Vivien's Heavenly Ice Cream Shop

by Abby Clements

  The accademia’s students and their proud teacher settled down at a cosy, family-run trattoria with red-and-white chequered tablecloths, wooden furniture and a menu full of hearty pastas, pizzas and risottos. Anna was relieved to find that Bianca hadn’t meant best in a Michelin-starred sense – her budget would never have stretched to that.

  Anna ordered a pizza, which arrived laden with fresh artichokes and mushrooms, stone-baked to perfection, and, starving after a day of hard work in the kitchen, she took a big bite. She’d been pleased with her experiment that day, a fresh and light quince ice cream – in fact it was probably the best one she’d made all week. But in spite of her culinary success, she hadn’t been able to relax. She couldn’t put her finger on what was wrong, but there was something in Jon’s tone that had unsettled her. She couldn’t wait to see him and Alfie again, so why did it seem as if she was further down his list of priorities right now? Was she being too demanding? She resolved to give him space when she got home. If there was an issue he’d tell her in his own time.

  ‘Congratulations,’ Bianca said, raising her glass of red wine. Anna, Georgios, Sian, Matteo, Ria and Hiro clinked their glasses with her over the table. Anna smiled. They’d survived the course and, better still, mastered some truly mouth-watering recipes they’d all be taking home to their own countries.

  ‘To the best teacher,’ Georgios said, raising his glass again. ‘To bella Bianca!’ he smiled. They all joined him enthusiastically for the second toast. Despite Bianca’s occasional harsh criticisms, Anna could tell she really cared about her students, and in just a few short days she’d brought out the best in all of them. Right now Bianca was glowing.

  After the meal, the group congregated on the pavement outside the restaurant and exchanged contact details, hugging their goodbyes.

  ‘Thank you,’ Anna said to Bianca, separate from the rest of the group. ‘The last week has been such an inspiration.’

  ‘You’re ready, then?’ she said. ‘To get going at home, in your shop?’

  ‘I think I am.’

  ‘You’ll send me pictures,’ Bianca insisted. Then she whispered, ‘He’s a good catch, you know –’ she nodded over at Matteo, who was helping Sian into a taxi – ‘and I think he might have … How do you say it? A soft spot for you.’ She gave Anna a wink, and before Anna could answer, Georgios had swept Bianca up into a bear hug.

  Sian’s cab pulled away and Matteo walked over to Anna. ‘Are you ready to go?’ he asked. ‘I said I’d meet Saverio, Elena and Caro over by the Duomo.’

  ‘Sure,’ Anna said, trying to forget what Bianca had just told her. ‘Let’s go.’

  Anna and Matteo walked slowly across the square, the festival buzzing around them. ‘They’ll be here any minute,’ Matteo said. Anna thought she detected a little nervousness in his voice. She tried to think of something to say to make the atmosphere between them more relaxed.

  ‘Ciao, Matteo!’ A young couple and another woman in her twenties came around the corner and greeted both their friend and Anna with kisses on the cheek. They chatted easily in Italian, and Anna caught the occasional word and wished she could understand it all better. She was relieved when one of the women turned to her and said shyly, ‘Hi, I’m Caro. You’re English, aren’t you? Pleased to meet you. I badly need to practise my English!’

  Excitedly chatting among themselves, the group made their way to the first ice cream tasting of the festival. Matteo handed Anna an almond gelato in a chocolate-trimmed waffle cone and she licked it, enjoying the coolness of the ice on the steamy summer evening. The flavour developed after a moment – there was a subtlety to it that made it irresistible. In her own happy bubble, she continued to eat and for a moment didn’t realise that Matteo and his friends had moved on to the next stall without her. As she hurried to catch them up, she felt more determined than ever to produce outstanding ice cream when she got back home – if only so that she could eat it herself. Cornettos and Viennetta were never going to cut it now she’d tasted this.

  ‘Anna, cioccolato!’ Matteo said, turning towards her with a taster spoonful for her to try. ‘But this isn’t any ordinary chocolate,’ he said with a wink.

  Anna took a bite and after the comforting swirl of chocolate, other flavours sparked in her mouth – chilli, with a real kick to it. ‘Wow,’ she said.

  ‘Good?’ Matteo asked.

  ‘Fantastic,’ she replied, laughing with the pure joy of the delicious discovery.

  ‘It’s Mexican, the ice cream of the Aztecs.’

  Matteo asked for some more tasters, and there was a surge from behind, as new punters joined the crowd. Anna’s leg pressed against his for a moment. Conscious of the closeness, she looked up and her eyes met his, his gaze lingering naturally. Anna’s phone buzzed in her pocket, and she was relieved to have an excuse to look away. She took it out, pleased that Jon had found time to call her back. She could explain to Matteo now that her boyfriend was calling. But instead of Jon’s name, she saw it was a text from Jess:

  In case you’re wondering: nice olive oil, and a packet of those crunchy biscuit things, please. Can’t wait till you’re back. Jess xx

  She smiled at the message. ‘A friend,’ she explained.

  It was nearly two in the morning, and Anna had a flight to catch in the morning, but she wanted to stay exactly where she was. Saverio had driven them all up to a lookout, with a panoramic view of the city and a dark sky full of stars stretched out above them. The five of them were leaning against the white Cinquecento car they’d squeezed into on the way up, glasses in their hands.

  ‘More limoncello?’ Matteo asked.

  ‘I suppose a little bit wouldn’t hurt,’ Anna said with a smile, offering her glass, traces of the sweet spirit still on her lips. The others in the group were discussing what music to put on the car stereo.

  Matteo filled her glass, and their eyes met again. ‘Anna, I’ve been wanting to say something. Since the first day—’

  A blast of music came from the car stereo, cutting him short. Matteo’s friends laughed and found the volume switch to turn it down.

  ‘There’s no need,’ Anna said gently. She thought of Bianca’s words, and felt a wave of guilt and confusion. She should have been honest about Jon from the start. She’d done the wrong thing coming here tonight.

  ‘It’s my last night here, Matteo. Let’s just enjoy it.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  CLOSED DUE TO A FAMILY EMERGENCY

  Imogen Blu-tacked up the sign on the front door and shut the shop at midday. It wasn’t as if they’d be missing out on that much business, she told herself. Her only customers that morning had been a group of stoned twenty-something students, marvelling for what seemed like hours over the intricacies of the hundreds and thousands on Fab lollies.

  She couldn’t just wait around in the shop, knowing that Françoise was pressurising her dad and it was making him feel worse. She threw her small rucksack onto the passenger seat of the ice cream van and climbed into the driver’s seat.

  She started the engine, and drove on to the main road. She didn’t know quite what she was going to do when she reached her parents’ cottage, but if Françoise was still around, she was soon going to wish she wasn’t.

  Forty-five minutes later, Jan opened the door to their family home.

  ‘Are they still here?’ Imogen demanded.

  ‘Are who here?’ Jan said, looking wary. ‘Do you mean your uncle and aunt? If so, then yes, they are.’

  Jan peered around her daughter and out into the driveway, spying the ice cream van parked there. ‘Imogen, what is that in our driveway?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Imogen said. ‘I mean, I’ll explain later. Let me come in and talk to them.’

  ‘OK,’ Jan conceded, standing back. ‘But,’ she said, voice dropped to a whisper, ‘please don’t cause a fuss. Your father’s upset enough as it is.’

  Imogen strode through into the kitchen, where her uncle and aunt were sitting around the table with h
er father.

  ‘Hi,’ she said. Her father looked tired and a little dazed. She leaned down to hug him hello but he barely seemed to register her presence.

  ‘Aunt Françoise,’ Imogen said, turning to face her. ‘Could I have a word?’

  She glanced over at Martin for protection, and he gave his wife an apologetic shrug. Françoise reluctantly scraped back her chair and followed Imogen into the living room.

  Imogen closed the door behind them.

  ‘What have you been telling Dad?’ she said, furious.

  ‘Only the truth,’ Françoise retorted. ‘What everyone in Brighton is saying. It was even in the newspaper, I hear. That you are running Vivien’s business into the ground, and ruining any reputation it ever had.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ Imogen said. It stung that some of it – maybe – was. A bit. ‘We’ve been working all hours trying to get this business off the ground. Anna’s on a course now so that we can improve the product we’re selling. How dare you interfere like this!’

  ‘I’m just looking out for your father and Martin’s best interests,’ Françoise hissed back. ‘And right now, it’s pretty clear that your shop needs some new direction. I’ve given your father a business plan of my own, with Martin’s approval. It’s Tom’s decision whether he wants to talk to you and Anna about it. But I’ve let him know I feel your grandmother’s shop would stand a better chance in mine and Martin’s hands.’

  Tears of fury welled up in Imogen’s eyes. ‘How could you?’ she said. ‘You know how upset he’s been since Granny’s death.’

  ‘And you think watching his mother’s business going down the drain is going to help, do you, Imogen?’

  Imogen was momentarily speechless. What she’d said had made no difference at all.

  ‘You’re clearly determined to ruin this for me and Anna.’

  ‘I think you’re being a little dramatic,’ Françoise said dismissively.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  Imogen turned her back on her aunt and walked out of the room and into the kitchen. She took a deep breath and tried to keep her cool, for her dad’s sake.

  ‘Sorry for dropping in like this,’ Imogen said. ‘I shouldn’t have come.’ She kissed her mum and dad goodbye. ‘I have to head off now, but I’ll be back in a little while.’

  ‘OK, dear,’ her dad said, still distant. ‘Well, it’s always nice to see you.’

  Jan gave her daughter a hug and whispered in her ear: ‘We’ll sort this out, don’t worry.’

  Imogen left the house and started the van’s engine, pulling out of the driveway. On the main street she indicated left at the roundabout, to take the A-Road back to Brighton. She could still see Françoise’s face in her mind, ruthless and determined. ‘How dare she!’ Imogen said out loud, reliving the moment.

  She pressed on the gas and shot out on to the edge of the roundabout, instantly stalling. Panicked, she restarted the engine. For a moment there was hope, then it sputtered and died.

  Cars honked and flashed their lights at her, but no matter how many times she tried, she couldn’t start the engine up again.

  ‘What were you thinking?’ Jess said, when she arrived twenty minutes later.

  Imogen was signing the AA’s man clipboard to become a member so that she could get towed back to the Arches. ‘You’re lucky you got this far,’ Jess continued. ‘I thought you were going to get that thing serviced before you drove it again.’

  ‘I had to go,’ Imogen said. Tears pooled in her eyes, but she fought them back. ‘I thought it would be fine.’

  ‘Well, no point worrying about it now,’ Jess said. ‘They’ll tow it back for you. Now let me give you a lift home.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Imogen said, getting into Jess’s car.

  ‘What was so urgent that you had to shut up shop and drive over here anyway?’ Jess said, as they pulled away from the kerb.

  ‘Family stuff,’ Imogen said. ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘And our hurry is?’

  ‘In a nutshell, Dad’s been depressed since Granny died, and now our aunt is trying to manipulate him.’

  ‘Sounds nasty,’ Jess said, wrinkling her nose. ‘Manipulate him how?’

  ‘She’s trying to convince him we’re not capable of running the shop, so that she can put her own bid in for the business.’

  ‘She’ll never manage that.’ Jess said.

  ‘I want to believe you. But you don’t know my Aunt Françoise.’

  ‘Anna told me she can be quite determined when she wants something.’

  ‘And some,’ Imogen said, leaning back in her car seat and raking her hands through her hair. ‘God, Jess. I’ve made such a mess of everything. And now we’re going to need more money to repair the van. Anna’s going to kill me.’

  Chapter Twenty

  On the bus seat next to Anna, a generously proportioned Italian mamma adjusted her wide-brimmed hat, purple with an arrangement of fake flowers on top. She chattered away animatedly with a woman in turquoise across the aisle, and from the odd word Anna caught, it seemed like they were talking about a wedding. Her attention drifted away from their lively conversation to the scenery out of the window.

  She watched as the spectacular landscape went by, the same cypress trees and yellow houses that had signalled her arrival in Italy just a week ago. She felt a pang at the thought that she was leaving it all behind – perhaps forever. But it was only a holiday, she told herself. It was silly to think of it as anything more than that.

  Anna had never thought of herself as the adventurous type. When she and Imogen were kids it had always been Imogen who was experimenting on insects, building dens with their dad and mixing deadly looking potions. She was more likely to be in the house, usually cooking – she’d always thought she’d rather be pottering around the kitchen than camping under remote desert stars or trekking through the rainforest.

  But as she neared Pisa Airport, passing by the houses and churches of a small town, Anna wondered if the story she’d always told herself – about who she was and what she wanted – was still true. Italy had opened her eyes – to adventure, and a world full of energy, and a life lived with food at the very heart of it.

  Thinking of the journey ahead, and of what she was leaving behind, her senses were revived by a memory: the taste of kiwi and melon. Matteo’s sorbet. It was almost as vivid now as when she’d taken the spoonful. The mingling of fresh fruity sweetness with a sharp tang, a flavour people would travel across a country for. She’d never tasted it before – and doubted she’d ever find that exact flavour again.

  Unless. She fumbled in her handbag, past her mobile, lipstick and fake Prada sunglasses. Inside was a folded sheet of paper, the one she’d encouraged her fellow students to write their contact details on. She glanced over the names quickly until her eyes came to rest on Matteo’s – he’d put both his email and Facebook details on there.

  It could be worth staying in touch, she thought, with just the tiniest flash of guilt. Jon wouldn’t be happy about it – but he didn’t really have to know. It would only be so that she could request that recipe from him, maybe get his advice in the future. Business – she needed to compile a dozen or so top-notch recipes for the relaunch of Vivien’s. She typed Matteo’s email address into her iPhone and pressed Save.

  Jon took Anna in his arms the moment they stepped through the door, and kissed her gently on her mouth, her neck. He put down her suitcase in the hallway. He’d been there to meet her in the arrivals hall at Gatwick, and while they’d driven back to the flat she’d filled him in on all the details of Florence and the course – flavour by flavour, she’d talked him through the ice creams she’d made.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said, nuzzling into her shoulder.

  ‘Me too.’ She kissed him back. ‘Shall we?’ she nodded towards the bedroom, and he didn’t need much encouragement to follow her.

  Jon slowly unbuttoned her blouse and ran his hands over her bra, then her bare stomach. Her sk
in tingled instinctively, and her hands found their regular place on his arms, his chest. Her brain was only semi-engaged, still caught up in memories of sunshine and cobblestone piazzas, the delicious tastes she had just left behind. But as Jon kissed down her shoulder and gently took her blouse off, those thoughts began to shift and she found herself back in Brighton again. Yet with that came not the relaxation of being home, but thoughts about the shop.

  ‘Jon,’ she said, between his increasingly urgent kisses. He pulled away and looked at her with a mixture of impatience and distraction. ‘Uh huh,’ he said, still fiddling with the clasp on her bra.

  ‘Maybe I should call her,’ Anna said, reaffixing the hooks at the back and shuffling back a fraction on the bed. ‘Imogen. Check that everything’s been going all right.’

  ‘Really?’ Jon said, furrowing his brow, his cheeks colouring a little as he spoke. ‘You’ve only just got back, Anna, and we’ve been apart for a whole week.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Anna said, trying harder now to silence her doubts and relax. Imogen had reassured her on the phone that everything was going OK, and she should trust in that. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘Where were we again?’ she smiled, and he brought her back into his arms.

  An hour later, Anna came around from the doze she’d fallen into in Jon’s arms. Squinting at the clock she saw it was just after 7 p.m.

  ‘Jon,’ she said, waking him gently. ‘We must have fallen asleep. It’s nearly time for dinner.’

  He moved his head on the pillow slightly, beginning to stir. ‘Dinner,’ he echoed, and his eyes opened. ‘I don’t think we’ve got any food in,’ he said apologetically. ‘Fancy a meal out tonight?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Anna said, sitting up with the duvet wrapped around her, feeling snug and protected. ‘How about Gianni’s?’

  They had always liked Gianni’s – romantic and candlelit, the Italian restaurant tucked away in the Lanes was off the tourist trail, instead packed to the rafters with Italian families and Brighton locals most nights. She and Jon had gone on their second date there, and it remained a favourite of theirs for special occasions. And tonight – a taste of Gianni’s pasta or pizza would keep the holiday high going a while longer.