The Desperate Wife’s Survival Plan

by Alison Sherlock

  It was thrilling, fun and totally exhausting. She cleaned for her customers each day and then cleaned and scrubbed the shop every evening.

  Once the place was ready, she invited the girls back.

  ‘It looks bigger now,’ said Julie.

  ‘You’ve done a great job,’ said Caroline. ‘You must be shattered.’

  ‘I thought the two ice-cream counters should be back here, in a right-angle.’ Charley led them towards the rear of the shop. ‘The big one along this side wall and the smaller one along the back. Another counter over on that side for weighing sweets, and the cash register. I still want all the tubs of sweets stacked on to shelves up the wall behind the till.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Julie. ‘That’s how it’s always been.’

  ‘What about the rest of the place?’ said Caroline, looking at the front half of the shop. ‘You’ve still got quite a bit of space.’

  ‘I was thinking of a few tables and chairs against that far wall. You know, for when the weather turns bad.’

  ‘We’ve got some plastic chairs and tables you can borrow,’ said Caroline. ‘They’re only for the garden anyway.’

  ‘We just need the ice-cream and we’re away,’ said Julie, with a smile.

  Charley nodded. She was shattered but knew they had to open up before summer passed by. It was nearly the middle of July but that still gave her two months of summer trade. Then who knew what would happen? But she didn’t dare plan that far ahead.

  Chapter Forty-three

  NOW THAT THE shop was clean, Charley’s biggest dilemma was which flavours of ice-cream to serve.

  ‘Okay,’ said Caroline, sucking on the end of a pen whilst running through the list she had written. ‘I’ve got the plain versions of vanilla, strawberry, raspberry, chocolate and white chocolate.’

  ‘Ooh, and toffee,’ said Julie.

  ‘Right,’ said Caroline, adding it to her list. ‘Then I’ve got the sorbets: strawberry, lemon, passion fruit and mango.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about experimenting with a chocolate sorbet,’ said Charley. ‘You know, so it’s not so heavy.’

  ‘Maybe you could play around with the flavours at a later stage,’ said Caroline.

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Julie. ‘Because the private schools are finishing this week and you want to catch the start of the school holidays.’

  ‘What about some different flavours?’ asked Caroline.

  ‘Rum and raisin,’ Charley told her. ‘Chocolate ripple, coconut, coffee, and the chocolate ginger recipe I made for you.’

  ‘What happened with that chocolate rocky road flavour?’

  Charley grimaced. ‘Bit of a disaster, actually. The marshmallows froze solid. It was very bad. Best leave that off the menu until I’ve got the hang of it.’

  ‘Well, the rest sound great,’ said Julie, glancing across to Samantha. ‘What do you think?’

  She looked up from her iPhone. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘But . . .’

  ‘But what?’ said Charley sharply.

  ‘It’s all a bit boring, isn’t it?’

  The others took a deep intake of breath.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Charley, her fledgling confidence waning. ‘Boring?’

  ‘I mean, couldn’t you have a few more interesting flavours? You know, other than for the kiddie market. When I was in Ibiza, they had Red Bull flavour and bubblegum. That kind of thing.’

  Caroline made a face. ‘Sounds gross.’

  Samantha shrugged her shoulders. ‘But at least it’s not too old-fashioned. I mean, you’ve got to cater for everyone, haven’t you?’ She glanced at her phone. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to go. I’ve a hair appointment.’

  She kissed them all on the cheek before heading out.

  Charley sighed as she peered over Caroline’s shoulder at the list. ‘She’s right. They’re all a bit boring.’

  ‘Traditional,’ said Caroline in a firm tone of voice.

  ‘Look,’ said Julie, ‘you’ve got to cater for your target audience and that’s families. Kids are picky and they’ll want nice, safe flavours.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Caroline, nodding. ‘Besides, I was reading recently on-line about premium brands and how you should never dilute them down. The idea is quality, not quantity. That’s what people will warm to.’

  ‘Home-made and delicious,’ said Julie. ‘But throw in a few wacky ones, if you want. Just to mix it up a bit.’

  ‘You’ve got thirty tubs to fill in that counter,’ said Caroline. ‘You can always mix and match.’

  Charley nodded, making a mental note to research a couple of unusual flavours.

  ‘I’ve got the whiteboard in the back of the car,’ said Julie.

  She had managed to save one that was being thrown out after some recent office renovations at work.

  ‘I’ve got the posters for the shop windows,’ said Caroline, waving a folder. ‘And the tubs and cones are on order and should be arriving tomorrow.’

  They were both doing so much for her. Charley had no idea how she was ever going to repay them. Free ice-cream for ever?

  After they had left, Charley went back into the kitchen. She had a few more days left to make the stock and then that was it. It had been announced in the local paper that the ice-cream shop would open the following Saturday.

  There was no going back now.

  Chapter Forty-four

  THE MORE JULIE read through How to Take Care of Your Puppy, the more out of her depth she found herself.

  She wasn’t just taking care of a puppy, it seemed. She had responsibility for a living, breathing thing whose brain was fully formed at six months. After that, any new information or instructions were open to failure so the first six months were crucial. And it was up to Julie to get the puppy up to speed before handing it over, preferably to the first available person.

  Caroline had insisted that she was still checking out the families who were willing to take Boris into their home, but that these things took time. In the meantime, he was Julie’s responsibility.

  At nearly four months, all of Boris’ energy was going into a massive growth spurt. He was changing shape weekly, gradually becoming larger. His legs were getting longer which meant he could now reach new and exciting places, such as the sofa, the stairs and, consequently, Julie’s bed.

  ‘Get off!’ she found herself shouting, finding Boris sprawled there.

  He had stared up at her, his large black eyes as sad as he could make them as he crept down on to the floor. A coating of fluffy puppy fur remained on the bed behind him.

  Each day she practised the sit command and, very slowly, Boris began to be trained. He would now sit whilst being handed his meals and when waiting for his lead to be put on, instead of leaping up in a frenzied playful attack.

  Walking on the lead took more time but, with the help of some cold hot-dog sausages, she could at least walk down the road without him bucking like a rodeo horse.

  Letting him off the lead to run about was a little more problematic. The puppy book told Julie that it would be all right, but she wasn’t convinced.

  ‘What if he runs off and I can’t find him?’ she said.

  Caroline didn’t reply as they walked towards the heath, watching Flora scamper ahead.

  The heathland was an open space full of the heather, pine and birch coppices over which much of Upper Grove had been built. But the council had insisted on a couple of miles of heath remaining as a sanctuary for the local wildlife.

  Julie liked the ease of access, as one of the many entrances to the reserve was at the end of her avenue. But she worried about taking the dog somewhere unfenced and had roped in Caroline to help bring Boris back, in case he made a bid for freedom once off the lead. Charley was still frantically making ice-cream in time for the grand opening of the shop.

  Boris scampered through the woods, the long cord of his retractable lead getting wrapped about bushes and trees. In the end, Julie knew she just had to be brave.

  ‘S
et the beast free,’ said Caroline, looking around. ‘There’s no one in sight.’

  Julie nodded. ‘Okay. Let’s do it.’

  She brought Boris closer to her and released the catch on his lead. At once the dog began to gambol around the woods in utter joy and abandonment.

  ‘Aww, he’s so sweet,’ said Caroline.

  She glanced at Julie who was not smiling, however. She was glancing around in total panic in case there were any other dogs, other owners, or just anything that could entice Boris away from her.

  But as they gradually began to walk a little further into the heathland Boris kept trotting back to her, lured initially by the treats in Julie’s coat pocket then by some inner instinct. Eventually she began to relax.

  Caroline suddenly stopped and began to go pale.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Julie, touching her shoulder.

  ‘Just feel a bit sick again,’ muttered Caroline, bending over. ‘This is the worst pregnancy ever.’

  ‘Do you want to go back?’

  She nodded.

  ‘We’ll come.’

  Caroline shook her head. ‘Don’t ruin your first walk with Boris. I’ll be fine. I just don’t think I can go any further.’

  ‘Okay. If you’re sure. I’ll text you later.’

  Julie waved at Flora as they left and then she was alone. She walked slowly along the path, glancing around her, but Boris kept within sight. She was just relaxing when she turned round a bend in the track and almost bumped into Wes the vet.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, just as surprised as she was to be meeting like this.

  ‘Hi,’ mumbled Julie.

  ‘I see you’ve got the little fella off the lead,’ said Wes, nodding at Boris who was nearby chewing on a leaf.

  Julie nodded. ‘First time.’

  ‘Wow,’ he said, with a smile. ‘Pretty scary, huh? I remember the first time I let Cadbury off the lead.’

  Julie glanced over at the dark brown labrador sniffing around nearby. Cadbury seemed an apt name for him.

  She glanced back to make sure Boris was within reach.

  ‘I’m just worried that he’ll wander off and won’t come back,’ she told him. ‘Any tips?’

  ‘Let me show you something,’ said Wes.

  Suddenly, he took her by the arm and led her around the trunk of a large oak tree. He pushed her up against the bark and put a finger to his lips.

  ‘He’ll follow you because you’re effectively his mum,’ he whispered. ‘Call out to him.’

  Julie took a gulp to refresh her suddenly dry throat. ‘Boris,’ she croaked before clearing her voice. ‘Boris!’

  She peered around the tree trunk and saw the puppy looking all around for her. Then he spotted her and bounded over.

  ‘See?’ said Wes, taking a step away. ‘You might look a bit foolish hiding from your own dog but it does work.’

  He broke into a grin. Julie smiled shyly in return.

  ‘Just watch out for him eating anything untoward,’ he added. ‘Especially because you’ve got a retriever and they’re just dustbins for any food they can find.’

  Julie frowned. ‘What kind of things should I look out for?’

  ‘Wild mushrooms on the heath are probably the worst hazard.’

  ‘Right, thanks.’ Julie had a sudden thought. ‘What about in the garden?’

  ‘Rhododendron bushes can be toxic. Daffodils, especially the bulbs. Larkspur. Mistletoe. All of them can be fatal to dogs.’

  Julie was horrified. ‘But I’ve got rhododendron bushes all along the back of the garden.’

  She thought of her beautiful garden, though it seemed suddenly not so beautiful as it had.

  ‘You’re either going to have to cut them down or put up some kind of netting that he can’t get through.’ Wes smiled. ‘Don’t fret. I don’t have that many cases of poisoning from gardens. It’s usually chocolate that causes panic.’

  ‘Chocolate? As in a Mars Bar?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Wes. ‘Especially dark chocolate. Too much can be fatal. As can onions and grapes.’

  ‘God,’ groaned Julie. ‘I’ll have to babyproof the kitchen.’

  She thanked him and they went their separate ways across the heath.

  Later on, the puppy staggered into the lounge. He was shattered after his first big walk and collapsed on to her feet with a big ‘whoomph’ of air. As he slept, Julie studied him. She watched the way his pale stomach went up and down with each quick breath. The way his ears and paws twitched as he dreamt.

  She reached down to stroke one of his floppy golden ears, but quickly changed her mind and took her hand away.

  Chapter Forty-five

  AT EIGHT O’CLOCK in the morning on the last Saturday in July, Charley let herself into the shop. She walked through to the kitchen, nodding to herself in satisfaction as she glanced around. The shop was finally ready for its grand reopening.

  The whiteboard behind the counter was filled with lists of flavours and prices. The shelves were stocked with brand-new boxes of tubs and cones. All that was needed was the ice-cream. And customers, she added before sending up a silent prayer. Please God, let there be customers. Please don’t let this be a disaster. It would work. It had to. She needed to prove to everyone that she could be a success.

  As Charley switched on the lights in the kitchen, she heard the bell tinkle into life. Someone was coming in.

  ‘Hellooo!’ called her mother.

  ‘In here!’ shouted Charley in reply.

  ‘Hello, darling,’ said Maureen, as she entered the kitchen. ‘Isn’t this exciting?’

  Charley nodded, even though her stomach was in turmoil.

  ‘Did I show you this new skirt? Oxfam, of all places. Only one pound and it still had the label in it. John Lewis . . . very fancy. I thought it looked appropriate, being in this bright pink. I’ve invited all of my friends to come in . . .’

  Charley let her mother witter on as she went back and forth, switching on the ice-cream counters in the shop and beginning to load them with different boxes from the freezer. She had already worked out the layout in her head and just needed to see it in reality to make sure it worked. It seemed to take a long time but finally she was done.

  ‘What’s the time?’ she asked.

  ‘I forgot to put my watch on,’ replied her mother.

  ‘It’s on the clock radio in the kitchen,’ Charley told her.

  Julie had given her an old radio so she could play music whilst she was cooking.

  ‘I can’t see properly,’ said Maureen. ‘It’s flashing on and off.’

  Charley frowned and went over to stand next to her her. ‘That’s odd,’ she said, pressing a few buttons. ‘It must be on the blink.’

  ‘It says five to nine on my mobile,’ said Maureen, checking the screen.

  Charley took a deep breath and walked around the shop one last time, checking that everything was switched on and in place. Then she crossed the shop floor and turned the sign over in the door so that it read ‘Open’. She turned round to survey the shop. Her shop. Or rather, theirs. It was a joint venture for her friends and herself.

  As Charley headed back behind the counter, her mother grinned at her. ‘Isn’t this exciting?’

  Charley smiled back. ‘Very.’

  She spun round at the ringing of the brass bell above the door. Their first customer!

  But it was only Julie. ‘I’ve just abandoned Boris with Caroline for an hour or so. I couldn’t stay away!’

  She too joined them behind the counter and they stood in silence. But Charley’s prayers were answered as slowly the shop began to fill up. Julie sat down at one of the tables, watching and beaming with pride. Charley’s father stopped by with his newspaper and sat down at one of the other tables with a cup of coffee.

  But in between all the family and friends there they came, slowly but surely, real customers. Local people, some of whom Charley recognised, others whom she didn’t. They bought cups of tea, coffee, and yes
, they bought her ice-cream.

  By lunchtime, the smile on her face was genuine and relaxed. Her mother had been replaced by Aunty Peggy who was on the lookout for the food critic from the local newspaper who had promised to make an appearance.

  ‘Charlotte!’ called Aunty Peggy. ‘This lady says she’s got an allergy.’

  Charley fixed on a smile. Aunty Peggy’s customer skills weren’t exactly top notch.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘As I said to your staff,’ said the woman, glaring at Peggy. ‘I have dairy intolerance.’

  ‘How about a strawberry granita?’ said Charley, still smiling. ‘That’s got no dairy in it at all.’

  ‘Okay,’ replied the customer.

  But just as she was bringing out her purse to pay, another woman pushed to the front of the counter.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said, in a loud voice. ‘This tastes odd.’

  She held out a dripping cone filled with toffee swirl ice-cream.

  ‘What do you mean, odd?’ said Aunty Peggy, squaring up for an argument.

  ‘Hello,’ said Charley, pushing in front of Peggy. ‘Can I help you? I make all the ice-cream myself.’

  ‘It tastes nasty,’ said the woman as Charley took the cone from her. It looked the right colour but it had been a bit hard to scoop, not as soft as she had previously found. Had something gone wrong with the recipe?

  She threw the cone into a nearby bin and plucked out one of the little wooden spoons to taste the toffee ice-cream from the tub for herself. Immediately she knew something was wrong. It tasted rancid, like milk that had soured after its sell-by date.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said to the customer. ‘You’re quite right. Can I get you a replacement?’

  ‘I wouldn’t bother,’ said a man, coming to stand next to them. ‘This chocolate one doesn’t taste very good either.’

  Charley was horrified as she took a sample from the chocolate ice-cream, which also tasted off. What on earth had gone wrong?

  Then she realised. There had been brief power cuts throughout the week due to some problems at the local power station. What if the ice-cream had defrosted and then refrozen? That would explain why it was more difficult than normal to scoop. And why some of it definitely did not taste right.