Ella's Ice Cream Summer Page 10

  ‘I open up on Monday – it’s my first day.’

  ‘Right again.’

  He really was quite rude.

  ‘Do you have a problem with that?’ I heard myself say. I wasn’t the confrontational type, and I don’t remember ever calling anyone out for just being off with me, but this was important. If I was going to work here in the kitchens, I needed a smile at least.

  ‘I just think you’re wasting your time. Sophia was the queen of ice cream. You can’t just come in here and take over.’

  ‘I’m not taking over the café – just the van,’ I said. ‘And for all you know, I might be the new queen of ice cream.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ he sniffed and went back to his book.

  So that was the feeling around here was it? People thought I wasn’t up to the job and couldn’t stick it. Well, I’d show them.

  I could do this. After all, Sophia was my aunt, so I reckoned there must be some royal Caprioni blood passed down. I too could be the queen of ice cream – and I would!

  So I whisked and tasted and froze and stirred and breathed in the sweet, cold sherbety air as I sang to myself. That evening in the kicthen I found an old radio under a table and they were playing Italian music, and I just knew Sophia was with me. She guided me as I juiced lemons, adding their tangy hit to creamy vanilla, the sugary air now spiky with the biting aromatic fruit. Then warm chocolate folded into cream, a slug of coffee-soaked sponge, and ice cream tiramisu was born. Salted caramel, pecans and berries all followed suit creating their own magical swirly iced concoction. I made lots of different flavours but in small portions so my customers – if I had any – could try them all out. The first few days would be essentially a straw poll of ice cream lovers; I would let people decide on the flavours I would make more of. Everyone had a favourite, but I recall Sophia saying chocolate, strawberry and vanilla were the Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Tony Bennett of her repertoire. So I made huge vats of these flavours, knowing they’d also provide a base for other ice creams, along with cookies, chocolate chips, cake crumbles and fresh fruit ripples. I finally took off my apron at 4 a.m. and headed back for a few hours sleep before I started the van ‘makeover’ later that day. I hadn’t worked this hard for years; it was physical, back-breaking stuff involving lifting and being permanently on my feet. I was exhausted, but I felt no pain, I finally had a purpose and a passion, and that was all I needed to see me through.

  After a mere four hours’ sleep, I woke up more determined than ever to make a success of the van ‘makeover’. I’d pre-ordered all the pink and white paint and early Sunday morning headed off along the beach to collect the van from the garage on the other side of Appledore. On the way past Ben’s office, I glanced in and saw he was inside. He was sitting on the desk, eating a large bacon sandwich. I waved and he beckoned me in.

  He was wearing overalls and looked even more dishevelled than usual, and I noticed he had two paper cups of coffee and another sandwich on his desk.

  ‘Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you had company,’ I said, directing my eyes at the sandwich.

  ‘I haven’t, but I thought you might need it,’ he said. ‘I knew you were coming for the van and so I bought you breakfast.’ By now Delilah, who was permanently at my side, had smelled the bacon and was becoming quite agitated, so I moved her slightly away. This happened just as Ben got off the table to hand me the coffee and sandwich, but Delilah’s lead was now wound around his leg and the coffee was about to hit the ceiling. I lunged to catch it, but this alarmed and excited Delilah (I didn’t lunge often, well, ever) who was now running round in circles, entwining both Ben and I in her diamanté-encrusted lead, which caused me to fall onto him in a rather compromising way. It lasted only seconds, but it was during all this that his father appeared in the office doorway.

  ‘Working on a Sunday, Ben?’ was all he said, like this was something he came upon often. He clearly thought we were about to have sex on the mahogany desk and I didn’t know where to look as Delilah leapt up and took the sandwich straight from Ben’s hand.

  ‘Dad, this is Ella… Sophia’s niece, she’s come about the trading licence,’ Ben was saying while trying to extricate himself from Delilah, the lead, the spilt coffee, the dog-chewed bacon and me.

  ‘Ah, so this is Ella Watkins?’ he gave a sort of smile and grudgingly shook my hand, once I’d escaped from the human/dog tangle. God alone knows what he must have thought of me, Sophia’s niece, mounting his son on the office desk – on a Sunday too!

  He nodded curtly at both of us before disappearing into an office and shutting the door. We both laughed silently.

  ‘Are you going to explain?’ I asked, my face scarlet from embarrassment.

  ‘Explain what?’

  ‘Exactly what happened… that nothing happened.’

  ‘Why would I deny something happened with a beautiful woman?’ He winked and I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help smiling. He was definitely flirting.

  ‘I’d better get off, and collect the van – it won’t paint itself,’ I said, feeling slightly overwhelmed. It wasn’t that he was coming onto me, it was more to do with the fact that I hadn’t had much male contact for a very long time and the slightest thing made me blush.

  ‘Have you driven the van before?’ he asked and I shook my head.

  ‘I can drive it home for you if you like?’

  ‘Thanks, but I think I can handle old Reginaldo,’ I smiled.

  ‘No – I wasn’t suggesting you couldn’t, it’s just that…’

  ‘It’s very kind of you, Ben, but I’m not some helpless little woman.’ I couldn’t help but feel slightly prickly at the implication. I ran a house, brought up two children largely single-handedly and looked after a wilful OAP, I was sure I could manage driving a little ice cream van. How hard could it be?

  ‘Fair enough, just take it easy,’ he said.

  ‘I intend to,’ I gave him a wave and was feeling quite sassy as I sashayed out of the office and closed the door with a flourish. I was a switched on, independent woman who could take care of business. It was only when I walked on down the road feeling like I’d made quite the cool exit that I realised I’d left Delilah inside.

  12

  Reginaldo Hits the Road!

  Of course the van was a nightmare and having struggled to open the door, I sat in the driver’s seat unable to work out how to pull it forward so I wasn’t sitting ten feet away from the bloody pedals. Then when I’d finally mastered that, I couldn’t find the indicator, wasn’t sure where the horn was and the accelerator had what can only be described as bite! I discovered this as I shot out of the garage at a rather bracing nought to forty.

  Mine and Delilah’s maiden voyage along the front towards the apartment was equally surprising when I almost killed three tourists and a paper boy. I finally managed to find both the horn and the ice cream jingle at exactly the same time, causing quite a cacophony in the middle of Appledore. It was fairly busy with Sunday visitors, all of whom were either staring in horror at the crazy ice cream van or running for safety.

  Then, in the middle of the madness, I received a call, and managed to pull over without giving either me or Delilah whiplash or further endangering any tourists

  ‘Hey, it’s me! I’m only a man but would you like some… company at least?’

  ‘Er, thanks Ben, yes please – but not because you’re a man – in spite of it,’ I said.

  Within seconds he was climbing into the passenger seat and had turned off the horn and the jingle.

  ‘That was quite a show,’ he said, settling Delilah down as I slowly drove on. The poor little mite was traumatised, her beret at an even jauntier angle than when I’d dressed her earlier in a Parisian look. I made a mental note not to mention this minor kerfuffle to Aarya when she next Skyped for updates on Delilah.

  ‘I meant to do that,’ I said to Ben. ‘Making a big impact on the roads of Appledore is all part of my marketing strategy for the grand opening on Monday. Now
everyone knows I’m here. And anyway, how did you know where to turn off all the noise,’ I said, slightly annoyed because he seemed to know exactly how to operate everything. ‘And don’t tell me it’s because you’re a man!’

  He laughed. ‘You were ranting so much about being a strong independent woman I didn’t get the chance to explain. I offered to help because I’ve driven this van before.’

  I was surprised, so surprised in fact I nearly ran an old lady over.

  ‘Look out!’ he shouted in mock-horror, covering his face with his hands.

  ‘Stop that,’ I laughed, waving apologetically at the old lady. ‘So when did you drive the van?’

  ‘I helped your aunt out for a few summers; I spent quite a bit of time along this beach selling Caprioni’s ice cream.’

  I liked that Ben had spent time with Sophia; I had my own memories, but it was nice to hear his too.

  ‘Was she lovely to work for?’ I asked.

  ‘She was great, when it came to ice cream making, serving and driving the van out to the beach, she allowed the staff the freedom to learn. She wasn’t the kind of boss who breathed down your neck; I can imagine you’ll be pretty much the same.’

  I was flattered by this and turned to smile at him, momentarily losing concentration and Ben had to grab the steering wheel.

  ‘As much as I’d like to let you learn how to drive the van without breathing down your neck, I am keen to get home tonight alive,’ he said, before I could complain.

  ‘Now tips for taking the van out. Let’s begin with the horn; if you press it too hard it sticks.’

  ‘So I gathered… anything else?’

  ‘Yeah sure… my other tip is to have a blast. I did. And the women loved it – I had quite a few hot dates those summers after they’d tasted Sophia’s strawberry dream.’

  ‘I bet they tasted yours as well,’ I laughed, feeling a sting of irrational jealousy at the thought of Ben and other women. After all we were only friends.

  Having managed to get back to the apartment without any further mishaps of note, Ben offered to help me paint the van and I gratefully accepted.

  ‘You’ve been a real friend, Ben, I can’t thank you enough, I don’t know how I can ever repay you.’

  ‘How about free ice cream for life?’ he said, which I reckoned was a pretty good deal and also added that I’d cook him dinner that evening as an extra thank you.

  ‘Sorry I ranted earlier about you trying to show me how to drive because I’m a woman…’ I started. ‘I think I’m just a bit sensitive. Richard, my ex, was the kind of man… well, he’d talk about “women drivers”, and refer to me as “the missus”, I think you get the picture.’

  ‘How long were you married?’

  ‘Too long; we married very young. The woman he left me for has apparently said she’s finally found a man who treats her like a woman. And if that’s what she wants she’s welcome to it – in my book he’s a sexist pig. I never really saw it when we were together. Sometimes you only really see the truth about someone after they’ve gone.’

  ‘Sounds like you’re better off without him.’

  ‘Yes, I think I finally realised that when I saw a picture of him on Facebook with his thumbs up at her new plastic boobs, says it all really.’

  He laughed in horror, and in that instant I knew he was my kind of person.

  I hadn’t been able to share too much about Richard with the kids, he was still their dad after all and I didn’t want to betray them. I also couldn’t say anything to Mum because if she thought he’d really upset me I ran the risk of her saying something on his Facebook page. I hadn’t even been comfortable discussing it with Sue, because she was likely to tell everyone that came into the shop. But this was my neutral space. Ben didn’t know any of the people in my Manchester life and he didn’t judge. He also listened, he didn’t talk over me and he gave me his full attention, which made me feel more confident about what I had to say.

  It was a pleasant change and I found myself really enjoying his company, which was a blessing as the van turned out to be a mammoth job! We began by scrubbing the outside, which took several bucket changes, a couple of bottles of washing-up liquid and a few awkward sponge incidents. This was followed by sanding down the peeled bits and filling in holes, of which there were many. Eventually we got around to the best bit – the pink and white paint. Several hours of back-breaking work later we were standing in the sunshine surveying our ‘art’ and it looked delicious.

  ‘Good enough to eat,’ I said, ‘I’m thinking strawberry and white chocolate mint ice cream will be the signature cone to match the van.’

  ‘That sounds unusual, but I like it,’ he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. ‘The Caprioni’s Signature Cone?’

  I nodded, liking the sound of that. I was coming up with names all the time for my new creations, my current favourite was an idea to have banana and peanut butter ice cream with chocolate chips and I was going to call it ‘Elvis’’ Peanut Butter and Banana Blitz’. Aunt Sophia loved Elvis Presley and she once told me his favourite flavours were peanut butter and banana. ‘If it’s good enough for Elvis it’s good enough for the folk round here,’ she’d said.

  As we’d completed each section of the makeover, Ben had taken lots of pictures, including many of Delilah who happened to have a ra-ra skirt with pompoms in the same shade of pink as the van. I knew Aarya would be delighted and I emailed the photos to the kids. As always, I sent them to Mum too, working on the theory that if I bombarded her with pictures of lovely Appledore and my new ice-cream-coloured life, she may come to accept it and even decide to spend some time with me here. Surely, when she saw how wonderful it was here, she’d have no reason to stay away. I lived in hope.

  That evening I made us a huge bowl of pasta, topped with everything Italian, from tasty prosciutto to sour goat’s cheese and sweet, tangy sun-dried tomatoes and pesto. The pesto was aromatic and oily and the tomatoes chewy like caramel, it was bliss. The dessert was the prototype for the planned ‘Caprioni Signature Cone’, home-made strawberry and white chocolate ice cream with fresh mint syrup – and I think it worked. Ben said it was delicious. We ate on the balcony and talked for a long time, just enjoying each other’s company and swapping life stories. Ben explained that his mother had died when he was fifteen and as the only child he’d always felt guilty that his father had been left alone. He’d gone on to take a degree in law to please his father – until he realised he’d never please him and at thirty-two he began to travel.

  ‘I come home as much for him as for me. He’s a grumpy old sod, but I know he misses me and after a while away I need to come back. I just have this need – I can’t explain it. I suppose it comes from being born here by the sea, I’m drawn back yet at the same time I’m restless. Wherever I go, I never stay in one place for long.’

  As he pointed out, this had caused no end of conflict with his father who wanted a son who would stay around and continue the family business.

  ‘Can’t you do both?’ I asked.

  ‘I guess that’s what I’m doing now. I work during the week, with a few hours off here and there to dive – and the weekends I usually spend practising, then I take off for a few months. It’s like an addiction, Ella. You only have to ask other divers, once you’re hooked, that’s it.’

  ‘It sounds like you’ve got the balance right, but could you ever make a living from just diving?’

  ‘There’s the rub. Sometimes I’m lucky and when I’m away I find work teaching people to dive, or taking groups of people on guided dives. Back here I have to work as a lawyer so I can go diving somewhere else. Crazy eh?’

  I agreed, but I admired his passion; ‘And you said the other day that girlfriends say you find it hard to commit, is that about your “diving addiction”?’ I asked, keen to know his romantic history.

  ‘I’ve never hung out with anyone long enough to find out,’ he said. ‘I guess people expect something more from you after a while, and I’m not sur
e I can do that. I never have.’ He seemed emotionally self-sufficient – nothing got to him, so he never really needed anyone to come home to. Then there was the fact that he didn’t stay in one place for too long – part of me envied him and part of me pitied him, but he seemed happy enough.

  The meal was over, the stars were out and though the evening was cool I think we both wanted to sit a while. He poured wine into our glasses and our eyes caught in the semi-darkness.

  ‘Are you happy? Have you been happy on your own all this time?’ I asked.

  ‘As happy as anyone. I don’t feel I’ve missed out on anything. Sometimes I think it would be nice to have a partner to share things with, maybe some kids, but you don’t miss what you’ve never had. And all that comes with a mortgage and a car in the drive and staying put. And those aren’t the things I need in life. The minute you start to make plans and rely on other people, it all goes to pot in my experience.’

  ‘I can’t decide if I like what you’re saying or if it scares me,’ I said. ‘I want the now too, but I have to make a life for myself, and my family, and that involves plans.’

  ‘I guess it’s just like being in the sea, like diving. You just hold your breath, dive in and let the water take the weight, give yourself up to the universe and know she has your back.’

  Was he this wonderful, worldly guy sitting in front of me now in a T-shirt with a tan, his blue eyes vivid in candlelight? Or was he the shambolic solicitor, running away from his father, responsibility and life? Perhaps he was a little of both?

  Because other people relied on me I’d had to live a life of planning and worrying about the future. But what Ben said made me wonder if I could ease-off, because despite all my talk about adventures and finding myself – the letting go scared me.

  ‘I think it’s time I went to bed,’ I said. ‘I have to be up at dawn.’ I needed to regroup. It had been great fun painting the van and getting it ready for the next day and I’d enjoyed the evening with Ben. But now it was time for me to clear my head and concentrate on tomorrow and what was about to be the first day of the rest of my life.