The Vintage Ice Cream Van Road Trip (Cherry Pie Island - Book 2) (12 page)

Holly remembered the girl in the white bikini from the barbecue and had to swallow a sick feeling.

‘But she’s married to a South African movie producer now. Her and Wilfred went on a couple of dates but obviously she’s not his type at all. Think maybe she was too passive. Wilf’s always liked a challenge.’

Holly sat back in her seat and tried not to think too much about what Wilf liked or didn’t like.

Diana swivelled right round in her seat to look at Holly and said, ‘A lot of people judge me for the choices I made. But my goal was always to get the best for my children. That’s what happens as a mother. What I neglected to realise, however, is that all children want is for their parents to be happy. Because, by default, that leads to their greater happiness.’ She looked Holly in the eye and then smiled, looking at her the way Enid used to, seeing in her potential and spirit. Seeing in her value.

She realised that it was in looks like the one Diana was giving her that Holly had found the courage to move on from her own mother’s leaving. The knowledge that there were other people as important to her who had thought she was special, was invaluable.

It was Enid, most of all, who had filled the gap left by her mum. What had been just an after-school job in the ice cream van became a lifeline.

She remembered her mum coming back and being almost jealous of their relationship. Like she wanted to stake a claim on Holly; that’s my daughter, hands off.

She overheard a hushed argument once when Enid had said,
‘You gave up the rights to her the day you left.’

And it had made Holly feel championed. Maybe it was that feeling, rather than the need to prove herself worthy, that had driven her so far in rowing. When Enid had come with her dad to the Olympics, and Martha, too, the three of them had stood under a black umbrella sheltering from the sun for most of the races and then hightailed it to the front of the stands as soon as Holly’s boat came down. They told stories about being ushered back by officials but ducking and diving them so they could see her in close up. Her father had nearly passed out he was so nervous and excited.

It occurred to her then that if her mum had stayed, her whole life would have been different and who was to say that she would have had the strength and independence that she had now.

That didn’t help with the whole Wilf thing though. Her brain was literally hurting from the set-up.

She thought about the email Annie had sent.

About her mum being susceptible to her emotions. About Holly possibly shutting hers off.

Wilf had said she was overthinking, but of course she was overthinking. This was her life. Her child’s life.

But then, as Diana just said, she’d made loads of mistakes and her kids had turned out cool and lovely and funny.

Worried about the effect of stress on the baby, Holly shut her eyes and tried Annie’s mum’s mindfulness technique. She pictured the lot of them skiing down the mountain as she watched from the side, letting it all flow past her. It was surprisingly enjoyable; she sent the slobbering dog down first, then Wilf having his bad mood rant, then Emily and her hat, Alfonso and his sly little grin from the night before, Diana followed them in a big meringue wedding dress and Jean-Paul and the heady fumes of his cigars. Like a choreographed firework display, it was all set to the nursery rhyme tune of the ice cream van. The bloody thing that had got her into this mess. Aside from the one-night-stand sex.

As she lay with her head on the back seat, suddenly Enid popped up in the daydream, having a vin chaud in a deck chair, wearing her all-in-one purple ski-suit and a bobble hat, a book in one hand, her skis discarded in the snow next to her.

Holly’s eyes shot open. A book in her hand, she thought. And, pulling out her phone, texted Annie.

Enid kept a diary.

She did?

Yeah, when I worked for her in the van, she used to write it when we had no customers. She definitely had a diary.

I didn’t know that.

Well. Might be worth looking into. Might give Martha some closure.

Roger that. How’s Wilf?

Angry.

Why?

He thinks I’m standoffish.

You are standoffish. So?

I think he wants to maybe give us a go.

Whoooooooooooooop whooooooooop.

I don’t know, An. I think he’ll get bored and go off with some model or something.

That’s pathetic, Holly.

Holly didn’t reply, just looked at her phone.

I didn’t mean pathetic pathetic, Holly, just silly. Why would he go off with a model when he has you?

Because I’m too normal.

No one’s normal.

Holly stared at her phone again.

I think you need to trust your instinct a bit more, Hol.

I did your mum’s ski slope mindfulness thing. It’s good.

I KNOW! Btw, River WAS flirting with Hannah. Silly sod. Think he got overwhelmed by the boobs. Operation desperately-trying-to-make-up-with-Clemmie is in process. He’s mooning about the cafe being a more useless waiter than normal.

Young love. Path never runs smooth. I have to go, we’ve arrived at the restaurant. Pretty impressive.

I’m jealous. I’ll pass your words of wisdom onto River! And will search for diary. Be nice to Wilf. You need to start believing that you’re a very likeable person. A x

Chapter Twenty

The restaurant owned by Wilf and Jean-Paul was a stunner. Le Bouc Qui Fume, or The Smoking Goat. The original name before they owned it had been kept and the sign taken down and the bronze lettering polished. Part of a row of old stone buildings that overlooked the giant turquoise reservoir, it had a tiled awning edged with lightbulbs, and a bare-brick façade. The two tall thin windows were painted dark green to match the door, which was panelled with stained-glass. Outside were three cafe tables and chairs, and a blackboard was hooked onto the dark-green shutters with the simple menu scrawled in chalk.

Inside it was all panelled in dark wood with bare lightbulbs strung at intervals over the bar and every table. The chairs were simple dark wood, as were the tables, and the bar was lined with a lacquered wood veneer. At the back, a wrought-iron staircase twisted up to a small landing with an office and toilets. It was simple, understated and stunning. Holly was almost speechless. It felt like a cross between the old rowing clubhouse and a speakeasy. Some men were playing chess in the corner and a couple of regulars were sitting at the bar, eating steak and salad and sharing a carafe of red wine. They raised their hands in greeting to Jean-Paul when they arrived.

Emily and Alfonso were already seated when they got there and had chosen a table in the window, Emily complaining that it was too hot to sit in the sun when Diana pointed to the vacant table outside. Holly was quite relieved. Inside it was cool and smelt of wood smoke. From the window seat she could look out over the cobbled road to the vast expanse of turquoise ‒ little sailing boats tacking back and forth, swimmers relaxing on lilos, rowers boating from the club on the far side, and canoeists paddling towards the gorge where the mountain narrowed.

She found herself checking every couple of minutes for Wilf. Wanting to see him after her chat with his mum in the car and Annie’s text. She was starting to think that maybe they could at least discuss it all a bit more. That there was perhaps no need to be quite so black and white.

The waiter came over to take their drinks order and they all had citron pressé, except Jean-Paul who ordered a brandy. ‘I have to settle my nerves,’ he said, ‘I’m getting married tomorrow.’

Holly watched as he took hold of Diana’s hand under the table and gave it a squeeze.

Emily sat forward, her chin in her hands, ‘I just don’t know which dress to wear. Mum said it had to be cream but it’s hard to find a cream dress that you like when it’s been stipulated. I think other times I’ve liked a cream dress, just not this season. So I bought three and I think they’re all awful. Holly, what are you wearing?’

She thought back to the shopping trip, to the lovely dinner in Avignon, to Wilf appearing at her door and her closing it without inviting him in. ‘I have a grey dress,’ she said, distracted because Wilf had just leant his bike up against the lamppost outside and was taking his cap off. He wiped his forehead of sweat, and then pulled it back on again.

When he came into the bar he was greeted with waves from the staff and waiters, and went to shake hands and have a quick chat before coming to join their table. He grabbed a chair from the table next to them and as he was deciding where to put it, Holly did an almost imperceptible shuffle to her left, making the space just wide enough for a chair.

Wilf seemed to pause for just a moment too long and she thought he’d go over to the bigger space next to Alfonso, but then she heard the scrape of wooden chair on the herringbone parquet next to her and she shuffled over more obviously to give him enough room. Emily and Alfonso moved round as well to make more space and then started a chat about the running order for the wedding the next day.

‘Hi,’ Holly said, turning to look at Wilf, his cheeks tinged pink from the cycle ride and his breath coming in short bursts.

He leant forward, poured himself a glass of water from the carafe and downed it before turning her way and saying, ‘Hi’ back.

‘Are you still sulking?’ Holly asked with a small smile.

Wilf poured another glass of water, ‘A little bit.’

Holly sniggered.

‘I don’t like to leave a sulk too quickly,’ he said, downing the second glass and then ordering a beer from the waiter.

‘I can relate to that,’ Holly said, sipping the eye-waveringly bitter citron pressé.

It was Wilf’s turn to smile and he lounged back in his chair and looked at her, ‘You can join me in it, if you like.’

‘Maybe I will,’ said Holly, half-smiling, her arm brushing his as she leant forward to get the menu from the centre of the table.

‘So, Wilf, do you know the plan of action tomorrow?’ Emily said.

‘No.’ He shook his head, ‘I have absolutely no idea, just tell me where to be and I’ll be there. Have the steak,’ he said to Holly, ‘It’s amazing. Best thing on the menu. We found this brilliant supplier from the village over the other side of the lake. He’s got this tiny mountain farm, just the nicest place, isn’t it?’ he said, nodding towards Jean-Paul.

‘Ah, it is perfect. We have cut the menu, we focus it and already business here, it doubles.’

‘So I’m going to go with Mum in the wedding car to the church,’ Emily said, completely ignoring the restaurant chat because she’d heard it all before. ‘Wilf, you need to already be there, usher everyone to their seats, and then you’ll walk Mum down the aisle, yeah?’

‘You want me to walk you down the aisle?’ Wilf said, surprised. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to do it, but you’ve never wanted me to do it before.’

His mum laughed, seemingly at the fact that sentence existed, referencing all the marriages of her past. ‘Yes, because I feel like this one is different. It’s real.’ Her voice hitched slightly as she talked. ‘I would like my son next to me. And my daughter actually.’

‘Well the aisle’s not big enough,’ Emily said, matter of fact, ‘And I can’t walk in my shoes, so I will just be standing and looking pretty.’

Alfonso snorted a laugh into his pressé.

‘Then what do we do?’ Wilf asked. ‘Go back to the house?’

Diana nodded. ‘Yes, they’re putting the marquee up in the morning so we’ll be there for drinks, dinner and dancing. It’s going to be lovely. I’m so pleased you’re all here. And you, Holly, it’s lovely. I love having my family round me. She reached over and patted Wilf and Emily’s hands.

Jean-Paul took a sip of his brandy and said, ‘And when Wilf is living here it will be even better,
n’est pas
?’

The whole table was silent.

Jean-Paul raised his huge eyebrows, and muttered, ‘I have said something wrong?’ as Diana had clearly kicked him under the table.

Holly frowned, ‘You’re moving here?’

Wilf winced.

Emily took the menu off Holly and said, ‘Not for a while, is it?’ as if trying to smooth over everything.

Holly tipped her head, confused, ‘I didn’t know you were planning to live here.’

Wilf leant his elbows on the table, then he bit down on his thumbnail and nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he said, quietly.

‘Why did you keep it a secret?’

‘Now I didn’t actually keep it a secret, I just maybe…’ He dipped his head from one side to the other. ‘Just maybe didn’t go into detail about the plans. There’s a lot of opportunity here for our brand.’

‘I thought you said it was all New York and Sydney expansion?’ Holly realised as she said it, and watched him sort of agreeing, that she didn’t know him at all.

‘It is about Sydney and New York. We’re keeping the existing businesses but each developing our own arms of the company. Like Alfonso…’ He pointed to where Alfonso had his head buried in the menu, refusing to be any part of this bombshell. ‘He’s going to Rio for a bit. See what’s happening there, it’s a massive emerging market.’

Holly shook her head, trying to swallow over a lump of emotion, of worry, of fear that, of course, she would be doing this baby thing on her own ‒ exactly as she had thought ‒ of anger, of frustration, of stupidity. ‘Well that really is fascinating,’ she said, cutting Wilf off and glancing away to find the waiter, calling him over with a smile when he caught her eye.

‘We are ready?’ the waiter asked.

Everyone jumped at the chance to order, anything to change the subject. They all had the steak, all except Holly who had the fish pie and didn’t look at Wilf again for the rest of the meal.

Chapter Twenty-One

After lunch Emily and Alfonso went for a swim, laying out their towels and running carefree into the water.

Diana and Jean-Paul had a meeting with the pâtissier a couple of doors down from the restaurant about the desserts and cake for the following day’s celebrations.

Holly sat on a rock and watched a couple of young rowers struggling to keep their timing. Their blade-work was painful to watch.

‘I should have told you,’ Wilf said, coming over to sit on a rock next to her. ‘I wimped out. I should have told you. But now you know, you can think about it - France is lovely…’ He added sweeping a hand out across the view of the shimmering water and the buffeted sails of the laser dinghies.