The Heavenly Italian Ice Cream Shop

by Abby Clements

  That Sunday they loaded up the car and Matteo drove out onto the coastal road. Bella chattered contentedly to herself in her car seat, oblivious to the hairpin bends.

  Anna was starting to relax, looking out of the window and taking in the scenery. The Amalfi coast was every bit as spectacular as she’d hoped – villages and towns scattered over the hillsides, the houses stacked vertically in a way that made Anna feel dizzy. The sea was bright blue, glittering with the reflected sunlight. Vintage convertibles sped past them, and boats bobbed up and down on the water towards Capri. As much as Anna loved Britain’s south coast, and felt a certain loyalty towards it – be it Brighton’s characterful pebbles or the rugged cliffs and rock pools of Cornwall – this part of Italy was certainly more glamorous. The landscapes sent a tingle of excitement running over her skin.

  They passed Positano, less a town than a cliff with houses on. Anna looked out at it, captivated. ‘Can we stop here?’ she said.

  ‘Later,’ Matteo said. ‘There’s somewhere else I think you’ll like that I want to go to first.’

  ‘OK,’ Anna said. They continued west down the coast, and then parked. Having put Bella into a carrier, Matteo and Anna walked tentatively down a rocky path, ending up in a hidden cove. A couple of local families were there, sunbathing and dipping in and out of the water, but it still felt quiet, a haven away from the buzz of Sorrento.

  With the sun high in the sky, Anna, Matteo and Bella sat by the water’s edge, the tips of their toes touching the surf as each fresh wave came in. Bella gurgled and laughed as the waves tickled her. Anna put a hand gently on her daughter’s wet hair and swept it back off her neck. They stayed there for most of the morning, collecting stones in Bella’s new red bucket, and watching as the local children included her in their games.

  That evening, Anna and Matteo were in the living room of their apartment. With Bella napping, and a pot full of freshly made tea between them, Anna was taking the opportunity to have another look at the marketing plan for the shop.

  Matteo put down the book he’d been reading and laid his head on the sofa. He smiled at Anna. ‘I’m just closing my eyes – for a minute or two,’ he said, his voice almost a purr in its snooziness.

  ‘Matteo!’ she reprimanded him gently. He had curled up on his side and didn’t look as if he’d be moving any time soon. ‘OK, well, if you’re going to sleep, can I use the iPad? I want to run some of these ideas I’ve had past Imogen.’

  ‘Mmm-hmmm,’ he said, pointing vaguely in the direction of the coffee table without lifting his eyelids.

  She picked it up and typed out an email.

  Hey Imogen,

  So here we are! And you would love it. You MUST come and visit us all this time.

  I’ve had some ideas for local marketing and would love your input . . .

  She paused as an instant message popped up in the corner of the screen. She didn’t recognise the username.

  Matteo!

  She froze for a moment and went to shut the messenger and return to her email.

  Ciao Matteo!

  Two new messages popped up in Italian and – with one eye on her sleeping boyfriend – she cast a glance at them, making sense of what she could. They had no secrets, she told herself – and he’d known she’d be on the iPad, after all. The language was simple and she was pretty sure she could understand it:

  I’ve called you twice, why are you not answering?

  Anna reread it, confused. She told herself not to jump to conclusions. It seemed quite direct, but it could be anything. Business, an old friend anxious to get in touch again.

  Then,

  I can’t wait to talk to you.

  Then another. Anna was less sure of the meaning and – feeling a little guilty as she did it – copied it over into Google translate:

  Where are you? Does she have you doing the laundry or something? Changing nappies?

  Anna flinched, surprised at the tone. She reread it. The messages were definitely about her.

  Who was saying this? Fury rose in her.

  You should tell her that’s a mother’s job.

  She clicked on the message so she could see the avatar more clearly.

  A woman with red-brown curly hair, and warm tanned skin.

  Elisa. Her mother-in-law.

  Chapter 15

  In the reception area of the Elderberry Guesthouse, Martin was staring at his laptop a little blankly as he checked in some new guests. One of them repeated her name. ‘Ah, yes. Here we are – Rodriguez. The Gatsby Suite.’ He handed over the keys. ‘I’ll show you up.’

  From the harried look in his eyes it was clear that Martin was finding the first day of business a little challenging, and Imogen stepped in.

  ‘Let me, Uncle Martin,’ she said, leading the guests upstairs confidently. ‘The Gatsby Suite is a wonderful choice. How long are you staying in Brighton for?’

  ‘We is here for . . .’ The man glanced at his wife. ‘Como se dice diez dias?’ he asked her.

  ‘Ten days,’ his wife said shyly. ‘For visit friends.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ Imogen enthused. ‘Well, you have come to the right place. My uncle cooks a fantastic English breakfast.’ She helped them take their bags into the newly decorated room, and they commented appreciatively at the tiny touches to the themed suite – the pretty antique mirrors and the long-stemmed cigarette holder on the dressing room table.

  ‘If you need anything at all while you’re here just let us know.’

  ‘Thank you,’ they chorused.

  Back down in the reception area of the Elderberry Guesthouse, she glanced around for a sign of Martin. She couldn’t see him in his usual spot over by the files, or in the kitchen.

  She looked out into the garden, and saw that he was sitting on the terrace, talking with a woman with long, dark-red hair.

  ‘Hey, Martin,’ Imogen called out. ‘They’re all settled upstairs now.’

  ‘That’s great. Thanks, Imogen.’

  The woman with Martin looked around, and her eyes, a bright green, settled on Imogen. She was strikingly attractive, with high cheekbones. She must have been a little younger than Martin, somewhere in her mid-forties. ‘This is Clarissa. She’s just arrived. Clarissa, this is Imogen, my niece. Vivien’s granddaughter.’

  ‘Hi,’ Clarissa said, getting to her feet, her pale-blue dress swirling around her. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Imogen.’

  There was a sadness in Clarissa’s eyes, which Imogen was seeing only now that they were up close.

  ‘Welcome,’ Imogen said. ‘Did you know Vivien?’

  Clarissa shook her head. ‘Not well. But I remember her. My mother used to bring me down to her shop when I was little – back when it was Sunset 99s. We’d stop by for a 99 Flake when we were in Brighton.’

  ‘Were they friends, she and your mum?’ Imogen asked.

  ‘I think so. Something like that,’ Clarissa said.

  ‘That’s nice. We miss Vivien so much. How did they know each other?’

  Clarissa shook her head, and Imogen thought for a moment that she might cry. Martin looked over at his niece, clearly concerned about the same thing.

  ‘I don’t know, or at least not the details of it,’ Clarissa said. ‘That’s why I came. I’m just so sorry I’m too late.’

  At lunchtime, Imogen headed out to the beach and towards the Hove seafront and the shops under the arches. What had once been Evie’s souvenir shop was now empty with the exception of piles of rubble and clouds of plaster dust. Things had moved quickly. Andy’s father, a local builder, had stepped in to project-manage the conversion, and had advised them on how to avoid the need for planning permission. With Finn and Andy both working late into the evenings, the three of them had made a solid start in just a few days.

  Finn was sweeping up, while Andy kept the surf school next door running.

  ‘Hey,’ Imogen said, giving Finn a hug.

  ‘You probably shouldn’t have . . .’ he said, apologetically.
<
br />   She looked down at her dark-blue top, now patched with white dust, and brushed at it. ‘Oh, see what you mean.’

  The room was bigger than it had seemed when the shop was full of sea-life inflatables and gaudy postcards, and knocking the wall down had made it and the surf school into a seamless space. ‘You guys were certainly busy last night.’

  ‘We did a lot. We’re making progress, although we did find a couple of structural issues we hadn’t predicted.’

  ‘Can Andy’s dad help with those?’

  ‘Yes. He didn’t seem overly concerned,’ Finn said. ‘We’ll get there. But I’ll be working late most nights this week. That’s OK with you, isn’t it?’

  Imogen nodded. She could hardly complain when she was so often the one taking a long-haul flight away from him. ‘That’s fine.’

  ‘How are things at the guesthouse?’

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘A new guest arrived this morning. A woman called Clarissa.’

  ‘Settling in OK?’

  ‘I think so, yes. She’d come to see Granny V, but then – well, she arrived and Martin had to explain that she’d had a wasted journey.’

  ‘That’s sad.’

  ‘Yes. It is. But she was adamant that she wanted to stay anyway. That she’d decided on the trip to Brighton and she’d make the most of it.’

  ‘Well, that’s good. And I’m sure she’ll have a good time. Martin’s worked so hard on the place.’

  ‘Yes,’ Imogen said, trying to forget the way that Clarissa had looked: the emptiness, the yearning sadness in her eyes. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’

  Imogen headed over to the ice cream shop. It had been good to see Finn, even if just for a short while. With one thing and another, she might as well have been abroad somewhere. With the long hours he was working converting the shop building, they sometimes got to catch up only last thing at night before bed. Sometimes Imogen wondered if she should ask him about it – her mum’s suggestion that he might propose. But then it seemed easier to carry on, as if none of it had happened.

  Evie was busy cleaning tables when Imogen arrived. The post-lunch lull was the perfect time for Imogen to run through things with her and they covered most of it quite quickly. Mid-afternoon, a young couple came in.

  ‘Why don’t you serve those customers, and if you have any last questions I’ll be here?’ Imogen said to her.

  Evie looked over at the young couple coming in through the door. They walked excitedly over to the glass counter, the woman admiring the array of ice creams in front of them.

  ‘Hello, Evie,’ the man said. ‘How come you’re working here?’

  ‘I’ve had a career change, Ben,’ she said proudly. ‘It’s never too late.’

  ‘Nice one. Well, it’s great to see you – I was sorry to see your shop shut.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Evie said graciously. ‘Times change. What can I get you?’

  ‘Can we have two of your Super Sundaes, please?’ the woman asked.

  ‘Coming right up,’ Evie said confidently. ‘Take a seat and I’ll bring them over to you.’

  Imogen whispered to her. ‘You remember how to make those, right?’

  Evie tilted her head slightly, remembering. ‘One scoop of praline and one of mocha, with white chocolate sauce and hazelnut sprinkles – that right?’

  ‘Spot on,’ Imogen said. She leaned back on the counter as Evie prepared the ice creams.

  That week Imogen had been getting up early to prepare the ice creams to Anna’s recipes, coaching Evie as she went, but watching Evie now – her candyfloss-pink hair swept up into a bun and her gingham apron on, deftly putting the sundaes together – she had a feeling that she’d be able to take a backseat with the ice cream shop from now on. Evie seemed to pick up the recipes effortlessly – and she also had the advantage of knowing most of the locals, none of whom minded waiting a few extra minutes while she double-checked Anna’s recipe book.

  Over the course of the morning, Evie perfected the heart-shaped swirl on a flat white, and Vivien’s trademark drizzle of chocolate sauce on the sundaes, with a perfectly placed handmade wafer.

  ‘I don’t think you’re going to need my help much around here after all, do you?’ Imogen said.

  ‘Let’s see. It’s good to know that you’ll be on the end of the phone, but I think I’m getting the hang of it now.’

  ‘Incredibly well,’ Imogen replied. ‘You’re a natural.’

  ‘I’m ready to give new things a go, that’s all. I’ll never be too old for that.’

  Anna had been right to trust her gut instinct, Imogen thought to herself. Everything was working out just fine.

  Chapter 16

  ‘Dear Mum, Dad and Imogen,’ Anna wrote. ‘I know it’s a long way . . . but we couldn’t resist inviting you to the launch of our shop.

  She put the card inside a silver envelope and wrote her parents’ address on it. She slipped the invitation inside:

  Anna, Matteo and Bella

  invite you to the opening of:

  The Little Ice Cream Shop in the Square

  Saturday 5th June, from midday.

  Free cones until 3 p.m.

  Come and enjoy some Italian gelato

  with a splash of English elegance!

  ‘Come and taste some of this one,’ Anna said to Matteo. ‘I think I’ve struck gold. And just in time for our launch tomorrow.’

  Matteo took a spoonful of the peach granita Anna had just made, and nodded in appreciation. ‘Not bad.’

  Anna smiled with pride. Matteo was more than just the man in her life: he was also one of the best food critics around, and he didn’t hesitate to let her know when one of her creations needed more work.

  ‘Those peaches from the market are something else,’ Anna said.

  ‘I told you.’

  Anna put the tray in the glass counter.

  ‘I wonder what everyone’s going to make of our flavours,’ she said.

  ‘Well – not long till we find out.’

  ‘That’ll be Carolina,’ Matteo said later that day, hearing the knock at the front door and dashing over to the window.

  ‘Hello!’ he called down to his sister.

  ‘Lina!’ Bella exclaimed, catching hold of what was happening. ‘Lina!’

  ‘Let’s go and see your auntie,’ Anna said, scooping her daughter up into her arms.

  Matteo opened the door and Carolina’s face lit up when she saw her brother and his family. ‘Bellissima!’ she cried, darting over and taking Bella into her arms. ‘You’ve grown so much.’ She covered her niece in kisses.

  She enveloped her brother in a loving hug.

  ‘So – I had a look though the window of the shop, very chichi,’ Carolina said, appreciatively. ‘You’ve done a really nice job.’

  ‘Thank you. Your hair, Caro – I love it,’ Anna said, taking in Carolina’s new bob.

  Carolina touched her hair. ‘That’s kind of you. Yes, I’ve had it long for years – I felt like a change.’

  ‘It suits you,’ Anna said.

  ‘I needed something to cheer myself up to be honest. These past few months . . . well . . .’ Her voice tailed off.

  ‘Everything all right?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Yes, it’s fine. Maybe later.’ She forced a smile. ‘Right now I want to be happy and play with little Bella,’ she said, tickling her. Bella emitted a peal of easy laughter.

  ‘OK, sure,’ Anna said, gently.

  A fresh coastal breeze drifted in through the doorway, reminding Anna that she was far from home. ‘Shall we go out into the square?’ she said.

  Matteo and his sister led the way and they sat on the edge of the fountain while Bella played nearby.

  ‘This coast is spectacular, isn’t it?’ Carolina said. ‘What do you think, Anna? Worth the trip?’

  Anna shook her head. ‘Absolutely. Every view is like a postcard.’

  ‘I love it out here,’ Carolina said. There was a distance in her gaze, though, as if her mind wer
e elsewhere. ‘The people, they’re so much more relaxed than where we’re from. You’ll have to come down to the summer house, you get a fantastic view over the sea, and out to the villages, those pretty colourful houses.’

  ‘Sounds beautiful. We will. Where’s Filippo today?’ Anna asked.

  Carolina shook her head and her eyes took on a sheen of tears. ‘That’s a long story.’

  Her brother put his arm around her shoulders, and hugged her. ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘Another time.’ There was pain in her eyes. ‘Tell me about the shop. When are you opening?’

  ‘This Saturday,’ Anna said.

  ‘A few things still to organise,’ Matteo said. ‘But we’re nearly there, aren’t we, Anna?’

  ‘Yes. Almost. You’ll come to the opening, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course! I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ Carolina said.

  ‘Thanks for finding this place for us,’ Anna said.

  ‘My pleasure.’

  ‘I think it’s going to be a good summer,’ Matteo said. He held his sister close. ‘We’ll make it a good summer.’

  On Saturday, Anna and Matteo stood behind the counter of the ice-cream shop, watching the crowd of eager customers build. They’d spent the week putting up posters around town, announcing the opening, and talking to as many locals and tourists as they could. Anna had wondered if they might encounter resistance to the change – she knew that the old gelateria had been popular – but it turned out people were really curious and ready for a new place. A queue snaked out into the square. At the front of it was Luigi, the owner of the restaurant opposite.

  ‘What would you recommend?’ he asked.

  ‘You know what I love – this mojito ice lolly,’ Anna said, mischievously. ‘It hasn’t got that much alcohol in it.’

  ‘A lol-ly?’ Luigi said, stumbling with the word. ‘I do not know what that is – but mojitos I am certainly familiar with. I’d like one of those, please.’

  He tasted it and raised an eyebrow appreciatively. ‘I like it.’

  A young woman came to the counter and rattled off her order in Italian. Anna struggled to catch hold of her meaning.