Imogen wished she could escape. Life on the island had suited her a lot better than this. But she owed it to her grandma, to her dad – and to Anna, she reminded herself sternly – not to give up. She couldn’t let Anna come home from Italy to rumours of poor hygiene standards. She needed to build up some positive PR for Vivien’s to balance out the negativity of the newspaper article. And she needed to do it quickly.
Positive mental attitude, she told herself, as she tidied away the spoons. When Anna got back it would only be a matter of time before they had a product they could feel really proud of. In order for the public to know about it, they needed to line up some really strong promotion.
She glanced up at the wall above the counter, where she’d framed some of the photos from Vivien’s album – children playing on the beach in front of the shop, and parents relaxing in deckchairs alongside them. They would need something that conjured up the spirit of summer. Ice creams = sunny childhood daydreams. But when the sky was grey, what could she and Anna do to remind customers of those hazy warm days?
A gentle tune rang out in her head. The tinny notes that used to make her and Anna’s ears prick up, send them running back to their parents for ice cream money to spend.
That’s it, Imogen thought to herself. Festivals, beaches, picnics in the park. She had just the plan Vivien’s needed.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the front door opening. ‘Room for one more?’ Jess said, smiling and walking in.
‘I think we can squeeze you in.’
‘Saw that article,’ Jess said, taking a seat on one of the stools at the counter. ‘What a nightmare.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘Oh, don’t fret. No one even reads local press any more.’
‘I hope that’s true,’ Imogen said.
‘And on the plus side, this place really does look a lot better.’
‘Thanks,’ Imogen said. ‘It’s scrubbed up pretty well. What are you still doing here, anyway? I thought you’d be sunning it up in Antigua by now.’
‘Talking of nightmares, that bloody travel company!’ she said. ‘We had hundreds of pounds of honeymoon vouchers, that people had bought us on our wedding list – and now, with it going bust those gifts are all gone. The moment Ed’s work got wind that our Antigua plan was down the pan they jumped at the chance to draft him in to do some more work. So it’s just me. Here. New wife on staycation.’
‘That’s terrible,’ Imogen said. ‘Would you hate me if I said it’s nice to see you, and I’m actually quite glad you’re still here?’
‘Yes, I would,’ Jess said. ‘So to make up for it I want a big cup of hot chocolate, please. Still here in rainy Britain and all on my own too. Even Anna’s buggered off.’
Imogen went over to the kitchen to make Jess’s drink.
‘Not completely on your own,’ Imogen said a moment later, handing her a warm mug.
‘Sorry,’ Jess said. ‘It’s great that you’re here. It’s just been an awful week. Anyway, how’s Anna? She enjoying Italy?’
‘I’ve had the occasional text,’ Imogen said. ‘It sounds like she’s having a brilliant time.’
Jess smiled. ‘Good, she deserves it, doesn’t she? All these years of cooking obsession might finally amount to something other than her creations ramping me up a dress size or two.’
‘Yes,’ Imogen said. ‘Bet she’s top of class right now, don’t you? Teacher’s pet.’
‘Definitely,’ Jess said, idly stirring the hot chocolate with her spoon.
‘Jess,’ Imogen said. ‘Seeing as you’re here … ’
Jess raised an eyebrow suspiciously.
‘Can I just run something by you? If you wanted to find a van, where would you start looking?’
‘A van?’ Jess said with a smirk. ‘Are you planning on going somewhere? Anna always said you were a bit of a hippy.’ ‘It’s not for me,’ Imogen explained. ‘It’s for the business. An ice cream van. I’ve decided it’s time – I mean it will be, when Anna gets back – for us to go mobile. What do you think?’
‘A van.’ Jess pushed her unruly shoulder-length curls back behind her ears, weighing up the idea. ‘Like an old-school ice cream van?’
‘Exactly.’
‘I like it. There’s a friend of Ed’s down in Worthing who does up old vans, most of them VWs and stuff, but I bet you could find something there.’
‘Brilliant,’ Imogen said, lighting up at the idea.
‘Depends how much you know about car engines though,’ Jess said. ‘Some of them still need a fair bit of work.’
‘Oh, I’m pretty practical,’ Imogen said. She’d changed a few tyres, and fixed her beach bike more than once.
‘Great,’ Jess said. She scribbled down the website of the place on a napkin. ‘Here you go. Ask for Graham. It’s probably best if you go down there in person, so you can see the van and work out what’s right.’
‘Dreams on Wheels,’ Imogen read out, smiling at the name. ‘That’s what it feels like, Jess. This way, we can take our ice cream dreams on the road.’
‘Just don’t let on to your sister that I’ve been encouraging you,’ Jess said. ‘Not sure she’ll take kindly to me helping you with this madcap scheme.’
‘I won’t say a word,’ Imogen said, already reaching for her mobile and bringing up the website. ‘And there’s nothing mad about this, I assure you.’
Imogen took Anna’s bike and cycled over to the address that she’d found online. She came to a stop in the gravel outside Dreams on Wheels, and leaned it up against the brick wall. The garage owner slid out from his position under an orange VW van and turned his head to greet her. His face, ruggedly handsome, his hairline receding slightly, was streaked with oil, and he was wearing dark blue overalls.
‘You must be Jess’s friend. Imogen, was it?’ he said, coming all the way out from under the van and slowly getting to his feet.
‘Yes, that’s me.’ Imogen said with a smile. ‘The ice cream lady.’ He reached out an oil-covered hand for her to shake – then, clocking her hesitation, pulled back, wiping his hands on his overalls.
‘Best not, eh?’ he laughed.
‘Now, I have to say it felt like a stroke of luck when you called. You see, I’ve got an old ice cream van – from the seventies, it is – that I’ve been trying to shift for a while. It’s not right for the ordinary customer, of course, but it might fit the bill for you. Just needs a lick of paint – come and have a look.’
Graham led Imogen round to the back of his workshop and past a row of vans, an old yellow school bus and another van with ‘Girl Guides’ written on the side.
‘I can offer you a pretty reasonable price, if you’re interested. Seven hundred should do it, as it’s been here a while and to be honest I could really use the space. It’s a good little runner, still got the freezers inside there and everything.’
Imogen’s eyes adjusted to the dark at the back of the garage and she could make out the van in front of her. Yes, it looked faded, but it had four wheels and a brilliant ice cream model on the top. Perfect.
‘That’s the one,’ Imogen said. She could just picture it – with ‘Vivien’s’ written in script on the side – selling ice cream at festivals, by other south-coast beaches, at local parks. When Anna got back she would fall in love with it just as much – she wouldn’t care less about the other things that had happened while she’d been away.
‘I’ll give you four hundred for it,’ Imogen said. In her satchel was five hundred pounds in cash, the last of the money their grandmother had left them to start up the business. OK, so she and Anna had had it earmarked for ingredients, but just as soon as they got the van out there they could make that money back in a week.
‘Four hundred and fifty,’ Graham said firmly, but with a smile in his eyes, ‘and you’ve got yourself a deal.’
Chapter Sixteen
Giovanna had laid out an array of delicious-looking breakfast pastries on the roof terrace, and Sian and Matteo were
both sitting at the table drinking coffee.
‘Morning, all,’ Anna said with a bright smile, sitting down with them. ‘I didn’t realise you were staying here, Sian.’
‘Got here late last night,’ she replied. ‘I was in a hostel nearby, a right dump. I was feeling pretty desperate about it actually, but then Matteo recommended this place to me and luckily there was a room available.’
Anna smiled, and took a seat at their table. The terrace overlooked the pretty square, and just a hundred metres or so away was the distinctive silhouette of the Duomo, the cathedral that was the city’s primary landmark. She reached towards the pastry plate and took a cannoli, a rich cream horn, and as she took a bite, the flaky pastry dissolved on her lips. It was still warm, fresh from the oven.
‘Mmm,’ Anna said, in undisguised delight. ‘These are incredible.’
‘Pretty good, eh?’ Matteo said, pouring her a coffee. ‘I think everyone in Italy knows about Giovanna’s pastries.’
‘How do you know her?’ Sian asked.
‘She was our neighbour, before we moved to Siena. My mother and father decided they wanted a change and they set up a gelateria there instead. They said it was getting too competitive here, too political.’
‘And you?’ Anna asked, taking a tentative sip of her drink, which was still hot. She flinched a little – it was stronger than she was used to.
‘Siena was fine for when I was studying,’ Matteo said, pushing a dark curl out of his eyes. ‘My parents wanted me to do something different, so I started training to be an accountant. But it wasn’t for me. Not at all,’ he laughed. ‘I wake up and I think about food, I go to sleep and I think about food. I even dream about ice cream! How could I possibly do anything else?’
Anna smiled in recognition. She wondered for a moment how she’d stayed in her marketing job as long as she did.
‘When I realised that,’ Matteo continued, ‘Bianca’s school was the obvious place to train. I hope that when I’ve finished I can go back to Siena and start up on my own.’ He smiled kindly, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners. ‘But, listen, I didn’t mean to tell you my whole life story.’
Sian was listening to Matteo with rapt attention, and Anna noticed she’d barely touched the pastry on her plate.
‘What do you make of Florence so far?’ he asked them both.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Sian said.
‘Yes, even more so than I expected,’ Anna added. She couldn’t stop marvelling at the elegance in every fountain, each feature of the tall townhouses. It was as if even the most unimportant of structures had been crafted as a work of art, not a functional object.
‘Did you know there’s another reason Florence is the perfect place to study ice cream making?’
‘There is?’ Anna asked.
‘Yes, the famous Ice Cream Festival.’
Anna thought back to her guidebook, wondered if she’d overlooked something. There was going to be a festival of ice cream going on right here in Florence? How had she missed hearing about it?
‘Next week,’ Matteo said. ‘It starts the day after we finish the course. You’re going to see the city transformed.’ His eyes lit up as he talked. ‘Sorbets, ice creams, granitas – you name it, you’ll be able to taste it here.’
Anna grinned with excitement. ‘What an unexpected treat,’ she said. She’d have a day to enjoy it before getting her flight home.
‘Sounds like the perfect way to celebrate after our hard work on the course,’ Sian said, tying her blonde hair back with a hairband. ‘But I’ll be back on a plane to Dublin by then.’
‘Plans,’ Matteo said, with a cheeky glint in his eye. ‘The best thing about plans,’ he went on, ‘is that you can always change them.’
Sian smiled. Anna suddenly felt awkward, as if she shouldn’t be there. Was there something going on between Matteo and Sian that she hadn’t spotted?
‘Right,’ she said, checking her watch. ‘Half past eight. I’m going to walk in a bit early, go the long way by the river. I’ll see you in class.’
‘Today,’ Bianca announced, ‘we’ll be learning to make a fig and almond ice cream.’ From her expression Anna could tell that this was one of her favourites, and as soon as she caught sight of the figs on her table – plump and ripe, almost bursting with juice – she could understand why.
‘This one looks good,’ Sian whispered to Anna. After the terrible ice cream she’d made the day before, Anna had been relieved to be paired with her, and could already see Georgios and Hiro struggling with the ingredients list at the adjacent bench.
‘Today we get serious,’ Bianca said. ‘We don’t have much time, only a week, so I’ll be working you hard on this course, and I expect to see results. Only those who have produced three ice creams of the highest standard will receive the certificate on Friday.’
Anna thought of yesterday’s mess, and how far that ice cream was from being a contender. But today, she vowed, tightening the strings on her apron, was a whole new day.
‘Right. Now, we only have thirty minutes for this,’ Bianca said, ‘so let’s get started.’
Anna glanced over at Matteo and Ria enviously: they seemed so organised, and in just a couple of minutes, they had their workspace set up and ready to go. Matteo was peeling the figs and chopping them into small pieces.
Anna and Sian got to work, and had soon prepared plenty of fruit for their ice cream, along with some sliced almonds. They chatted as they worked, and Anna found it all came more naturally than the day before. After fifteen minutes they had a mixture ready to freeze in the ice cream machine.
‘Looking pretty good,’ Bianca said, as she passed their table. ‘I think I may have underestimated you, Signora McAvoy.’
It was supposed to be their afternoon treat, but as Anna huffed and puffed her way up the steep steps of the Duomo – Florence’s grand cathedral – later that day she was beginning to wonder if she wouldn’t rather be back in the classroom.
‘Keep up!’ Bianca said, as her class trailed behind her up the stone staircase. ‘We’re almost halfway there.’
After a successful morning of ice cream making, Bianca had suggested that they finish an hour early and take advantage of the beautiful summer’s day by going on a class trip. ‘I’ll be the first to say that ice cream making is important,’ she had told the class after their brief lunch break, ‘but I can’t have you here in Florence for a week without seeing one of the most beautiful sights in the world.’
‘And what happens at halfway?’ Hiro asked.
‘You’re about to find out. Just step through this doorway.’
Bianca motioned to a gap in the stone to her left, and then led the way through.
Anna kept focused on Matteo in front of her, trying not to think about how high up they had climbed. As she followed him through the opening, she found they were on a circular platform leading around the inside of the dome. Beyond the low wall that kept them from falling, she could make out people on the cathedral floor below, tiny dots. She felt a wave of nausea, and gripped the edge.
‘Are you OK?’ Matteo asked, looking back at her.
‘Sort of.’ Anna smiled. ‘I’m terrified of heights.’
‘Try not to look down,’ he said, putting his hand on her arm reassuringly. She allowed it to linger there. It felt good, his touch, and physical closeness meant something different over here, she reasoned.
‘And why would you? Look up, Anna.’ He pointed to the frescoes on the cathedral’s ceiling, in vibrant blues and gold leaf, a depiction of heaven.
‘Wow,’ she said, forgetting all about her previous fear.
‘Do you like it?’
‘Beautiful enough to make you forget how high up we are,’ she smiled.
They went halfway around and then back through another doorway, to more stairs. Anna stopped at a small window on the way up the next flight, and pointed at a collection of metal padlocks attached to the grate. ‘What are these?’
‘They’
re to, how do you say … to remember,’ Matteo said. ‘Look,’ he pointed at where people had inscribed or painted their initials onto the metal. ‘You come here with someone who matters to you, and leave a lock as a reminder. So it will always be there.’
Anna thought of Jon. He wasn’t the keenest traveller – he’d only been out of Britain once before, on a stag outing to Amsterdam. But perhaps she could persuade him to come here. Maybe they could retrace her steps and put their own padlock up here. She warmed at the thought.
‘Nice, aren’t they?’ Matteo said, with a smile. He glanced up at the empty staircase ahead of them. ‘They’ve gone ahead. Let’s catch up.’
Anna picked up her pace, and in a couple of minutes they reached the top. She stepped out onto the outdoor platform at the top of the Duomo, and emerged to a view that took her breath away. It was a clear, sunny day and she could see for miles, across the city, past the sparkling river and out into the Tuscan countryside.
‘So what do you think?’ Bianca said, pointing at the view. ‘Worth the walk, isn’t it?’
Anna made her way over to the edge, where her classmates were standing and taking photos. She distanced herself from them slightly so that she could look out at the view.
‘Yes,’ Anna said. ‘It’s stunning.’ Matteo came and stood beside her.
‘It looks to me,’ he said, ‘like your vertigo might be cured.’
Chapter Seventeen
Jon opened the door in a pair of boxer shorts. ‘Imogen,’ he said, surprised.
‘Sorry, Jon.’ Imogen was still holding Anna’s borrowed key to the flat in her hand. ‘I didn’t think anyone would be here.’
‘Come in,’ he said, still looking embarrassed. ‘I know, normally I’d be out, but I’m working from home today.’ His hair stood up in tufts and spikes, as if he’d just woken up.
‘I won’t be a minute,’ Imogen said, walking past him. ‘I just need to pick something up.’ She went through into the bathroom, found her washbag right away and slung it into her satchel. She could hear the TV on quietly in the background. Doesn’t sound much like work, she thought to herself with a smile.
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