The Vintage Ice Cream Van Road Trip (Cherry Pie Island - Book 2)

by Jenny Oliver

  She made herself think of him in the pictures in the magazines, the beautiful girls he always had in tow, the pithy one-liners, the flirting with everyone.

  Just think of the baby.

  Two parents who are friends. That’s what it needs. It doesn’t need a failed attempt at a relationship and parents who can hardly talk to each other.

  Friends.

  Stick with friends.

  Holly came back into the room, teeth brushed, PJs on. Wilf was sitting on the edge of the bed skimming through the channels of the mini-TV hanging in the corner of the room. ‘So are you going to be OK sleeping on the floor?’ she said.

  He opened his mouth to say something but then didn’t, narrowing his eyes instead and trying to read what was going on, whether or not she was serious.

  She put her folded clothes down next to her bag and climbed into the rock-hard bed, trying to ignore the fact the sheets smelt of cigarettes. ‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ she said without looking at him.

  Chapter Ten

  From: Annie@DandelionCafe.com

  To: HollySomers22@gmail.com

  I think it’s sweet that he bought the baby a Mickey Mouse. I know you, you’ll look for fault. Don’t.

  So I’ve Googled the house in France. It looks AMAZING. You’ll have to tell me why they need so many rooms. It’s on the edge of the most beautiful lake. I’m jealous already. You’ll be able to go walking and swimming and sunbathing and just completely relax. Turn your brain off! RELAX! (My mum says that her Mindfulness app [I know, who’d have thought my mum would have an app let alone one about Mindfulness] says that you should try and sit by the roadside and watch all your worries and stresses go past, rather than try and stop thinking about them. I thought this would be good for you. I’ve tried it and it doesn’t work for me with a roadside, I’ve put them all on skis and they zoom past me down a mountain! You could try putting them on the river? Just a thought).

  News from Cherry Pie:

  I told Martha yesterday about the letter I found in Enid’s stack of postcards. I figured I had to tell her, it wasn’t really my right to keep a mother’s secret from her daughter. I picked my moment quite well, I think. We were making cherry pie in the back kitchen, it was mellow; The Archers had just finished and Martha’s always in a good mood at the end of The Archers. I told her how I’d found the letter and I told her that it must have been her mum’s. I told her that I’d Googled the guy’s name and he’s listed as having died shortly after the government letter saying he’d been injured was sent.

  She went really quiet. You know Martha, not one for quietness. I got quite nervous and had to bring Ludo in. He’s surprisingly good with emotional stuff. He put his arms around Martha and gave her a big hug then we all went outside and sat on the wall. Ludo had a cigarette and me and Martha had Diet Coke and a Magnum.

  Because of the cherry blossom it looked like it had snowed. Which IMO added quite a lot to the atmos.

  Did you know in Japan they have a blossom forecast? Don’t you think that’s the coolest thing?

  Anyway, Ludo’s in agreement with me ‒ Enid must have had an affair. Martha’s not sure, she doesn’t think her mum was the type to have affairs but I don’t think there is a type. I mean, yes, there’s a type who have affairs but there’s also just humans, aren’t there? People who get swept away by their emotions. We’ve all done it. Doesn’t mean she set out to have an affair, does it?

  I know you’re thinking that this is some veiled metaphor about your mum, but it isn’t I promise. I know it sounds like it is but it isn’t. Although, with your mum in mind, I think maybe she’s just really susceptible to her emotions.

  And actually, with that in mind, don’t shut yours off, Hol. I know it’s tempting, but feeling something isn’t a bad thing. (Whatever your old rowing coach used to tell you otherwise!)

  Have you been writing in the baby diary?

  Right, shit, gotta go. There’s a queue of customers that I’ve totally ignored. Oops.

  Annie x

  PS Seen that this didn’t send so am adding footnote. I have been experimenting with cherry macaroons and cherry brandy sorbet. The former I’m not great at, the latter ‒ bloody awesome. Try and make some for your van. It’s like ‒ hard to describe ‒ like the 1980s in a lolly. They’ll love it over there.

  PPS More Wilf please. I need a step-by-step breakdown, Holly.

  PPPS Matt says to say that your rowers are doing very well. He’s having his own stresses though because River has had his first fight with Clemmie. And Matt’s parenting skills have not been tested on relationship counselling yet. She thinks he’s been flirting with some girl called Hannah Cornwall ‒ I didn’t know her but Matt said that you’d know her because she rows. All big boobs and big hair as far as I can tell. Looks more like she’d eat River alive. Bit saddened by this streak of insecurity in Clemmie ‒ I thought she was stronger than that, you know, a tough rock chick. But maybe everyone’s a bit like that. Or maybe River is flirting with Big Boobs, which would be really sad. Shame on River.

  PPPPS Do you know the Robinsons, from the big manor house? They’ve split up. It’s the gossip of the island. He just upped and left. It’s really sad. I was always really jealous of them when they came into the cafe together. She had those huge great diamonds on her fingers and perfect hair, like she went to the hairdresser for a blow-dry every morning (which quite frankly would be an uber-hassle but, none the less, looked amazing) but obvs things weren’t as perfect as they looked. So…he’s gone.

  PPPPPS I’ve told Matt about Wilf. Sorry. I’m just so bad at keeping secrets. He promises he won’t tell anyone else.

  PPPPPPS Have watered the allotment. Flowers are doing very well. Think other things are sprouting but no clue what they are.

  Chapter Eleven

  Holly put her phone down on the table as the waitress brought over a freshly squeezed orange juice and a pain au chocolat. She’d woken up early to find Wilf lying on the bed next to her on top of the covers, fully clothed, snoring lightly. She was quite proud of him for not sleeping on the floor. It was almost a relief that she hadn’t got her own way, that he matched her every step and didn’t let her get away with any nonsense.

  He looked really pretty as he slept. His hair was all messy, the material of his polo shirt caught and pulled open across his chest. His face looked younger, softer and, up close, she could see tiny freckles across his nose. She sat watching him breathing and remembered waking up with him the morning after they’d slept together. She’d had a splitting headache and a hangover and her immediate thought had been to get out of there so that she wouldn’t have to face the humiliation of him saying that he had to go ‒ things to do and all that. He’d opened his eyes with a lazy stretch as she was pulling her jeans on and yawned, checking his watch for the time. ‘Places to go?’ he’d asked, and she’d nodded. ‘Fair enough,’ he’d replied and rolled over and gone back to sleep. She’d pretended to herself that that was exactly how she’d wanted it to go.

  Now, however, her need to leave the room wasn’t the fear of rejection, it was that it was just too intense being in there with him. Like if she stayed where she was then she’d have to reach out and touch him because if she didn’t, it would feel as though she couldn’t breathe.

  So instead of touching him, she’d pulled on her black jeans and a green and white striped t-shirt, slipped on black flip flops, tied her scarf round her neck and gone down to the cafe next door which had free WiFi and really nice-looking croissants.

  ‘God, the sun is blinding.’

  Holly turned to see Wilf strolling out the hotel, his hand shading his squinting eyes as he fumbled in his pocket for his shades.

  ‘How can it be this bright at…’ He looked at his watch, ‘Eight in the morning?’ He pulled out the white metal chair next to Holly’s and, stretching his legs out, said, ‘Why are we up at eight in the morning? It’s meant to be a holiday.’

  Holly took a bite of her croissant, the
flaky pastry crumbling onto her lap, ‘It’s because of this.’ She pointed to her bump. ‘Once I wake up I can’t get back to sleep any more.’

  Wilf yawned, ‘Nightmare.’ He leant forward, elbows on his knees, did a quick survey of the area and then asked the waitress for an espresso and a plain croissant.

  They sat in silence for a bit, Holly eating her pain au choc and Wilf scrolling through his emails, typing hasty responses and swearing a couple of times before chucking the phone onto the table when his breakfast arrived.

  ‘Something wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh just annoying stuff. There’s a move to look at projects in New York and Sydney and some of us are for and some against.’

  ‘You’re against?’ she asked, remembering Emily saying he was investing in something in France with his new stepfather.

  ‘Yeah, sort of. I don’t want to expand for the sake of it. I want to go that way ‒’ He made a gesture of across. ‘Rather than ‒’ He pointed upwards. ‘So that’s where we’re at odds. What are you doing at the moment?’

  ‘Eating a chocolate croissant.’

  ‘Alright, smart arse, what are you doing for work?’

  She smiled. ‘Bit of this, bit of that. Some coaching. Some singing. Some voiceovers. It’s mainly computer games nowadays. Some adverts. I’m the voice of a penguin on a cartoon on Nickelodeon, you may have seen that,’ she said, her tone implying that Wilf spent much of his time lazing about in front of children’s TV.

  ‘You don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you?’ he asked, downing the espresso in one.

  ‘It was a joke.’

  ‘Yeah, but I think you think I’m just some loafing public school boy who plays polo and dabbles in restaurants.’

  ‘If the cap fits.’

  He smiled and shook his head. The impression he gave was that he enjoyed the challenge she presented him with. ‘To be honest he said, ‘You sound like more of a loafer than me, not that I’m a loafer at all.’

  Holly laughed. ‘Yes, that’s probably a fair enough assumption. I gave myself a year after giving up rowing to just see and it’s been nearly a year. I wasn’t really expecting this…’ She pointed to the beginnings of her bump, ‘But I need to decide what to do soon because government maternity pay isn’t great and I need a solid future plan.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about money,’ he said, breaking off a bit of croissant. ‘I’ll support the baby.’

  ‘That’s very sweet of you to say but I do.’ She took a sip of her juice, the liquid thick with bits of orange that stuck to her lips. ‘Whatever happens, I have to be able to support myself.’

  ‘But I can help you,’ Wilf said. ‘You don’t need to worry about it.’

  Holly didn’t say anything.

  ‘Do you not trust me?’ he asked, tilting his head to one side as he looked at her.

  ‘No, I didn’t say that.’

  ‘You say an awful lot, Holly, with just a look.’ He raised his eyebrows at her and she looked down at the remains of her pain au chocolat.

  ‘Well, I don’t mean to,’ she said. ‘It’s just, this is my reality now.’

  ‘It’s my reality too, you know,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah I know, but you can just leave.’

  ‘Why would I just leave?’

  ‘I’m not saying you would, I’m saying you could. And I need to know that I’m financially secure. And I need a job because…I’ve always had a job.’

  ‘No I get about the job, I just…’ He ran his hands through his hair. ‘I don’t understand why you think I would just leave you to do this on your own.’

  She looked at the scratches on the cafe table. She breathed in through her nose and wondered whether she wanted to say what she knew she would say next. ‘Because I don’t think you’ve quite grasped that we’re having a baby.’

  ‘What?’ He sat back in his seat, aghast. ‘Are you kidding me? All I think about is the fact that we’re having a baby.’

  ‘Yeah, but do you actually think about the fact we’re having a baby?’

  ‘Didn’t I just say that I did?’

  ‘An actual baby.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A live thing. A thing we’re going to have to look after. That you will have to look after. You won’t be going to all the clubs and the polo matches and the whatever else you do—’

  ‘I know. I’ve told you, it’s mainly PR spin anyway.’

  Holly shrugged.

  ‘You don’t believe me?’

  ‘I don’t believe that it’s sunk in yet that you’re about to have a baby.’

  Wilf was about to say something back, but then he paused.

  Holly watched him swallow.

  She watched his shoulders slump slightly and his eyes focus on the empty espresso cup.

  She bit down on her thumbnail.

  He didn’t say anything.

  She felt her eyes well up slightly and brushed the moisture away with the tips of her fingers as if there was something in her eye.

  ‘I’ll pay the bill,’ Wilf said after a second.

  ‘OK.’ Holly nodded.

  As he got up and disappeared into the cafe, she watched the town wake up, the people hurrying out of the tabac with newspapers under their arms, the traffic lights change to red, the fumes from the cars miraging in the heat.

  ‘Shall we go?’ Wilf asked a couple of minutes later, slipping the receipt into his wallet, not looking at her in the eye.

  ‘Yep.’ Holly picked up her bag and they walked in silence to the ice cream van.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Right, so it’s Dijon, Lyon, Avignon, Provence?’ Wilf handed her his phone so she could read the map. He had barely looked at her since the baby chat. His jaw was set rigid. Having thought she understood exactly what was going on in his head, she realised quite how little she knew him. She had no idea what he was thinking. Apart from the fact that it had clearly just hit him that they were actually having a baby and, rather than it being something fun he could buy Mickey Mouses for, it was going to change his life completely.

  ‘Look at that guy! He’s driving like a maniac. This is a bloody nightmare,’ Wilf said, pointing to a white van in front of them as they approached Dijon.

  ‘Why did you take that turning?’ Holly asked, pointing behind them. ‘We’re not meant to come into the city, we should have bypassed the town.’

  ‘You’re the one map reading,’ he snapped.

  ‘It was a straight line, I don’t understand why you turned off.’

  ‘Oh for god’s sake, why won’t this van piss off? Piss off!’ Wilf shouted through the window as the white van swerved ahead and cut him up at a roundabout. Wilf put his hand on the horn. ‘Can you believe this? Can you believe him?’

  The van flashed its hazards and the driver stuck his hand out the window, swearing at Wilf.

  ‘Jesus, the guy’s crazy!’ Wilf put his hand on the horn again and followed him through the traffic, tail-gating his new nemesis.

  ‘What are you doing? Slow down!’ Holly leant forward and grabbed the dashboard as Wilf swerved in and out to follow the white van. ‘You’re the one driving like a maniac. Let it go. Just forget about it.’

  ‘He cut me up!’ Wilf looked at her as if that excused the driving.

  ‘Calm down.’

  ‘He cut me up!’ Wilf said again, his eyes blazing.

  ‘Grow up!’ Holly almost shouted. ‘This isn’t about the driving, it’s about what you’re thinking about the baby. Just pull over or slow down or something. Just stop it.’

  At the traffic lights, the guy in the van was undoing his window. Wilf had pulled up next to him and, with the ice cream van’s right-hand drive, they were face to face. The guy let out a furious tirade, waving his hands about and Wilf shouted back in immaculate French peppered with English expletives. Then, when the lights changed, the guy in the van put his foot down, cutting Wilf up again.

  ‘See? See what he’s doing?’ Wilf said.
r />   But Holly didn’t reply, just glared at him, furious. ‘You’re pathetic,’ she said. And Wilf wavered for a moment, but then the van driver slowed down, almost to a stop, forcing Wilf to slam on the brakes and then sped up, gesturing with his hands out the window. Wilf flashed his headlights and zoomed up behind him. Holly held her hands up in frustration. But then, suddenly, a police siren sounded and Wilf’s shoulders stiffened. Next thing, they were pulled over at the side of the road, the van driver waving his hands in the air and pointing furiously at Wilf as two policemen took their statements.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ said Wilf, running his hands through his hair and getting angrier with the Frenchman’s version of events. ‘He’s lying,’ he said, gesturing to the policeman taking notes. Then he turned to Holly and said, ‘He says I drove into him. Did I drive into him? No of course I didn’t. He’s lying!’ he said again to the policeman.

  Holly watched from where she was leaning against the front of the van, tired and a bit nauseous from the fury and stress. It was just after lunch and the sun seemed to be at its hottest. She could feel it beating down on her head, relentless. She could feel a trickle of sweat down her back and her eyes beginning to blur.

  She needed some water but she’d drunk the little bottle that she’d bought. There was nothing around them except the outskirts of Dijon. Houses, schools, playgrounds. No shops. Cars sped past. She looked around for some shade. Nothing.

  Wilf was babbling away in French, matching the van driver for hand movements. Her smattering of school French wasn’t good enough to pick out anything that was being said. All she could feel was her heart-rate rising and her vision blurring.

  She wiped her forehead and slipped round to the side of the van where there was a ruler’s-length strip of shadow. She put her head in her hands and took some deep breaths.

  ‘Holly?’ she heard Wilf call, ‘Are you OK?’