re going through with this. She says the shop’s pretty much ready to go, so there’ll just be a bit of admin to arrange when we arrive, but we can open up within the fortnight.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ Anna said. ‘I know Bella doesn’t really know what’s going on, and where she’s going – but I can’t help thinking she’s excited about it too, don’t you think?’

  He came closer to Anna and touched her glossy dark hair gently, then kissed her on the top of her head. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘for agreeing to do this. I know it wasn’t an easy decision.’

  ‘It wasn’t. But I’m starting to feel surer that it’s the right one.’

  Hepburn leaped up onto the sofa, and nuzzled against Anna’s lap.

  ‘The guilt,’ Anna said. ‘What will we do with Hepburn?’

  ‘Do you think your uncle would take him in at the guesthouse? It was his home once, after all,’ Matteo said.

  ‘Maybe. I’ll ask him. Or, failing that, my parents . . .’

  Anna thought of her mum and dad. She still hadn’t mentioned a word of the Italy plan to them. Even thinking of it made her feel guilty.

  She had found herself unconsciously avoiding them, so that nothing would slip out in conversation – telling herself that it wasn’t final yet. And it hadn’t been certain. But now it was. With the preparations for the guesthouse opening, her parents had become closer and happier than ever. And now Anna felt deep down that she was about to shatter all of that.

  Chapter 10

  The midmorning light was perfect, Imogen thought – not too bright, just enough to bring out the colour of each leaf and flower, the shades of grey and green within a wave, the delicate patterns on a bird’s wing.

  Or St. Tropez-toned shoulders and the multiple layers of a synthetic wedding dress, studded with diamante.

  ‘Could we have all of the bride’s side now?’ Imogen said, ushering a crowd of bridesmaids and flower girls, along with elderly relatives, over to where Lauren was standing.

  Lauren was setti
ng up her camera to take the photos, out on the pier, and Imogen’s main role was shepherding the party into position.

  ‘Beautiful, yes. So, if we could just have the flower girls here at the front, please.’

  The bride let out a yelp of pain. The pageboy, a toddler, had somehow crept under her skirt unnoticed, and now the bride was looking in fury at her sister-in-law. ‘He bit me,’ she said, sternly. ‘Could you try and keep him under control, please?’

  The groom kept quiet, shifting awkwardly.

  ‘He never bites,’ the sister-in-law said firmly. ‘It must have been someone else.’

  ‘Who, exactly?’ the bride said, stepping out of the photograph formation. ‘Look at the size of the bite marks.’ She lifted up her skirt, to reveal a reddened patch of her calf.

  ‘OK, enough,’ Imogen said, over the din. ‘Pageboy on the edge of the shot, please, Bride back in the centre, and let’s get on with the photos, please.’

  Imogen felt like a stage manager, running the show. Because that was all a wedding was really, wasn’t it?

  When Imogen got back home that night, her spirits were low. Her face ached from keeping a smile on her face all day, and now she was struggling to summon one up for real. She kept telling herself she was lucky to have any work at all, but it didn’t help. She knew it was mean-spirited, but she just hadn’t been able to find it within herself to feel joy on the bride and groom’s special day.

  ‘How did it go?’ Finn asked, when she got home.

  ‘It went well,’ Imogen lied.

  ‘Come on, I can see right through you,’ Finn said.

  ‘The wedding was a bit intense, I guess. A lot of fuss . . .’

  Finn was listening, but she stopped herself. She didn’t want to start moaning about her day to him. ‘But enough about that. How were things at the surf school today?’ she asked.

  ‘Good – we had a group cancellation, not ideal, but actually it gave Andy and me a chance to chat through the business plan for the shop. We’re meeting with the bank this week about loans. I’m starting to think this is something we could really do.’

  We? He was right, of course. They were a team. But deep down it nagged at her – the new shop was Finn’s project. As far as her career was concerned, it was taking a total nosedive.

  The next day, Imogen met her mum for tea in the south lanes. She spotted Jan right away, a splash of her trademark turquoise by the window of the busy café, a book in hand. The moment she noticed her daughter approach, she put her paperback down and looked up at her eagerly.

  ‘Imogen, sweetheart!’ she said, getting to her feet and giving her daughter a hug.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ Imogen said, her voice calm and level. She pulled out a chair. ‘What are you reading?’

  ‘One of my naughty books,’ she said, showing Imogen the cover, which had a pair of handcuffs on it. ‘Elaine from the hairdresser’s recommended this one to me. It’s about a woman who—’

  ‘Oh, you mustn’t spoil it for me,’ Imogen said, hurriedly. ‘Keep it a surprise. Is that for Bella?’ she asked, looking at a gift bag next to her mother’s coat.

  ‘Yes, just a little thing.’

  ‘You know that Anna’s put an embargo on more pink, don’t you?’ Imogen said. ‘“Normal, not princessy”,’ she told me.’

  Jan took a look at Imogen’s outfit – boyfriend-cut jeans and an orange T-shirt, her tousled hair pulled up into an untidy topknot.

  ‘Well, normal is a little different from when I was young,’ Jan said. ‘But don’t worry: it’s only a pair of leggings. I’m sure she’ll approve.’

  ‘Cool.’

  ‘Anything you’d like to tell me?’ she said.

  Jan looked at her daughter expectantly.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Jan said.

  ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ Imogen asked, bringing one hand up to her cheek. ‘Have I got something on my face?’

  ‘No, you’re fine,’ her mum said, with a knowing smile. ‘Was it a good weekend?’

  ‘It was great, thanks.’ And it had been, most of it. Right up to the point she and Finn had argued. Even after that, the next morning they’d slowly got back to normal, not talking any more about their relationship, just going out into the forest and taking in their surroundings. ‘Beautiful out there – horses, a stream, so peaceful.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ Jan said. She raised an eyebrow as if she was waiting for Imogen to say something.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ Jan said, her cheeks colouring a little. ‘Forget I said anything.’

  ‘What is it?’ Imogen asked, growing irritated. ‘You obviously meant something.’

  ‘Here’s your tea,’ the waitress said, putting down a red teapot. She glanced at the two women and, sensing from the atmosphere that she’d interrupted something, stepped back. ‘Flapjacks coming right up,’ she said.

  ‘It’s nothing, really,’ Jan said. ‘I must’ve got the wrong end of the stick.’

  ‘Just say it.’

  ‘Oh, don’t, Imogen. You know I’m terrible with secrets. And I don’t want to ruin the surprise.’

  ‘What surprise?’ Imogen said.

  Jan’s cheeks turned a deeper pink. ‘Finn came over to ours last week.’

  ‘To speak to you?’

  ‘To your father.’

  ‘To Dad?’ Imogen said.

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘They could have been talking about anything . . . But I suppose I did wonder . . . Silly me, jumping to conclusions. But with Granny Vivien’s ring at our house, and the traditional way of doing these things, I just assumed . . .’

  ‘Don’t assume,’ Imogen said, her skin burning hot. ‘You don’t know a thing about my relationship.’

  Imogen cycled quickly through Brighton’s narrow lanes, the fresh breeze on her arms and face a welcome distraction. She couldn’t stop thinking about what her mum had said. Finn had gone to see her dad, and they’d talked together. She’d never known Finn to go on his own to the cottage.

  Imogen locked her bike down by the arches on the seafront. She had a meeting with Lauren coming up, but she needed to be on her own for a few minutes. She walked down the beach away from Hove, the ice cream shop and Finn’s surf business getting further and further away from her. She should feel elated right now.

  She loved Finn, didn’t she? So why did the thought of his proposing feel like a stone in her stomach?

  Chapter 11

  Imogen had intended to cycle straight home that evening, after her meeting, but instead she’d found herself down on the seafront again, this time at the ice cream shop. She propped up her bike and went in. Her sister was bent over wiping down the tables, her dark hair pinned up on top of her head and an emerald-green shirt dress on with T-bar shoes.

  ‘If it weren’t for the apron and the Marigold gloves you could almost be a film star,’ Imogen said.

  Anna laughed. ‘Really?’ Her cheeks glowed. ‘That’s as close as I get to a compliment these days, so I’ll take it.’

  ‘Please tell me you’re in the mood for noodles,’ Imogen demanded.

  ‘Always,’ Anna said. But then her brow furrowed. ‘I don’t know, though. We’ve got the till to do, and Bella to pick up from nursery, the—’

  Matteo put his head out of the kitchen. ‘Imogen, take her out,’ he called out. ‘She needs a break.’

  ‘Thanks, Matteo,’ Imogen called back.

  Anna turned to her husband. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course! Go on, get out of here. I can close up and get Bella.’

  Anna undid her apron and pulled off the gloves. ‘OK, then. Let’s go.’

  The sisters walked together past the fish-and-chip shops and amusement arcades on the seafront. The city was still relatively quiet and they had both learned to appreciate the lull of late winter, the calm before the Easter holiday storm. Normally Imogen might take the lead in a conversation, and Anna would follow, but that evening both of them we
re quiet, and they made their way to the small Japanese restaurant barely saying a word.

  They ordered bottles of beer, and their usual noodle dishes, and then looked at each other over the table. Imogen took in the fine lines around her sister’s pretty eyes, and the slouch in her shoulders. Anna seemed to be noticing her sister’s less-than-bright appearance, too.

  ‘Why do you look so miserable?’ Imogen said.

  ‘Why do you look so miserable?’ Anna said. The tension broke as both of them collapsed into an easy laughter.

  ‘Go on, I asked first,’ Imogen said.

  ‘Because I think we really might be going to Italy. And I can’t believe I’m really going to leave behind all of the good things that we have here. And I can’t bring myself to tell Mum and Dad.’

  Imogen touched her arm. ‘Yes. Not an easy one.’

  ‘With the guesthouse about to open, and how sensitive Dad’s been recently, I don’t want to land them with this. Not right now.’

  ‘But you know you have to tell them sometime, right?’

  ‘Yes – and I need to do it soon. Everything’s been moving so quickly out in Italy – if things continue smoothly we should be out there by May.’

  ‘That soon?’

  ‘Yes. Mad, isn’t it? One minute I was talking about it with you, it was all just a vague idea – and now it’s really happening.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell them at the party?’ Imogen suggested. ‘When the guesthouse is actually open it should all be easier, right? Everyone will be relaxed, and you can tell everyone in one go rather than separately.’

  ‘Yes,’ Anna said, still looking nervous. ‘That could work, I guess.’

  ‘You’re probably worrying about nothing, anyway,’ Imogen said.

  ‘Really?’ Anna laughed. ‘You really think that? Mum reacts badly enough when you go away. I’m the one she expects to stick around.’

  ‘She’ll get over it. She’ll have to,’ Imogen said.

  ‘So, go on. What’s eating you?’

  ‘If I say it, it’s going to sound ridiculous. And spoilt. I know that.’

  ‘Both things I am used to hearing from you. So fire away.’