The Vintage Ice Cream Van Road Trip (Cherry Pie Island - Book 2) (7 page)

‘…so we have a room for the night, but there’s only one room with one bed which I don’t think Mummy will be very happy about but there’s not really anything that Daddy can do about it because some joker insisted that we stop in a town that had a conference on.’

Holly frowned. ‘Where are you going to sleep?’ she asked.

‘Oh come on, Holly. I think we’re old enough to be able to share a bed.’ Wilf sat up and stretched his arms out along the back of the bench.

‘I don’t think so. Look where it got us last time,’ she said and Wilf laughed.

‘I remember it being pretty enjoyable,’ he said and Holly rolled her eyes. Wilf laughed again as he stood up, ‘Come on, I promise I’ll be the perfect gentleman.’

‘You’d better be,’ she said, and swiped his arm away when he tried to guide her forward with his hand on the small of her back.

They walked side by side through the town, past restaurants that smelt of garlicky moules frites and bars with TV screens in the corner showing the football. Kids sat on stone stoops out the front of their houses and parents were chatting in the street. They turned right up a dark alleyway, walking towards a yellow awning that read: Hotel d’Europe 1*. The door had a scarlet curtain with stained gold fringing and the carpet was all swirly shades of red, brown and orange. When Holly looked at Wilf, he looked back at her a bit guiltily. At the desk inside was a man wearing a stained grey shirt and boxer shorts. Behind him was a curtain and behind that a bed, a TV and a fan and he’d clearly already settled himself in for the night.

He handed Wilf a key with a grunt and went back to the TV.

Holly was so knackered that the prospect of a bed made her ignore the peeling wallpaper, the cracks in the ceiling, the broken glass in the picture frame and what looked like a mousetrap at the side of the stairs.

Their room was on the top floor in the eaves. Wilf had to duck to unlock it.

They both stood on the threshold for a moment longer than necessary, staring in at the teeny-weeny attic room that smelt of mothballs and cabbage soup and the iron-framed bed with prison-blue sheets.

‘There’s no window,’ Holly whispered.

Wilf strode forward as if it was all just dandy. He opened the cupboard and had a peer in, then looked around the rest of the room, confused. ‘There’s no bathroom.’

‘Seriously?’ Holly really needed a pee. ‘Where is it?’

Wilf shrugged and went back out into the corridor and came back a minute later. ‘It’s two floors down,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Holly.’

She pressed her hands into her eyes and shook her head, ‘That’s OK. It’s a room. It has a bed. It’s fine.’ But when she said fine her voice hitched and she knew she wouldn’t make it to the bathroom before she started crying.

‘Oh god, Holly, I’m really sorry.’ Wilf stood awkwardly across the room from her.

‘It’s fine, I promise. I’m just tired.’ She held up a hand to show she was OK and then rooted around in her pocket for a tissue.

‘Here, I’ve got one.’ He handed her a crumpled scrap of tissue. ‘It doesn’t look great but I promise it’s clean.’

She sort of laughed through the snot and tears and tiredness.

‘Shit, I’m really sorry. I want to give you a hug but I don’t want you to think I’m trying anything on. Can I give you a hug?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said, blowing her nose.

Wilf took a couple of tentative steps forward and Holly stayed where she was, then he put his arms round her, one hand across her shoulders, the other round her waist and held her sort of close but not completely.

She could smell him, the same him that she’d smelt when they were in bed together. Warm and heady, the cotton of his T-shirt soft beneath her cheek. ‘I’m alright now,’ she said, putting her hands on his chest and separating them. ‘I’ll go down to the bathroom.’

‘Do you want me to come with you? You know, not to the bathroom,’ he said. ‘Just, I don’t know, check there’s no one else around?’

‘No honestly, it’s fine. It’s just hormones. I’m being stupid. A big baby. I can go downstairs, I’m fine.’ She could feel her heart beating really fast in her chest as she left the room. She wished he hadn’t hugged her. Wished she hadn’t felt so safe when he had.

In the bathroom she leant over the sink and put her face in a handful of cold water.

What are you doing, Holly?

She looked up at her reflection, dark circles under tired-looking eyes.

Don’t
.

Just don’t let this happen
.

She splashed cold water on her face again. Was reminded of that same look in her father’s eyes when her mum would appear back. It was hope.

It will end in heartbreak and it sure as hell won’t be his
.

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: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

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.