Vivien's Heavenly Ice Cream Shop

by Abby Clements

  ‘So which one is she?’ Imogen put down her drink and scanned the room, without attempting to hide her intention. ‘Not the one talking to Jon at the moment, surely?’

  ‘That’s her,’ Anna said, taking another sip.

  ‘Hmmm,’ Imogen said, then let out a whistle. ‘She’s pretty hot.’

  ‘Thanks. Yes, I’m aware of that.’

  ‘She’s also a heinous, unfeeling cheat who doesn’t know a good thing, of course.’

  ‘Also true. Although I don’t think I’ll ever know the full story on that.’

  ‘What full story?’ Imogen said. ‘She had a young kid, then shagged the neighbour. End of.’

  ‘I think Jon still blames himself a bit for leaving her on her own with Alfie. He’d just started his new job and was travelling for work a lot.’

  ‘Oh come off it. Other women manage not to sleep with their neighbours,’ Imogen said, rolling her eyes.

  ‘Shhh, will you?’ Anna said, conscious that other guests might know who they were talking about. ‘Anyway, Mia’s a wonderful mother, and she’s always been open to including me in Alfie’s life.’

  ‘You’re so darned reasonable, Anna,’ Imogen said. ‘Is there nothing that fazes you?

  ‘It’s none of my business what happened back then.’

  ‘I guess,’ Imogen said, accepting her sister’s point. ‘Anyway, it’s plain to see Jon’s smitten with you, which is what matters. It’s revolting really.’

  As the band struck up a new song, Imogen tugged on her sister’s arm. ‘Finish up your fizz. I know you’re the walking wounded, but I love this one.’ She took off her flip-flops. ‘Put these on, give me yours and let’s join Jess for a dance.’

  Chapter Five

  Imogen had the flat to herself on Monday morning, and now that her champagne-head had cleared, she felt energised and ready for some detoxing.

  She whipped herself up a mango-and-passionfruit smoothie in the kitchen and rolled out her yoga mat. She was going to start the day just the way she did back on the island, with a series of sun salutations, facing out towards the sea. Yes, it was a grey, murky kind of sea, but it was the sea all the same. She let her breath carry her fluidly from one pose to the next, each one stretching her muscles and relaxing her.

  There, in Downward Dog, as she tried to declutter her mind, there was one thought she couldn’t shift: tomorrow she would be on a flight back to Koh Tao. Soon she’d be in Luca’s arms, on the beach, taking photos underwater again – enjoying star-filled nights and golden days. Imogen smiled to herself, and focused on pushing her bum up as far towards the ceiling as it would go, ignoring her complaining hamstrings.

  The ring of her mobile cut into the silence. Reluctantly getting to her feet, she strode over to the coffee table, ready to silence the phone. She read the name on the screen with a sigh: Mum. Any chance of relaxing was already shot; just the thought of her mother made the muscles in her shoulders tense up.

  She pressed the green button. ‘Hi, Mum,’ she said, attempting to retain some of her yogic serenity.

  ‘Imogen, you’re there. Good. Have you got a moment?’

  ‘Sure,’ Imogen said, sitting down on the sofa and bringing her legs up underneath her. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘It’s your dad, Imogen. I’m afraid he’s in a bit of a state. He’s locked himself in his studio and he’s refusing to come out.’

  As soon as she’d hung up the phone, Imogen left the house and went straight to the station, boarding the first train to Lewes. On the journey she thought back over the past week, the long evenings sorting through her Grandma Vivien’s things – old photos and ornaments and toys from his childhood. It was Martin who’d done most of the talking, with her father conscientiously sorting and filing his mother’s belongings. The emotion of being in his childhood home, surrounded by memories, must have taken its toll.

  Once she reached the small town, she walked the familiar route to her parents’ cottage, and up the front path. She lifted the knocker on the front door and let it fall. Her mum was there to answer it in just a few seconds.

  ‘Thanks for coming, darling,’ Jan said, ushering her in and pulling out a chair for her at the kitchen table. ‘I have to say I didn’t know what else to do.’

  ‘How long’s he been in there?’ Imogen asked, looking out of the window towards her father’s shed in the garden.

  ‘Since yesterday morning. He slept in there last night, and for hours now he’s just been sitting on the floor. I can see him through the window, but I couldn’t persuade him to come out.’

  ‘Has he been eating anything?’

  ‘I’ve been putting sandwiches through the gap under the door, but I’ve no idea if he’s touched them.’

  ‘Do you think it was last week that brought it on?’ Imogen said. ‘It can’t have been easy going through all of his mother’s stuff … but I didn’t think, I mean … Mum,’ she said, looking at her mother directly, noticing the strain in her forehead and new wrinkles around her eyes. ‘Dad doesn’t get like this,’ she said, searching to make some kind of sense of the situation. ‘He doesn’t get depressed.’

  ‘Martin and your dad were discussing what to do with Granny Vivien’s house,’ Jan said, in a measured tone. ‘It seems Martin wants to sell it as soon as possible, and has already got an offer from a developer. He’s told Dad he wants them to accept and draw a line under it all. Tom isn’t against selling as such, but the developers plan to knock Vivien’s house down and build a block of flats.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ Imogen said. ‘I mean, the two of them had to decide something, of course – but so soon after Granny’s death? How could Martin agree to that?’

  ‘Well, exactly. And it’s not hard to guess who has put Martin up to it. But you know your dad and his brother – I don’t think they’ve had an argument since they were teenagers. He’s barely said a word since he spoke to Martin apart from to tell me what happened, but it’s clear it’s tearing him up.’

  ‘He doesn’t have to give in,’ Imogen said. ‘The split is fifty-fifty. Martin can’t go ahead without his agreement.’

  ‘You know your dad,’ Jan said, her voice softer than usual. ‘Once a hippy, always a hippy. He’ll give in, to keep the peace.’

  As Imogen got up from the table she noticed something she’d never seen before. Her mum looked as if she was about to cry.

  ‘I’m going out there,’ Imogen said, with determination.

  ‘You do that, love,’ her mum said. ‘I’m hoping you might have more luck than me. You two have always shared something special. You’re the apple of his eye, you know.’

  Imogen left her mum and went out into the garden, walking towards her father’s studio.

  ‘Dad, I know you’re in there,’ Imogen said, through the studio wall. She waited for a moment, but there was only the sound of a distant woodpecker.

  ‘Listen, I’m leaving the country tomorrow, so I hope you’re going to talk to me.’

  Imogen waited a few minutes for a reply, and when none came, she sat down with her back to the door, rays of gentle midday sun warming her face on the early April day.

  In front of her, in the sprawling garden her mother despaired of ever beating into submission, was a broad oak tree. Up in the top branches she could see the slats of wood, nailed together, and a sheet of corrugated metal for a makeshift roof. Over fifteen years ago, her dad had made that treehouse, a den that she and Anna had played games and whispered secrets in. He still hadn’t taken it down.

  After ten minutes of silence, Imogen reluctantly got to her feet and walked back to the kitchen, where her mum was anxiously looking on through the window. ‘Do you have any Bakewell tarts, Mum?’ Imogen asked. ‘You know what he’s like with them.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Jan said, opening the cupboard and taking out a packet. ‘He’d normally have demolished these by now. But he’s barely eaten a thing since the funeral.’

  She passed Imogen the packet. ‘Can’t really put them on a p
late or they won’t fit under the door.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ Imogen said.

  Imogen walked back out into the garden with a fresh wave of optimism. Her words might not be enough to lure her dad out, but she’d never seen him resist Mr Kipling’s finest.

  As she approached the studio, she saw a movement, like a shadow passing. Pressing close to the murky window, she tried to make out where her dad was, somewhere hidden from view. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, though, it wasn’t her father’s figure that she saw. It was the dozens of sculptures, on the workbench, on the floor. His delicate birds smashed into pieces.

  ‘Anna,’ Imogen said. ‘Can you come and meet me? I’m round at Granny V’s house.’

  ‘You are?’ she replied, sounding puzzled. ‘What are you doing there? I thought you’d be at the flat, packing up your stuff.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Imogen answered honestly. How could she explain that when she got off the train from Lewes, she’d simply found herself walking here, dazed? ‘Looking for some answers, I suppose … Just say you’ll come? It’s important.’

  ‘OK,’ Anna said. ‘I’m just finishing up, give me ten.’

  Imogen looked down at the coffee table. The photo album that Vivien had left them in her will lay open in front of her.

  On the first page was a dedication, handwritten in black ink:

  To my beautiful granddaughters, Imogen and Anna. A little history for you, of this very special business. May you enjoy the ice cream shop as much as I have, all these years.

  Your loving Granny V x

  Imogen turned the page slowly. There, tacked in with photo corners, was a black-and-white image of the shop, with a note next to it – ‘24 July 1953. Opening Day!’

  In front of the shiny shop, Vivien and her husband Stanley were standing proudly. Vivien was wearing a full-skirted dress with poodles printed on it, her hair styled in loose, wide curls that fell to her shoulders. Stanley had his arm around her, his hair brown rather than the grey that Imogen remembered, and he had on dark-framed glasses. Stanley’s other arm was draped affectionately around his youngest son Martin’s shoulders, as Vivien’s was around Tom’s. The two young boys, in shorts and smart shoes, looked excited and eager.

  Dad already risks losing one childhood home, Imogen thought to herself. Could they really take Sunset 99s from him too?

  She continued to look through the history of her grandmother’s shop. At the back of the album was a much newer photo, printed out in colour and almost filling the page. Vivien was at the centre of it, smiling, her hair pinned up, wearing a navy dress with cream detailing. Surrounding her were her family: her two sons, Jan, and Imogen and Anna. It was before Martin met Françoise, and back when they’d all thought of him as the eternal bachelor. Imogen peered at the image more closely judging by her heavy eye make-up and faded band T-shirt, she must have been about sixteen when it was taken.

  Her dad looked so different in the photo, heading up his family – the strongest of all of them. Imogen was pretty sure that was the summer that her English teacher, Miss Carter, had finally diagnosed her dyslexia, after Imogen unexpectedly came bottom of the class in her mocks. Years of difficulty keeping up in English and writing essays started to make sense to Imogen and her family at last. But her dad had been there all along – each time she’d come home in tears after being made to feel stupid, or lazy, by her teachers. He knew, like her, that it would take more than a diagnosis to undo all of that damage. Tom had gone straight into school, thanked Miss Carter personally, and then demanded to see the headmaster to find out what had gone wrong, and to demand better special-needs provision in the future. Imogen had been outwardly embarrassed, but was secretly proud that her dad would do that for her.

  Imogen thought back to the broken sculptures she’d seen in her father’s studio that afternoon. It was hard to connect the father who’d hidden, holding back from talking to her, with the open, dignified man she was looking at now. When she flew back to Thailand tomorrow, what would be the next thing she’d hear? Maybe her dad would be back to his usual self in a couple of days, but what if … ? She couldn’t bear the idea of hearing he had got worse when she was so far away.

  Her mind had been fixed on the island – on the sun, yes, and Luca – but above all, on getting back to the photography project she was putting together. She wanted it to be good, she wanted to exhibit it, and the one person, above everyone else, who she wanted to see it, was her dad. He’d nurtured her ambition from the start, bought her her first camera, helped her set up a darkroom. She wanted him to see that his efforts hadn’t gone to waste, for him to be proud of her.

  But being on the other side of the world wasn’t going to help him now, she realised, with a stab of guilt. What he needed was support from those who loved him in order to get better. To see that his family were there for him and that they’d all work together to keep Vivien’s memory alive.

  Imogen thought of the promises she’d made to Luca. Everything was set for her to leave England the next day, if she wanted.

  But her dad had put her and Anna first since the day they were born. How could she leave now, when he needed her?

  The doorbell rang, breaking into her thoughts. She saw Anna’s tall frame through the stained-glass window and opened the door. ‘Come in,’ she said, leading her into the living room.

  ‘What’s with all the urgency?’ Anna asked, settling into the armchair.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ Imogen announced.

  ‘Do what?’ Anna said, putting her bag down on the floor and rubbing her temples. ‘Today’s been a nightmare at work, Imo. I can’t process riddles.’

  ‘I can’t go back to Thailand right now, and we can’t sell the shop,’ Imogen said, still standing, energised by her decision. ‘Definitely not to Françoise. But perhaps not to anyone.’

  ‘Right,’ Anna said slowly. ‘Are you OK, Imo? You seem a bit wound up.’

  ‘How could we break Dad’s heart all over again?’ Imogen said, starting to pace up and down the dark wooden floorboards. ‘He needs us.’

  ‘Dad’s heart … ’ Anna put a hand to her brow. ‘What are you talking about? And do you think you could sit down while we talk about this? You’re making me feel dizzy.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Imogen said, and took a seat on the sofa, perched on the edge. ‘It’s just … I saw Dad today, Anna. Well, I didn’t exactly see him. He’s a mess. He wouldn’t talk to me, and I saw in his studio that he’d smashed up some of his sculptures.’

  ‘God, really?’ Anna said, sitting up, her eyes wide. ‘That’s not like Dad at all. What on earth’s going on?’

  ‘It sounds like Françoise is pressuring Martin to sell this place,’ Imogen said, gesturing to the walls of the house that had been their father’s childhood home. ‘Which is understandable, of course, with the inheritance tax and everything – but they want it to go to developers who are going to knock it down, and they’ve barely waited a week to tell Dad that.’

  ‘That woman … ’ Anna said, shaking her head. ‘I know she’s supposed to be family, but she’s never really acted like it. Martin would never be doing this if he was single.’

  ‘Well, we can’t change any of that. But what we can change is this.’ She picked the photo album up off the coffee table and turned back to the photo of Sunset 99s on opening day.

  ‘Look at this, Anna,’ Imogen said. ‘It’s Sunset 99s through the ages. Here’s a photo from the sixties, that’s Dad’s motorbike parked up outside – check out his hair! And that sign they had was cool, wasn’t it, with the orange and pink lettering?’

  Anna smiled. ‘This is lovely. But I don’t get how—’

  ‘The shop was his second home, back then,’ Imogen explained. ‘You know how he’s always talked about it. We can’t let the final piece of Granny V’s legacy disappear. Not without even trying.’

  ‘Are you thinking what I think you are?’ Anna said, hesitantly.

  ‘Imagine if we could bring it back to the
glory days,’ Imogen said, brightening. ‘For Dad. For Granny V.’

  Anna paused for a moment. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘This is all quite sudden. It’s a lot to take on.’

  ‘What was that quote Granny would always come out with?’ Imogen said. ‘From Alice in Wonderland. “Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.” Anna, I’ve changed my mind, it’s time for us to believe some impossible things. I think we should give it a shot.’

  ‘After the day I’ve had, this all sounds very appealing,’ Anna said, starting to smile. ‘I suppose we really could do it, couldn’t we?’

  Imogen nodded. ‘Why not?’

  They sat there in silence for a minute as the decision they’d just made together began to sink in.

  ‘But … ’ Anna started, ‘I thought you wanted to go back to the island?’

  ‘I do,’ Imogen said. ‘I really do. But it doesn’t feel right to go back now, when Dad’s like this. I could stay long enough to help you get the place set up, and for us to pick a good assistant to replace me.’

  ‘And then you’d go back?’

  ‘Yes. My flight’s valid for another six months, I just have to pay a bit to change the date.’

  ‘And what about that guy you met, Luca?’

  Imogen touched the shark’s-tooth necklace around her neck, remembering him.

  ‘I’ll tell him,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how he’ll react. But I feel like I need to put our family first right now.’

  Imogen called Luca’s mobile and heard the foreign dialling tone. Her heart beat hard in her chest as she waited for him to pick up.

  ‘Imo,’ he answered, sounding drowsy.

  She checked the time on Vivien’s grandfather clock. Damn, it must be the middle of the night over there, she’d completely forgotten about the time difference.

  ‘Hi, Luca,’ she said.

  ‘You’re nearly home,’ he murmured sleepily.

  The words she wanted to say caught in her throat.

  ‘Everything’s ready – the guys at Komodo have reserved an area for us on Thursday night for the party, and I’ve invited Santiana, Davy and all of your dive friends along.’