Because if she didn’t do it, then it was me.
‘Does your husband know you’re here?’ I ask.
‘He drove me here.’
Alain, my boyfriend, drove me here, and is waiting for me, too. Waiting to take me where I need to go next. ‘Oh, good. Good. I’m glad. He seems like a good guy. Really nice.’
Her head creaks around to look at me again, her gaze a hard stare. ‘You stay away from him,’ she says.
‘Oh, no, I didn’t mean . . .’ I open my hands in surrender. ‘All that’s over, Serena. The stalking, trying to get into your life, all done with. I promise you. I am going to get on with my life, what is left of it. I can’t promise not to hate you from afar, but I’m not coming near you again. In fact, if I never see you again, it’ll be too soon.’
‘Feeling’s mutual,’ she replies.
Dr Evan obviously hasn’t told her that I went to see him, and I’m grateful for that. I’m eternally grateful that she doesn’t know how bad, how obsessed, I got.
She crouches down, and reaches for the smooth, simple lettering chiselled out of the grey smooth stone. She runs her fingers over it, taking his name and his description in by touch. Then, slowly, she takes her hand away and stands.
‘Goodbye, Sir,’ she whispers as if she were talking to her teacher. ‘May you rest in peace.’
As she turns away she gives me a smile, probably the first genuine one she’s ever aimed at me. ‘And may you live in peace, Poppy,’ she says over her shoulder before she walks away, and out of my life.
serena
‘All done?’ Evan asks as I climb back into our car.
‘Yup,’ I say. ‘All finally done.’
‘Where did you go, Mum?’ Conrad asks, as if he didn’t ask when Evan pulled up just down the road from the cemetery. Sometimes I think he asks questions more than once to try to fox us, to catch us out.
‘She told you already,’ Vee says. She doesn’t like sitting in the back but, on a family trip, she has no choice. And this family trip is being taken with the aid of the wedding fund.
‘Someone I used to know died a long time ago and I went to visit their grave and to say goodbye.’
‘Oh, right,’ Con says.
‘Right, so is everyone ready for the trip of a lifetime?’ Evan, the only one of us who knows where we’re going, asks.
‘Yes!’ we all say together. All he would tell us was to pack for a hot summer and a cold winter – in other words bring as much as possible. Con, of course, has no trouble showing his excitement; Vee is far better at hiding it, but not from me. I’m excited, too. Now that I have finally said goodbye to Marcus and to Poppy and that part of my life, I can immerse myself fully in the people I have sitting around me. I still hide the knives – and did so before we went away – and I still can’t eat ice cream, but change takes time.
‘Right, so where are we going?’ I ask my husband. He also told me to pack a dress I wouldn’t mind wearing to get married in.
‘OK, you’re going to love this,’ he says, turning to us. ‘We’re going to . . . pick up our new motorhome!’
He is greeted with silence.
‘Our what?’ I say.
‘I thought, what can I spend that money on that will be for all the family, and will mean that we can always afford to go on holidays? So I invested the cash in a motorhome.’
‘Mum, is Dad joking?’ Vee asks me desperately. Not as desperate as me, I’ll wager.
‘Yes, Vee, your father is joking. Because he has known me for ever and he has to know that I am not the type of person who uses a “chemical toilet” – especially not a second-hand one.’
‘It is going to be fantastic,’ Evan says. ‘We can go off on holidays whenever we like: we don’t have to worry about hotel bookings, we can sleep wherever we fancy. We can read the streets whenever we like. It’s going to be fabulous, I promise you.’
‘Wow,’ breathes Conrad, ‘we have a chemical toilet?’
‘We certainly do, son, we certainly do.’ Evan slaps and rubs his hands together, then reaches for his seatbelt. ‘Let’s go, let’s go. I can’t wait to get there.’
‘And where is “there” exactly?’
‘Wales: well, Portmeirion. Where there is a lovely little church, right by the beach, where we could get married tomorrow if you want?’
‘So, that’s the choice: motorhome and wedding, or no motorhome and no wedding?’
‘Yup.’
I reach for my seatbelt. ‘Portmeirion, here we come.’
‘Ah, Mum!’ Vee complains.
‘Mum, are there whales in Wales?’ Conrad asks.
‘I don’t know,’ I reply. ‘Why don’t you ask your clever big sister? I bet she’ll know.’
‘Vee, are there whales in Wales?’
‘I’m not telling you.’
‘Mum, she said she’s not telling me.’
‘That’s probably because she doesn’t know.’
‘I do, too.’
‘She does, too.’
I reach over and squeeze my husband’s knee as he begins to take us into our future. ‘We made two good ones, there,’ I whisper so as not to disturb the arguing in the back. ‘I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.’
poppy
They open the door the second I unhook the gate and they come running at me, flying into my arms, almost knocking me over as our bodies connect halfway up the path.
None of us even attempt to speak, we just cling to each other: holding on and holding on.
My precious, precious sister. My precious, precious brother.
My arms do not seem wide enough to hold them as close as I want to, my words would not be deep enough to tell them everything in my heart. For nearly twenty years I’ve wanted nothing more than this. To hold them. To be near them.
Now is the time for us to set things right, for me to concentrate on what is truly important. Not that past, this future.
They’re here now, we’re here now, we do not need anyone or anything else.
Bella slips her hand in mine and Logan wraps his arm around my shoulders and we head back into the house, so close that every step we take is a step in time, a step that sews up the years we were apart, pulling the seams together until they can barely be seen, and we can pretend that they never really existed.
marcus
MURDER HUNT
Two members of the London Ambulance Service discovered the body of local teacher Marcus Halnsley today in his North London home. He had died from a fatal stab wound. Father of one Halnsley, who was liked and respected by both teachers and pupils at the schools where he taught, is believed to have known his attacker as there was so sign of a break-in.
Police are appealing for witnesses and would especially like to talk to two young women who were seen near his home around the time of the attack.
Daily News Chronicle, June 1988
marcus
June, 1988
I never thought she had it in her.
After those bitches left me bleeding, I knew I had to get to the phone. It was on the other side of the sitting room, but I knew I could make it. It was only really a nick in the side – looked worse than it was. But I wasn’t going to tell those two that. I was going to tell them I’d nearly died, make them feel as guilty as they should.
Who did they think they were, saying no to me? To me! I was going to teach the pair of them a lesson they’d never forget. And I was going to make each of them watch while the other got her lesson.
I managed to roll on to my front, even though it hurt like hell. It hurt like nothing on earth. I really did need an ambulance before I lost any more blood. I slammed my hand down on to the carpet, dug my fingertips in and then heaved myself forwards. It worked – I moved. Only a small distance, but I was that bit closer to the phone. It wouldn’t take long to get help. And once I was at the hospital, I would think it over slowly, clearly, soberly. I would find the perfect punishment.
Suddenly she was stand
ing there, framed in the doorway, staring down at me. I should have known, by the look on her face, but I didn’t ever think. Not her, not her of all people.
‘Marlene? How did you get in?’ She’d obviously turned up on one of her ‘leave me alone or else’ visits, but that didn’t matter right now. She was there and she could get me help. ‘Arggh,’ I groaned, clutching my side and willing the pain to go away. ‘Never mind, never mind,’ I gasped. ‘Just get me an ambulance.’
She did not move and she did not speak. She stood still and watched me. Maybe she was in shock, seeing all that blood.
‘Marlene!’ I shouted, trying to snap her out of it. ‘The phone. It’s over by the window. Call me an ambulance. NOW! MARLENE! NOW!’
She nodded and then the stupid bitch went towards the sofa. No wonder I divorced her. Couldn’t take an order that one. I never did manage to knock any sense into her, either. ‘Not the sofa. The window. The window!’ I told her.
I couldn’t see what she was doing so, screaming out in pain, I rolled over on to my back as she came towards me again. She had my knife in her hand. And then she was holding it up above her head with both hands.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked, even though it was obvious.
‘Goodbye, Marcus,’ she said.
‘Marlene? Marlene?!’ I screamed. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t stop her because I couldn’t move, I had no strength left in my body. She said that about me once. During the divorce, during the pack of lies she told the judge to get full custody of Jack, she told the court that I had forced myself on her. Me, her husband, had forced her. And when my solicitor had rightly asked why she didn’t stop me, she replied, ‘I couldn’t move. I couldn’t stop him because I couldn’t move. It was as if all strength had left my body.’
‘I’ll make sure Jack remembers you as a good man,’ she said. ‘Not the low-life, violent, rapist scum that you are.’
‘Marlene?! Marl—’ I hate that I died with tears on my cheeks and her name on my lips. Her name. After all those girls who had adored me over the years, she was the one I was with when death us did part.
From right beside her I watched her lean over and use the hanky in her pocket to wipe the handle clean. To erase all evidence that she was ever there and she did this.
She wasn’t good enough, of course. Like I always told her, she wasn’t good enough: she missed a bit. The little bit that Poppy had touched. I could see into the past, into the present and into the future, now that I didn’t need to. I could see that Poppy would be blamed, Poppy would be convicted. I could see that Poppy would always think it was Serena and Serena would always think it was Poppy. And no one, not even Poppy and Serena, would think to ask Marlene if she killed me.
Marlene would have admitted it if anyone had ever bothered to ask her. She was that weak, she would have cracked. But no one did, because all the evidence pointed to Poppy with Serena’s help. What they asked her was where she was the night of my murder. And she told them. She told them that she came to see me to tell me to leave her alone, but I did not answer the door when she knocked. Which was true. And she told them that she went home. Someone even remembers her going back to Birmingham on the 9 p.m. train. She had already killed me by then, but only she knew that.
Marlene wiped down the door handle and checked she had not stepped in any blood.
She even remembered to wipe her fingerprints off the spare key and return it to its place under the mat. She looked around and around, and was quite calm considering what she had just done. Maybe it was true what she said in court. Maybe I had broken her. Maybe living with me had turned her into a person she did not recognise. I did not recognise her, that’s for sure. She never looked at me again. Once she had done it, once she had stepped back, she did not survey her handiwork; she did not look at me for one last goodbye. But that is understandable. If she had, she would not have been able to walk away. She would have called the police, she would have confessed. In her mind, the reason she never did confess was because she did not want to leave Jack.
I could see the years ahead, and I could see that she would allow Poppy to take the blame. First she would reason that Poppy was innocent, so they would find out the truth. And after Poppy was sentenced, she would think that Poppy was not a mother, Poppy didn’t have a young child relying upon her, so it wouldn’t matter as much as it would if she went away. Jack’s life would be ruined to know that his mother had killed his father and then she would not see him outside of jail until he was an adult.
But, in all honesty, she was a coward. She was scared of prison, she was scared of being labelled a murderer, and most of all she was scared of Jack hating her for what she had done.
And what she had done, stupid cow that she was, was to unintentionally commit the perfect murder: she had killed someone and someone else had been arrested, tried and sentenced for it.
I was glad in the end that it was her who did it. Because she would never sleep again. Every single night for the rest of her life she would wake up in a cold, terrified sweat. She would spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder in case she got caught. She would always hear the sound I made as I called out her name that one last time, and she would always feel the sickening give as the knife went in.
Marlene thought she was getting rid of me by doing what she did but, in truth, she was doing the opposite. She was making sure I would haunt her for ever.
About the book
By Dorothy Koomson
One of the best things about being a writer is that you have the chance to experience other people’s lives. One of the worst things about being a writer is that you have the chance to experience other people’s lives. I felt like that time and again when I was writing The Ice Cream Girls.
First of all I should tell you that I absolutely enjoyed writing the book. It was challenging and difficult and pushed me as a writer, but I loved putting down every single word and I love the final product. I could not have hoped for a better story to come out of all that hard work – I put my heart and soul into creating it.
Now, let me tell you about the book. If you have read it, and I’m hoping you have and haven’t skipped to this bit (which may contain spoilers), you will see that the theme of domestic violence – physical, emotional and psychological – is explored. This subject is a prime example of what I love about writing and what tears me up about writing. Many, many times while researching for the book and hearing people’s stories, I felt as if I had experienced what they had experienced, lived through what they had. And it had a fundamental effect on me. Every book I write changes me in some way, and this was no different – apart from making my feelings about a subject I already held strong views on even stronger.
Every story I heard or read made me angry, scared and determined. Angry because people go through these experiences every day – they are abused by people who are supposed to love and care for them.
I became a little scared by what I discovered, because most of us are only a few wrong decisions from being in a situation like Poppy and Serena. We only have to believe the wrong person a few times; we only have to accept as fact the negative things that a supposed loved-one is slowly and carefully pouring into our ears on a regular basis; we only have to not tell after the first time they raise a hand to us, and we are there – mired in a situation that will (slowly or quickly) damage us.
As a result of the stories I read and heard I also became determined. I decided to try to make the story of The Ice Cream Girls one that will help to shine a light on an area of life that thrives on secrecy. Domestic violence continues so prevalently, I believe, because we do not speak of it enough. To paraphrase John Philpot Curran: evil continues to prosper when ordinary people do and say nothing.
With The Ice Cream Girls I wanted to enlighten those who haven’t been in such a situation as well as accurately reflect what it is like to be a ‘Poppy’ or ‘Serena’ in real life. I wanted to take everyone who read the book on a journey of discovery. I hop
e I have done that.
What I also hope is that the book – as readers have said of my other books – will give those who need it the courage to change their situation. Escaping an abusive relationship is in no way a simple case of ‘just leaving’. If it was then wouldn’t all those abused people do it? I hope that those who need the courage to leave will realise that talking, reaching out, telling someone is the second step on the road to escaping an abusive situation. Understanding that it is not your fault and you deserve better is the first step. And once you’ve taken the first step, taking the second step – and all the other steps away from the person who is doing you harm – should be that little bit easier.
If you aren’t in an abusive situation can I gently nudge you to become more aware that maybe someone you care about is in such a relationship? That’s all, a gentle nudge. Oh, and a little advice that says that if you suspect someone you care about is in a dangerous situation, try to offer non-judgemental support whatever they decide to do. Because if they think they have someone to rely on who won’t condemn or patronise them, they may find the steps to freedom all the more easy to take.
So, that’s what this book, The Ice Cream Girls, is about. Hope for the future, and hope for our ability to constantly affect positive change in the world.
I hope you enjoyed it and that it touched you in some way.
Dorothy Koomson, 2010
The Ice Cream Girls
reading group questions
These questions might help get a reading group discussion on The Ice Cream Girls started. Warning: contains possible spoilers!
1. Who was your favourite character? Why?
2. Who was your least favourite character? Why?
3. Why do you think Serena stayed with Marcus after he hit her the first time?
The Ice Cream Girls Page 39
