Ella's Ice Cream Summer Page 5

  ‘Yes, well your aunt was organised, she knew what she wanted and was quite specific, which makes my job easier.’

  ‘I imagine when she wrote the will she didn’t expect the business to be quite so… run-down,’ I said.

  He nodded and shrugged.

  ‘I don’t know why but I just expected it to be exactly the same as it was when I was younger.’ I sighed. ‘Rows of ice creams, music playing, people coming and going. Silly really, to think things stay the same…’

  ‘No, it hasn’t had the best time since Sophia became ill… a couple of years ago, she kind of gave up.’

  This saddened me, the very idea of a woman as strong and fiery and passionate as Sophia giving up. But she was old and unwell and had no one to help her, and I felt another wave of guilt engulf me.

  ‘I don’t understand why she changed everything… the lovely colour scheme, the tables…’

  ‘She didn’t have the energy to continue making ice cream on a daily basis and the café needed a lot of maintenance work, so she turned it into a place for coffee and snacks, had it all whitewashed and moved in some new tables, the old ones were falling apart.’

  ‘That’s sad,’ I said, imagining those beautiful, ice cream coloured tables lying in the bottom of a skip. Then I looked at him. ‘But teak?’

  ‘Okay, it seems she would have rather violated it than closed it,’ he looked at me and half-smiled, waiting for my reaction. I laughed; I liked his sense of humour.

  ‘And the customer service leaves a lot to be desired,’ I added.

  ‘Ah, so you met the staff? Marco’s okay once you get to know him, he was close to Sophia and I think he’s pretty cut up about the way things have gone.’

  ‘Well he’s not helping matters – he’s positively rude.’

  ‘Yeah, but he stuck by Sophia and the café. From what I understand, she just wanted the place to tick over so when she died she’d be leaving a going concern to sell. Her daughter’s miles away and…’

  ‘Oh… so Gina will want to sell?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Aunt Sophia took such pride in this place, worked long hours and she ate, slept and drank ice cream… and now? It all feels like it was for nothing.’

  ‘Yeah I know,’ he said, then he smiled again and those dimples made an appearance. ‘When I was a kid I lived for Saturday afternoons in the summer, walking along the front with my dad to Caprioni’s for a cone.’

  ‘Yes – those home-made waffle cones, crisp and thick with an undercurrent of treacle,’ I said, licking my lips.

  ‘You hadn’t tasted raspberry sauce on your 99 or hot chocolate fudge on your sundae until you’d tasted Caprioni’s,’ he smiled, gazing ahead like he was back there. It was nice reminiscing with someone who remembered the same things as me. I could almost taste the vanilla, a soft pillow of creamy white, the perfect canvas for oozing raspberry sauce or a blanket of hot chocolate fudge. ‘Ice cream has never tasted as good since. I wonder if that’s because it really was the best, or it’s just the way we remember it?’

  ‘I reckon it’s a bit of both – it was the best, but even better through the mists of memory,’ I said.

  He suddenly seemed to remember why we were there and reached over for his bag, which was open, with sheets of paper sticking out: ‘So, let’s get down to business,’ he said, pulling out a pile of notes.

  ‘Gina wasn’t at the funeral,’ I said, ‘so I don’t suppose she’s going to come for the reading?’ I asked, gesturing at the dusty kitchen surface like it was a boardroom. Despite the state of the café, I was sitting on a cloud of wonderful memories and suddenly my mind was racing ahead. Just being here was awakening something inside me, a sense of hope, like magic. I suddenly felt invigorated, inspired – could I convince Gina not to sell? Could the two of us bring this café back to life? My mind was suddenly downloading all kinds of craziness – we could get a loan from the bank to do it up and Gina could stay in her mansion in LA while I ran the café?

  Ben Shaw was studying the documents on his knee and shook his head absently; ‘No, Gina couldn’t make it, a very busy lady apparently.’

  I could tell by the way he said this he didn’t really approve – and, if I’m honest, neither did I. Gina was the only daughter and Sophia’s next of kin and I was surprised and a little disappointed in her. I don’t care how busy she was, she’d missed her mother’s funeral. I’d come all the way from Manchester and would be going back the same day – the train fare had cost a fortune I didn’t have, whereas Gina could just get on a plane without worrying what it would cost. I imagined her millionaire husband had his own plane.

  I couldn’t allow myself to resent Gina because she wasn’t there for her mother, she had her reasons, and besides there was enough judgement and hurt in this family to last a lifetime. I wanted to move forward and work in some capacity with Gina; we hadn’t fallen out with each other, we were just victims of our mothers’ small-mindedness and inability to forgive.

  Ben carried on shuffling through a pile of papers, as my fingers tapped on the table impatiently.

  ‘So, put me out of my misery,’ I said, trying to sound light-hearted and jovial, but probably sounding like some scheming relative grasping at my dead aunt’s inheritance. I was just keen to know the score – exactly.

  He was scratching his head again, and as he lifted his arm I noticed the old T-shirt he was wearing had a hole under the arm. He really didn’t look like a solicitor. Eventually he looke d up and I swear he seemed surprised to see me. ‘Oh sorry, yes you’ll be wanting to know what…’ He went back into his rucksack and produced more paper and sat for another eternity before clearing his throat and beginning to read from Sophia’s will.

  There was lots of legal jargon which I didn’t understand – and I have to say I wondered if he did. But finally he came to the bit about who were the recipients of the estate. He said ‘thereof’ rather a lot while reading this but I heard only the line; ‘I leave The Ice Cream Café business to my daughter Gina to do with as she thinks best.’

  I was waiting for my name to be ‘appended’, or whatever the legal term was, but my name wasn’t mentioned, and I couldn’t help it – I was shocked. Of course it made perfect sense that Gina would be given the café or a large part of it, but having been told I’d been left a ‘portion’ of the business I’d assumed I’d be part-owner with my cousin, but that clearly wasn’t the case. So why was I here?

  ‘Ben, this is all quite as it should be and I’m sure Gina will do as she thinks fit,’ I started, wanting to cry and shout ‘where’s mine!’ but restraining myself. ‘I’m just wondering what you meant in your letter about me receiving a portion of the business,’ I said, trying not to burst into tears, my dreams of an Ice Cream Café empire or at least some extra money sliding down into oblivion like melted mint choc chip.

  He lifted up a finger in a ‘wait’, gesture. He then began rustling around in his jean pockets, pulling out various odds and ends including part of a snorkel until he finally produced a set of keys. ‘Follow me,’ he said, and set off back into the café. ‘Sophia was keen for you to have this,’ he was saying over his shoulder as we walked. ‘She said you always liked it when you stayed for the holidays.’

  Great, I thought – it’s the ice cream cone; I always loved the giant plastic ice cream cone that stood outside the café. This will be useful when we’re homeless. I shall be returning to Manchester with a 7-foot ice cream cone strapped to the roof of a taxi. Who says bad things don’t happen to good people?

  Ben was now disappearing outside through the front door, so I pulled my coat around me and followed him. I just needed to know what Sophia had left me and if it was the giant 99 cone how I would get it onto the 16.42 from Barnstaple without taking someone’s eye out. I could find myself in the cells overnight for assault with a deadly weapon.

  Walking along the front, the blast of cool, salty air caressed my face and began to calm me. I was reminded of being little and walk
ing along here in jelly sandals, Gina’s hand in mine, the sun on my face and on my bare knees, the salty tang in my nostrils.

  ‘Let’s blow away those cobwebs,’ Gina used to say and we’d walk along the estuary, looking out to the sea, sometimes so far away. Gina would point to America (well that’s where she said it was, over the sea) and tell me that’s where she lived, with all the film stars in Hollywood. I could feel the memories crowding in as the cobwebs cleared in my head, following Ben down the street, still puzzled as to where we were going as we walked further and further away from the café. Did Aunt Sophia own more businesses? Was I about to become a Devon property magnate? Dare I hope I might finally be able to put photographs on Facebook of me lounging by a pool in a five-star hotel paid for by my property portfolio? I doubted it, but a girl can dream.

  Ben suddenly stopped and waited a moment while I caught up like he’d just remembered I was behind him. Maybe he had actually forgotten me and was heading off on another dive?

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked, but he just looked slightly puzzled and started walking again. Eventually we reached a small group of outbuildings round the back of the Seagate pub. He sorted through the bunch of keys he was still holding, an act as chaotic and frustrating as his paper sorting – and eventually he found the one he was looking for. I stood behind him holding my breath as he approached a smallish garage and started to unlock the door; it clearly hadn’t been opened for a while because it was very stiff and took two of us to pull hard on the door handle, but we finally lifted the door and slowly but surely what was inside revealed itself.

  ‘It’s Reginaldo,’ I sighed, trying not to cry with disappointment.

  6

  Wild Times in Sapphic Seas

  I was unable to hide my disappointment that this was Reginaldo, the Caprioni ice cream van and not my portal to another, financially secure life. Reginaldo was very old, and clapped out having trundled around the Devon streets in the summers of my childhood. I looked through the windows, remembering days helping in the van. I could almost hear the sound of its tinkling tune bringing hordes of salivating children, like Pavlov’s dogs, running blindly along the pavement.

  ‘I used to sit here in the passenger seat with Gina while my Uncle Reg drove us along the sands,’ I smiled, feeling tears prick my eyes. ‘It was so… exciting…’

  ‘Reginaldo?’ Ben laughed at the name, standing back with a bemused look as he weighed up the rickety old vehicle in front of us.

  I explained that Uncle Reginald wasn’t Italian, but when my grandmother died and Sophia and Reggie stepped in to help my granddad he bought the van for Reggie. My granddad wanted his son in law to feel a sense of ownership, along with a little Italian authenticity.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you like Reginaldo, because he’s all yours,’ Ben said.

  ‘Oh. Really?’ I was touched, but I couldn’t imagine why she thought I’d know what to do with it and quite frankly I felt like I’d been handed the booby prize. I felt like I was starring in one of those old TV game shows where the presenter would say, ‘look what you could have won,’ before revealing what I’d actually won. Coming to Appledore had taken me back to the past, what had been and what might have been, and despite a reluctance to even try to renovate that awful, dilapidated café, I’d fleetingly contemplated a different life. With Gina as a sleeping partner who knows, we might have been able to restore the café to its former glory? But even that glimmer on the horizon had now been taken from me. I had nothing to do with the café – all I had was this – a rusty old van. This wasn’t going to make my fortune, or even help with a few mortgage payments, it probably wouldn’t even start. I couldn’t help but feel deflated.

  ‘So are you going to be driving her along the beach this summer?’ Ben was saying, a permanent smile on his face as he walked round the vehicle, kicking her tyres and playing with the wing mirrors. I winced every time he did this, expecting poor old Reginaldo to crumble. ‘It would be great to see Reginaldo back in action,’ he said, longingly.

  ‘No, I couldn’t control a beast like him. I can only just manage my Fiat – this would be like driving a juggernaut, and it’s practically Jurassic – it must be a hundred years old!’

  Ben laughed; ‘Yeah, he’s seen better days, but according to the documents he’s roadworthy. Your aunt kept on top of the MOTs each year and apparently gave him a spin every now and then.’

  I felt a softening inside. This had clearly been a labour of love for Sophia, who’d kept the van going for her husband even though he’d died years before. Theirs was a true love story, with all the passion and wanting that often comes when a couple have to fight to be together. And here was Reginaldo, a symbol of Uncle Reginald’s success at becoming part of the business – and the reason Sophia’s family finally accepted him. Uncle Reggie had loved the café like his own, and together he and Sophia had built it into something even better, and despite my disappointment, I knew my aunt had left me something very close to her heart.

  But how could I take up the challenge, what the hell was I supposed to do with it? Apart from having no clue how to run an ice cream van, I couldn’t drive it round the mean streets of Manchester, it was meant for a sunny beach. Besides, taking Reginaldo away would be a terrible thing to do, he was part of the fabric of this town, so many people here must have had similar childhood memories to me; I could see by Ben’s reaction, this van was like an old friend. But even if Reggie stayed here, I couldn’t – I’d need rent to live in Appledore, and I still had the mortgage repayments at home to cover. Then there was Mum and the kids to think of – it was just too complicated to consider.

  All this was going through my head as Ben opened the door of the ice-cream van and we both climbed inside. Again it wasn’t living up to my memories, everything was covered in at least a year of dust and the windows were so filthy you couldn’t see in or out. It seemed that Reggie had seen the last of his days in the sunshine on Appledore beach.

  ‘You could spruce him up, give him a lick of paint…’ Ben was saying.

  ‘I can’t really afford to invest any money in him, I recently lost my job.’

  ‘Even better, you need a job and here he is – look what the universe gave you,’ he said, gesturing towards Reginaldo as if he were the answer to my prayers.

  ‘Mmm it’s not quite as simple as all that, I’ve got kids… commitments at home in Manchester.’

  ‘Oh that’s a shame, I liked the idea of renovating an old ice cream van.’

  ‘Yes it would be lovely, but I need to be sensible,’ I said.

  ‘What do you want to do with him then?’ Ben asked, deep disappointment now etched on his face. ‘The guy who owns the garage let Sophia keep him here, but now she’s gone he’ll probably want his garage back.’

  This was an added problem, not only had I just inherited something I didn’t really want, I had to find somewhere for it to ‘live’.

  ‘I can’t afford to pay for storage…’ I started.

  ‘It breaks my heart to say it, but you could scrap him I suppose, wouldn’t be worth much but…’

  ‘Oh God, no! It would be like murdering Uncle Reggie – I couldn’t do that.’ The van may have been no use to me, but I couldn’t send him to the scrapheap.

  Ben laughed. ‘My mate’s a mechanic, I could ask him to look it over for you and he’d probably have an idea about what it’s worth. He might even know someone who’d take it off your hands,’ he suggested.

  I thanked him, I wasn’t going to be able to come down here again for a while and if Ben could sort things out for me it would save a journey. I felt slightly bereft at the thought of giving Reggie up but what else could I do? At least Ben could find him a nice home and save him from the scrap heap. I was grateful, and just kept gazing at the van, running my hands along the sills, allowing myself one last, lingering glance at the lovely old thing. I couldn’t help but think how like a proud old man he was – past his prime but waiting patiently to be useful again. Then my he
ad took over, told me to stop being such an idiot, and I swallowed hard and waved goodbye to Reginaldo for the last time while trying to hold back the tears that had suddenly and inexplicably welled up.

  ‘So… you have kids?’ Ben asked as we closed the garage doors.

  ‘Yes Josh and Lucie, eighteen and nineteen – what about you?’

  ‘No, my life doesn’t have any kid sized spaces - but I have Jimmy… my snorkel,’ he said. ‘I travel light, I’m here for the summer and then I’m off to Hawaii to dive for the winter.’

  ‘That sounds lovely,’ I sighed, ‘to be able to just pack your snorkel and set off for another ocean.’ I could just imagine this guy’s Facebook pictures, he’d put all those Aga shots to shame.

  ‘Yeah… I can’t complain. I couldn’t live without the sea, it gets to you, you know? I work with my dad for a few months, save a bit of money, live at home – then go off again. It works for me.’

  ‘You sound like my kids, they’re going off for the summer, my daughter’s planning on spending a whole year away, and my son’s volunteering in Nepal for the summer, but who knows when I’ll see him again once he’s gone. They don’t really need me around any more, but Mum will… I think. Mind you she’s recently joined a dating website to have some “fun”, but as she’s seventy-eight it’s a little daunting – for me more than her,’ I laughed.

  Ben was now leaning against the garage door listening. He was smiling, interested in what I had to say, he wasn’t looking at his phone or downloading music and he wasn’t wearing earphones and tuning me out, as far as I could tell. This made a nice change for me.

  ‘Selfishly, I’d rather hoped Mum was done with men and was prepared to accept the life of singledom, but she’s made of sterner stuff,’ I added. ‘“I’m determined to have an adventure,” she said, and Josh, my son, helped her to upload her profile and photo onto “Grey and Gorgeous”. Anyway, typical Josh, he’d had one eye on his Xbox, so instead of offering herself to the members of “Grey and Gorgeous”, mother became an active member of the “Gay and Gorgeous” website. Needless to say, after mother’s third “date” with a lovely lady called Den with love handles and a penchant for welding, I felt the need to step in and investigate. It didn’t take Miss Marple to work out that she was offering herself for “wild times” and “uncomplicated fun” to every ageing lesbian within a twenty-mile radius. I suggested she stop agreeing to go on dates, and take her profile down immediately, but then my kids said I was making “hetero assumptions” and I mustn’t assume my mother was straight because “gender can be fluid”.’