Vivien's Heavenly Ice Cream Shop

by Abby Clements

  ‘Sure,’ Imogen said, taking a neatly folded towel from the end of her bed. The room, once her teenage bedroom, felt alien to her. Now it was like a well-kept B&B, her music posters replaced with framed flower prints.

  ‘It’s nice to have you back,’ Anna said, giving her sister a gentle hug. ‘I wish you were here for other reasons, but in any case, it’s lovely to see you.’

  ‘You too,’ Imogen said, appreciating the familiar warmth of her sister’s arms.

  Imogen showered, wrapped her hair in a towel, and threw on the first clean clothes she could find. Downstairs, through the kitchen doorway, she could see Anna chatting and preparing dinner alongside their mum. She walked past quietly and went through into the dining room.

  It looked exactly as Imogen remembered it – with photos on the mantelpiece and fresh flowers on the table. This room was the smart dining area, the one usually reserved for when guests were over.

  Her dad, Tom, was sitting in a chair at the table, his head in his hands. His hands – large and strong. They’d held Imogen and Anna as children, lifted the girls up onto swings, onto his broad shoulders. Now her father looked fragile, as if the slightest breeze would break him. Imogen approached him and put a hand on his arm.

  ‘You OK, Dad?’ she asked, softly.

  ‘Oh yes, sweetheart,’ he said, weakly. ‘And you –’ his pale blue eyes implored her to take over the talking – ‘you enjoying your travels still?’

  ‘Yes,’ Imogen said. ‘It’s beautiful out there.’

  ‘I remember how it was,’ her dad said, slowly. But the usual gusto with which he told the stories of his hippy days was missing from his voice. ‘In the sixties, with nothing but my motorbike and the wind in my hair … of course that was when I still had some. Travelling through Vietnam and Laos. It was all different in those days … ’

  His words tailed away and his gaze dropped to the white tablecloth.

  ‘Dad,’ Imogen said gently. ‘It’s OK to be upset, you know. We all are.’

  ‘The thing is,’ he said, without looking up, ‘you know it’s coming. One day. Of course you do – and with Dad, somehow it wasn’t such a shock, he’d had more than his fair share of health problems. But I didn’t think it would happen so soon with Mum. It’s awful.’

  It pained Imogen to hear the hurt in her father’s voice. Any other day, he’d be cracking open a bottle of wine and enthusiastically telling her and Anna about the latest sculpture he’d made out in his garden studio. But today, he was ashen-faced, a ghostly version of himself.

  ‘She was an amazing woman,’ Imogen said, squeezing her dad’s arm. ‘We’re all going to miss her.’

  ‘It’s the little things I’ll miss,’ Tom said. ‘Even the same things that once drove me mad about her. The way she’d call me up when we were having dinner, excited about something that had happened in her drama serial.’

  ‘Or the way she’d filter out all of the purple Quality Streets at Christmas and pretend there never were any?’ Imogen said.

  ‘That’s right,’ Tom laughed. ‘And then of course, she’d always bring someone along on Christmas Day, wouldn’t she? Some waif or stray we’d never met, but who’d had nowhere to go.’

  ‘Without fail,’ Imogen said. ‘Poor Mum never knew how many people she’d be buying the turkey for.’

  ‘It was her way,’ Tom said. ‘Even when Dad was around. But he didn’t mind, they’d grown so used to one another, and he always said he’d never have set up the shop with her if they hadn’t enjoyed being around people.’

  Imogen smiled in understanding.

  ‘She wasn’t perfect,’ Tom continued. ‘But you know what, she was all the better for that.’

  ‘Imogen, you’re here,’ Jan said, interrupting them. ‘I didn’t hear you come down.’ Imogen was suddenly aware of her mum’s disapproving gaze at her towel turban, loose, hand-dyed trousers and baggy T-shirt. ‘Are you not going to dry your hair, love?’

  Imogen shrugged, feeling a bit of her teenage self creep back.

  ‘I thought we could eat in here today,’ Jan said, passing Imogen some mats to lay out on the table. ‘It being a bit special with the whole family back at home. I’ve cooked a nice beef casserole with sage dumplings, and your sister’s made some crème caramel.’

  ‘You didn’t need to go to any trouble,’ Imogen said, glancing back at her dad, whose eyes had glazed over.

  ‘I think we all need a good meal inside us,’ Jan said. Imogen bit her tongue. Food was her mother’s solution to everything. As Jan went back to the kitchen, Imogen took her father’s hand under the table, and he squeezed it back, very gently.

  A moment later Jan reappeared in the doorway holding a pile of plates between tea-towels, Anna following behind carrying the casserole dish in oven-gloved hands.

  ‘Watch out, plates are hot!’ Jan said with a smile, putting them down on the wicker mats, leaving one free for the casserole.

  Anna and her mother took their seats at the table. ‘Tuck in,’ Jan urged them cheerfully, ‘or it will get cold.’

  As the family started to eat, the room fell quiet.

  ‘So, can we tempt you to stay this time, Imogen?’ her mum said. ‘Business is picking up a little round here, they say – some green shoots. I could ask around, or I’m sure we could find some admin work for you at the agency.’

  Imogen picked at her food with a fork, breaking one of the dumplings in half. She pictured working with her mum, at the PR agency she’d founded once her daughters were at school. It was hard to imagine a more agonising way to spend her days. ‘I’m just here for the funeral, Mum. I’ll be flying back to Thailand in two weeks.’

  Jan sighed. Then, after a moment, changed the direction of her questioning.

  ‘Someone special, is there?’ she asked, raising her eyebrows hopefully.

  ‘Mum … ’ Anna said, attempting to defend her sister from the regular inquisition. ‘Do you have to … ’

  ‘I’m only asking,’ Jan countered defensively.

  ‘No, it’s OK,’ Imogen said. Anna looked surprised at her response. It was a new tactic, but this time Imogen reasoned that honesty might be the best way to silence her mum’s enquiries. ‘I’ve met someone on the island, but it’s very early days still. Let’s see what happens when I get back.’

  Jan raised her eyebrows and gave a nod at her husband, who was focusing on his food, chewing it slowly, his expression distant. ‘Hear that, Tom?’ she said. ‘Imogen’s found someone special out there.’

  ‘It’s not serious,’ Imogen said, starting to regret her previous openness.

  ‘Oh, but you never know,’ Jan said. ‘That’s what I thought about your father when he first strolled into the bakery.’

  The sisters exchanged a knowing look at the familiar story.

  ‘I was only eighteen, in my first job here in Lewes – and I’d never even met a man who rode a motorbike before. But your dad was there, tanned and handsome, just back from one of his trips – and I couldn’t resist.’

  ‘Never mind driving those rough roads out in Asia,’ Tom said, joining in. ‘It was getting up the guts to ask your mother out that was the hardest.’

  ‘Saying yes was the best thing I ever did,’ Jan said with a wistful smile. ‘ I wouldn’t have you two otherwise. So, Imogen, why don’t you persuade this boy to come over here?’

  ‘Neither of us wants to live in the UK at the moment.’ Imogen braced herself for her mother’s wounded look, which was immediate.

  ‘I mean, for now I’m in the middle of a photography project. It’s taking shape really nicely and I just want to focus on that.’

  ‘Your father’s daughter, through and through,’ Jan continued. ‘These creative dreams – admirable, of course. But be careful, Imogen, you’ll end up with a studio full of unsold sculptures just gathering dust.’ She gave a hollow laugh, and the sadness in Tom’s eyes seemed to deepen.

  ‘But seriously, it’s important to think about your future. Now more than ev
er. If it wasn’t for the agency, girls, I don’t think we’d have two pennies to rub together.’

  ‘Do we need to talk about this now, Mum?’ Anna asked, softly. ‘With Grandma’s funeral coming up I think we all have other things on our minds.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Jan said, speaking more quietly now, and returning to her meal. ‘And of course with your Uncle Martin and Aunt Françoise arriving tomorrow there’s a lot to organise.’

  ‘We can help make their bedroom up,’ Anna offered, ‘if that’s what you’re worried about.’

  ‘Oh it’s not just that,’ Jan fussed. ‘I’ll have to get a lot of food in. Not just for the wake, but for the whole of the stay. You know what your aunt’s like, very sophisticated tastes, she has.’

  ‘There’s no need, Jan,’ Tom said. ‘Really.’

  ‘It’s nice to make an effort. And your brother – well, he hasn’t been to stay for years, has he?’

  ‘No, but Martin … It doesn’t matter, does it, with brothers? We may not see each other all the time, but we’ll always be close.’

  Chapter Two

  ‘The last will and testament of Mrs Vivien McAvoy,’ the lawyer read out.

  The office was completely still and quiet, and the air was thick with tension. The lawyer, a middle-aged man in a charcoal suit sitting behind an aged oak desk, held Anna and Imogen’s grandmother’s final wishes in his hands.

  Over the last two days their family had barely been apart, and yet here, in a cramped room up on the second floor of the lawyer’s office in Brighton, there was a distance between them.

  The funeral, held the day before, had passed calmly. The crematorium had been so full of Vivien’s friends and past customers there to pay their respects that they’d had to turn some people away. At the end of the service, a little boy had placed a sympathy card into Tom’s hand, with a hand-drawn ice cream on the front, covered in glitter. ‘She was a nice lady,’ he’d said, before walking back to his own mother. Afterwards, the family and a handful of friends had travelled back to Tom and Jan’s cottage in Lewes for sandwiches and drinks. Listening to people exchange stories and memories of her grandmother had brought Anna a kind of closure – but she was conscious that her father hadn’t been part of any of it, that he had stepped away from the crowd and gone out to his studio halfway through the afternoon.

  Anna had dressed for today’s will-reading in a black blazer and fitted trousers, with bronze jewellery, her long dark hair wound back in a French pleat. She looked capable and composed, even if she didn’t feel it. Pushing aside her sadness, she got out her notepad and pen ready to take notes.

  Her dad, in the wire-framed glasses he rarely wore, was staring straight forward, his expression blank and numb, and their mother was searching for something in her leather handbag. Imogen was looking absently at the bookshelf, fiddling with a strand of her hair. Also in the room were her Uncle Martin, and his wife Françoise, whose posture was upright and rigid.

  ‘Oh honestly, you lot. Lighten up, would you?’ Anna smiled as she imagined what her grandma would say if she could see them now.

  What was done was done, and nothing could change it, Anna told herself. Certainly not getting stressed out about dividing up some property. It was just part of the process. That morning, her father had insisted that he didn’t want to come, that he didn’t care about his mother’s things, it was her company he missed, but Anna finally persuaded him that it was important he be there.

  ‘Mrs McAvoy has given prominence to one matter in particular,’ the lawyer read, shuffling the papers to show that his client’s wishes had gone beyond one sheet of A4. Françoise sat forward in her seat, listening more intently.

  ‘And that is, ahem … the care of her dog, Hepburn.’

  Anna suppressed a laugh of surprise, calling to mind her grandmother’s beloved sausage dog. She should have known – it was typical that Vivien would put Hepburn top of her list – they had been inseparable. Apparently he’d stayed faithfully by Vivien’s side to the very end; the ambulance men said it was his barking that had alerted the neighbours. He was currently dozing away, oblivious, on the sofa at her parents’ cottage.

  The lawyer continued. ‘Mrs McAvoy has asked that Hepburn go into the care of her granddaughter Anna, so that –’ and he glanced at the paper again – ‘he can still stroll along his favourite parts of the beach, and have his bacon treats from Dogs ’N’ Co in Hove.’

  Anna nodded her agreement, outwardly calm, but inwardly panicking about how she was going to fit a dog into her life. Would her boss allow him into the office? Did Jon even like dogs?

  At least Alfie would be happy, she thought, recalling how he’d thrown his chubby toddler arms around the sausage dog the first time they’d met. So Hepburn would be a sure-fire hit on that front.

  ‘Now, on to property,’ the lawyer continued, looking relieved to be moving on to weightier matters. ‘Mrs McAvoy’s residence in Hove, a five-bedroom house.’

  The whole family knew the house well, particularly Tom and Martin, who had grown up there. A Victorian terrace on a quiet residential road with spacious, high-ceilinged rooms and a large garden with a pond, it held memories for all of them. It was a house that had always been filled with noise and life.

  Vivien had been talking for years about downsizing and finding somewhere more practical. But Anna had sensed that it was hard for her to leave the home she’d shared with her husband Stanley for so many years.

  ‘Equal shares go to her two children, Tom and Martin.’

  The brothers exchanged an amicable nod.

  The lawyer moved his reading glasses a fraction up his nose and returned to the papers. ‘Now on to another key asset … ’

  They all knew what was coming next. Françoise’s manicured hands rose to her necklace, twiddling the delicate cream beads.

  Anna bit her lip. As the lawyer shuffled through his papers, she thought back to the conversation the family had had that morning over breakfast at her parents’ house.

  ‘Well, the location of the shop isn’t too bad,’ Françoise had said, pouring a cup of strong coffee from the cafetière. The food in front of her remained untouched. ‘There is potential, I think. Hopefully Vivien will have thought carefully about who is best placed to realise that.’ The ambition in her voice was impossible to miss.

  ‘Yes,’ Tom had said, a little dreamily. ‘Well, I’m not sure what I’d do with the shop,’ he added, dipping a soldier into his soft-boiled egg, and then holding it still in mid-air. ‘Hardly a business mind, me, and I have my hands full with making the sculptures these days. And Mum knows how busy Jan is with the agency.’ He rested the egg-covered slice of toast on the side of his plate as if his hunger had deserted him. ‘Mum knew, I mean.’

  ‘And of course we’re over in Paris … ’ Martin said, buttering his toast.

  ‘But that doesn’t need to be a problem,’ Françoise said, bringing the coffee up to her red-lipsticked mouth. ‘Martin, you know I have been looking for a little, how do you say … a little “project”. Perhaps this could be it? I mean, of course, we must wait and see what Vivien’s decision was … but hopefully she has been more businesslike in that than she was when she was running the shop.’

  Françoise looked out of the kitchen window of Anna’s parents’ cosy, traditional English kitchen. ‘I’ve long thought, from our visits here, that the south coast – it could do with some more sophistication. A restaurant, a touch of French elegance. Perhaps I could set one up.’

  Imogen had looked at Anna and raised an eyebrow discreetly. Their grandmother – elegant in her own way, but a lifelong devotee of home-cooked meals and fish and chips for a weekend treat – had never so much as stepped foot inside a fancy restaurant.

  Now, in the lawyer’s office, Imogen was looking over at her sister again, as they anxiously awaited the news.

  ‘So,’ the lawyer continued. ‘To Mrs McAvoy’s shop, commercial premises in the Granville Arches in Hove, currently used for the sale of ic
e cream and drinks.’

  Anna tried not to take the detached, cold description to heart, the lawyer was only doing his job. But Sunset 99s, her grandmother Vivien’s shop by the sea, was more than just a premises ‘used for the sale of ice cream’. So much more than that. Since the 1950s, when Tom and Martin were just little boys, the shop had been Vivien’s dream, her livelihood – a business she set up with her husband, Stanley, and kept running long after his death.

  But now, in what felt to Anna like an impossibly long silence in the lawyer’s office, they were about to find out which way things would go.

  ‘Mrs McAvoy has requested that the ice cream shop premises go to … ’

  Silence fell. Anna willed the lawyer to carry on talking. This suspense – it was worse than Deal or No Deal.

  ‘ … her granddaughters, Anna and Imogen McAvoy, to be shared equally between the two. There’s also a sum of money here that’s been allocated to cover any start-up costs.’

  ‘Christ,’ Imogen said, sitting bolt upright, her bright eyes flicking wide open. ‘I mean,’ she brought her hand up to her mouth and shook her head slightly, ‘sorry, but, Christ, seriously, Anna,’ Imogen said, turning to her elder sister, ‘what the heck does she think we’re going to do with a shop?’

  Anna was still slowly digesting the information. She had been so sure that the options were limited, that the shop would go either to her father or her uncle. She hadn’t foreseen this at all. Looking after Hepburn was one thing – but taking control of Vivien’s business? That was quite another.

  ‘She’s put a note here for you … ’ the lawyer said, turning back to an additional pink sheet that was stapled to the front. Then he cleared his throat and spoke ‘She’s written here: “I know I didn’t keep up with the times, but you two are just the ladies to give the shop a modern spin. So here it is – for you. Our family business. Do me proud.”

  ‘She’s also left this photograph album for you,’ the lawyer said, passing a heavy, gilt-embossed black book over to Anna. ‘In terms of the shop, we’ll need to arrange a time for you two to come in, sign the deeds and pick up the keys.’