by Sue Watson
I smiled, she hadn’t changed in those thirty years. The beautiful, sophisticated older cousin was still there, she was still as loud, but now with a slight American accent. And I laughed at the way she said ‘ass’, it sounded funny coming from Gina.
‘So let’s not talk about boring old business decisions, let’s talk and talk and drink and drink,’ she laughed. ‘I’m going to keep drinking vodka until everyone looks pretty,’ she said too loudly, causing some disgruntlement on the next table. I’d forgotten, but Gina had always loved a floor show – she was always the centre of attention, and if she wasn’t she would make it so.
‘Hey Ella, I remember the last time we said goodbye, you were in a red T-shirt, white shorts, honey, you looked so cute!’
I was flattered she’d remembered. She was so flaky, in a lovely way, I almost doubted she’d recall much about me at all, especially with Mum’s comments about her being fickle, telling fibs and forgetting about everyone when she left Appledore. I knew now, this just wasn’t true.
‘So, tell me everything. I want to know all about grown-up Ella,’ she said, uncrossing her long legs, as slim as they’d always been. Her eyes were sparkling and she was leaning forward, excited and eager to hear all about my life.
‘There’s not much to tell…’ I started, suddenly feeling daunted about sharing the disaster I called my life with Gina.
‘Oh honey, don’t say that. You’re young and beautiful and…’
‘I’m forty-four, Gina…’
‘You’re still young, trust me, babe, when you get to my age anything under fifty is YOUNG,’ she laughed. ‘So tell me about the kids, you have one of each right?’
‘Yes, Josh and Lucie. They are both fine, travelling the world,’ I was glad to at least offer something exotic to my worldly cousin, even if it was by proxy.
‘Fabulous. Are they gorgeous? Please tell me they’re both rich, beautiful doctors?’
I laughed, ‘They’re students.’
‘Good – so one day they’ll be rich, beautiful doctors,’ she stubbed out her cigarette and picked up her Chanel handbag. I took that as our cue to go back inside the pub and followed her as she mounted the bar stool elegantly.
‘So, what about you, Ella?’ she said, sipping her drink. ‘You were always the clever one in the family – my clever cousin,’ she reached over and rubbed my knee. ‘I’ve often imagined you in a big boardroom working for a huge company…’
‘No, no, I didn’t do anything like that,’ I was almost tempted to make something up. I had nothing to wow her with, her life had been so exciting and I’d done nothing.
She was looking at me expectantly, waiting to hear about my brilliant life and I felt a crush of embarrassment, shame even. What was she expecting? ‘I’m starring in a musical in the West End’, or ‘I’m working on a cure for cancer.’
‘I’m… er currently trying to build up the ice cream business here – with Reginaldo, the van.’
‘Oh God, I heard about that,’ she said, looking into my eyes with deep pity, as if I’d been given six months to live. ‘Poor old Reginaldo,’ she continued; ‘I said to Chad, my husband, God knows why she left it to you. He said it’s because I’d never move it off the drive my driving’s so SHIT,’ she shouted this a little too loudly and people turned to look. Again. Then she laughed loudly for too long and suddenly stopped. ‘I don’t drive.’
‘Oh,’ I smiled, and spoke in a low voice, hoping she’d catch on, ‘I always imagined you in an open-topped car driving through palm-tree-lined Beverly Hills.’
‘No… why drive when you have a driver?’ She giggled and I instinctively giggled back. This was the Gina I remembered, irreverent, charming, outrageous and funny. Gina always seemed to be in control of her life and of all situations, an alpha female who other women could only look at in awe – my wonderful cousin. And as we giggled together and flicked our hair in the same way, I realised I still wanted to be just like her.
‘But you’re not seriously just working the dirty old van are you?’ she asked now.
‘Erm, yes it’s just a summer fling, a vacation from real life…’ I said, liking the way that sounded.
‘Thank GOD!’ She leaned forward expectantly, ‘So what do you really do?’
‘Yes, well I lost my… I gave up a career in… fashion to take this vacation from life. Of course it’s only a summer job, but I might stay on.’
‘Fashion? How wonderful. You were a model, weren’t you? Ah, I knew it! You’ve got the cheekbones, doll.’
‘God no,’ I laughed; ‘I wasn’t a model, I just… I worked in a dress shop,’ there was no point in telling fibs, my life just wasn’t as spectacular as hers and we both had to face it.
She seemed a little deflated. ‘A dress shop, my ass! You never modelled? Do you sing? Act?’
I had to smile, she really had no idea about real life, she lived in a fantasy world unaware that people spent their lives changing nappies and making ends meet.
‘No, I’m afraid I’m very boring. I’m not like you, working with Leonardo DiCaprio and sitting by my pool.’
‘You’re not boring, Ella, so please don’t say you are,’ then she touched my arm. ‘Leonardo’s a hoot, and the pool’s divine, but it isn’t everything, honey…’ For a moment her glamorous, smiling mask dropped and she looked like she might cry.
‘You okay, Gina?’ I asked, concerned.
She immediately composed herself and I saw the mask slip back on. ‘Of course. I am bloody FABULOUS,’ she said loudly. And she was back – beautiful, fun and flirting with the barman as she ordered yet another two large vodkas. I couldn’t possibly have any more, it was midday and I had to get back to the van, not only was I in danger of losing custom, I’d also be too pissed to drive it home.
‘Oh one more little one won’t do you any harm,’ she said when I protested. ‘Don’t be a bloody bore,’ she winked at me.
I felt a frisson of irritation then. It was okay for Gina who could afford to go swanning around Malibu all day, but some of us had work to do.
‘If you’d told me about your plans to come here I’d have tried to arrange cover and had some time off with you,’ I said, a little pointedly.
‘Oh babes, don’t get all over my ass, I didn’t mean it. Oh you are SO cute! Go on… have another little drinkie…’
‘No, and I’m not being boring – just imagine the shame if I’m stopped for drinking and driving an ice cream van,’ I said smiling, but pushing my vodka gently in her direction. She shrugged and knocked hers back, long, red nails clutching at the glass, eyes closed as the rim touched her lips, revealing flawless, smoky eye make-up and long, long lashes. Up close her skin was lined, her neck crěpey, her hands old – but she still had that special something. In a dim English pub on a Wednesday afternoon, she sprinkled little flakes of Hollywood glitter.
‘So what’s it like, living in Bel Air?’ I asked, aware I was staring and sounding like a twelve-year-old fan girl.
‘Fabulous, babe,’ she smiled, drinking the second glass of vodka. ‘I see Victoria and David in town, and of course there’s Heff and his Playboy bunnies down the road. Simon Cowell’s home is beautiful, I went to a party there – oh it goes on and on. But I want to know about you. I can’t believe you never modelled,’ she said, throwing the focus back to me again, when I wanted to know all about her.
‘I was never model material,’ I said.
‘Bullshit,’ she said, a little too loudly, as everyone seemed to do a double take once more. ‘Is that what Roberta told you? Don’t let her dampen your sparkle, you were and are absolutely stunning. You may be forty-four but you’re still gorgeous.’
I smiled, she was being kind. ‘No, you’re the beauty in the family,’ I said.
She kept looking at me, just staring.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘It’s just… I don’t know, I always thought you’d be blonde, that you’d bite the bullet and bleach your hair. I bet Roberta told you it was ta
rty.’
I laughed, a little awkwardly. I didn’t like the way she kept referring to Mum in slightly derogatory tones. ‘I’m dark-haired and dark-skinned like Mum; I don’t think blonde would suit me.’
‘You’re nothing like Roberta, you’re gorgeous, you’d rock blonde hair.’
‘I don’t think so, but you do. You seemed to have missed that Italian gene with your pale skin and blonde hair.’
‘No, I’m as Italian as you, girl. The answer is bleach, bleach, and more bleach, and the lightest shade of foundation known to woman, oh and sun avoidance,’ she said. ‘I always wanted to be Marilyn, not Sophia Loren. You could be Marilyn too.’ She was slightly tipsy by now, but she even managed this with her customary elegance, and her giggles were still very cute fifties starlet.
‘You should let me do your hair, Ella… you’d be a gorgeous blonde,’ she was saying.
‘Oh when I was younger maybe, but it’s too late to go blonde now.’
‘MY ASS,’ she said, which made me laugh, despite feeling a little uncomfortable about the volume and the attention we were getting from other customers. ‘It’s never too late to be blonde,’ then she looked at me directly and asked: ‘I bet Roberta would hate you being blonde. She’s always been a bit controlling, hasn’t she?’
I was a little surprised at this comment and again out of loyalty to Mum, I shook my head. ‘Mum’s just… Mum,’ I said. ‘She’s always been very protective. When I was a teenager she didn’t want me to go blonde in case I had unsuitable boys chasing me. She feared I might get into bad company.’ I was recounting this in a light-hearted way, another of my ‘mum’ stories, until I realised the implications of what I’d just said.
‘Because you might end up like your no-good cousin Gina?’
Bingo, she got it in one.
‘No,’ I lied. ‘Look, if being blonde means living the high life in Beverly Hills with the Beckhams for neighbours, then I’d do it in an instant,’ I said, desperately trying to rescue the situation.
This seemed to placate Gina who offered me yet another drink, which I again declined. I was surprised at how much she was putting away, and despite her loudness and apparent confidence, I wondered if coming back here had made her nervous. Unfortunately, I really needed to get going, so I went to make my leave.
‘But I haven’t seen you in years and now you’re off,’ she said, dropping her lower lip in a mock sulk.
‘I’m so sorry; it’s just that I’m trying to build the business. I’ve only been here a few days and I’m not busy yet, but I need to…’
‘Okay, okay, you just abandon your old cousin,’ she said. I didn’t want to leave, but I had no choice.
‘I’ll call you this evening, we’ll meet up, I’ll take you for dinner?’ she said, and I agreed, delighted at this prospect. We hugged and she kissed me on the cheek, holding my chin in her hand and looking into my eyes. ‘I missed you, Ella,’ she sighed.
I’d forgotten how affectionate Gina could be. She swept you up in her compliments and kisses, told you how wonderful you were and made you feel a million dollars. And I wondered, as I walked out of the pub if Mum’s feelings about Gina were because she had this ‘gift’ of making everyone fall for her. Looking back at my perfectly beautiful cousin charming the considerably younger barman, I thought, that’s quite a gift – and a lot to be jealous of.
16
Fun, Frappuccinos and a Frantic French Farce
As I walked from the pub back onto the beach, a warm breeze was blowing and I felt happy, complete almost. Gina was back where she belonged, it might be a short visit, but while she was here there’d be some fun – and the chance for us to heal the family rift that had cleaved us all apart for too long. I was feeling so buoyed up I decided to pop into Caprioni’s and see how things were ticking over, but just approaching the building filled me with darkness. The place seemed deserted, no one was coming here any more, and walking in to see Marco at the counter didn’t help.
‘Hi is all okay with you?’ I said, trying to be friendly, after all it can’t have been much fun for him sitting here day in, day out. ‘Now Gina my cousin’s back you should know your fate soon,’ I said, referring to his job at the café.
‘Wow thanks for the heads up,’ he muttered sarcastically.
‘I just thought you might want to know about what’s going to happen with the café – I know I do.’
‘This isn’t a café, it’s hell with fluorescent lighting,’ he said, and with that, took his phone from his pocket and ended the conversation. So I said goodbye, which wasn’t returned, and I left the café to walk back into the sunshine, feeling so happy that even Marco couldn’t bring me down.
To add to my happiness, by the time I’d arrived at the van there were several people waiting to buy something. I soon started serving, aware that there was almost a queue forming – something I hadn’t experienced so far. As I slowly worked through the orders, I was delighted – dare I hope things were finally starting to take off? But turning around to hand someone their two large cones of chocolate ice cream, I looked behind to see the last person in the queue and almost dropped the cones. There in my queue on Appledore beach was my mother standing bold as brass.
‘It’s me, it’s Mum,’ she said, pointing to her chest, like she needed to introduce herself.
‘I can see that, Mum,’ I laughed. My first thought was oh God, not now, not just as Gina has arrived, and this wasn’t the time to tell her, so I smiled bravely and climbed down from the van. I gave her a big hug and then helped her inside. ‘Come and see my new office.’
She explained that Sue had dropped her off at the station in Manchester and she’d wanted her visit to be a surprise.
‘Well it’s a lovely one,’ I said, grimacing. This was completely unexpected, and the timing was horrific. Just as I was about to build bridges with Gina, my mother was here – and she wasn’t in the business of building any bridges. It seemed Gina wasn’t too keen on Mum either and now I had to entertain both of them without offending either. It looked like my new life of fun and freedom was about to turn into a frantic French farce.
I made us a cup of coffee while she sat on the little stool inside the van looking round. I didn’t want to question her too much at this stage about why she’d suddenly decided to turn up, I was just glad she was okay and she seemed happy to be here – which was a bonus. I just wondered how long her happiness would last.
‘You don’t do frappuccinos then?’
‘No, Mum.’
‘Not very big is it?’ she said, twisting her head round awkwardly, like it was so cramped she couldn’t even turn her head.
‘Well it has to be driven around, Mum, it can’t be too big – I couldn’t get a juggernaut down the narrow streets round here.’
It would have been so much easier if she’d arrived a month later, in the height of summer when I had a huge queue of people at the van, and everything was sorted with Gina. We drank our coffee and I made her an ice cream brioche ‘sandwich’ which she accepted graciously, and ate without criticism – a new look for Mum.
‘So have you seen anyone?’ she asked.
She was presumably wondering if I’d met up with ‘that bad influence’, Gina.
‘If you mean Gina, yes she’s here – and honestly Mum, I don’t know what your problem is. The woman is lovely, and at almost sixty I doubt she’ll be leading me astray. I wish!’
‘You’d be surprised, a leopard doesn’t change its spots,’ she said, raising her eyebrows.
‘Anyway, she’s well, thank you for asking.’
‘Oh I don’t doubt it. Gina’s always well; it’s everyone around her that gets caught up in the drama that suffers. She tells such fibs, Ella.’
‘No she doesn’t, you mustn’t say things like that, Mum.’
‘Has she told you what she’s doing with the café?’
‘No, but she says she won’t do anything without talking it over with me first. I imagine she’ll get offers.
’
‘Oh I’m sure she’ll get offers – girls like her always do.’
I ignored this remark, the very fact she was referring to Gina as a girl showed me that Mum was still firmly stuck in the past.
‘I was thinking, Mum… if the van does well, I might ask if she’d let me rent the café, or run it for her.’
‘Don’t get involved, that’s my advice.’
‘Well she’s family, we have to get involved with family,’ I tried.
‘Never once got in touch with me to find out how we were. She forgot us all once she’d gone to America… and I’m her aunt, you know?’
‘Yes I know, Mum.’
‘Family – it’s supposed to be about family, but she was very selfish – a fickle girl…’I nodded because that’s what Mum wanted me to do and I didn’t want an argument; it wasn’t worth it. This diatribe of Mum’s would continue, on a loop repeating various key points for some time, but this van was my business and not the place for a full-on argument. Thankfully realising it was all falling on deaf ears and I wasn’t going to bite, Mum continued to sip her coffee and looked around asking questions about the fridges, eventually abandoning the subject of Gina. So I took the opportunity to move to safe ground.
‘How’s Leo?’ I asked.
Mum looked at me blankly. ‘The boy I was at school with? Haven’t seen him for over sixty years, Ella, what are you going on about?’
It was going to be one of those conversations.
‘Leo, the man you were, apparently, flower arranging and line dancing with?’
‘Oh you mean Leo?’
I nodded.
‘He had a roving eye – what a Casanova. He sent photographs of his bits to Doris… while he was dating me! I said, “Doris, it’s like bloody Dynasty, I’m Alexis, you’re Crystal and he’s JR.” But Doris said he was nothing like JR because Leo had a very small one and JR was known for his prowess.’ She sat back on this final word, the emphasis firmly on the ‘ss’, her handbag clutched to her knee.
I moved swiftly on… ‘So where’s your luggage?’
‘At the hotel. I’m in that big one on the front, won’t stay too long – just wanted to see you, make sure you were safe and hadn’t been ravished by a local fisherman,’ she laughed at that and so did I.