Vivien's Heavenly Ice Cream Shop

by Abby Clements

  So she’d decided to try out two flavours now, keeping things simple – chocolate and a fresh strawberry, with some fruit she’d found discounted at the end of the day at the local greengrocer’s. Imogen licked the spoon and let the mixture dissolve on her tongue: the strawberry was absolutely delicious. The chocolate wasn’t bad either – but you couldn’t really go far wrong with chocolate, could you? She hadn’t used all the bits and pieces that Anna had shown her but she’d got the job done with what was in Vivien’s kitchen. Imogen smiled with satisfaction – it felt good to do something creative rather than simply feeling sad about what could have been.

  She put the tubs in the freezer so that they’d be ready for her to take to the shop bright and early the next day. Tired but satisfied, she climbed into bed, pulled the feather duvet up around her and fell into a deep, relaxed sleep.

  On Sunday morning, Imogen took out the standing chalkboard sign she’d found in the shop storage cupboard, and chalked up a message, using the shop’s trademark pistachio and pastel pink shades:

  HOME-MADE ICE CREAM AVAILABLE HERE TODAY

  She smiled as she placed it outside, excited about the day ahead.

  The morning sun was quickly drying the rain-drenched concrete in front of their shop, and it looked like for once the weather might actually be cooperating with her plan. Rollerbladers skated up and down, swirling in loops around cones, and even the gulls seemed to be singing out a happy song as they dived down into the seafront bins to find breakfast.

  From his regular spot at the front of the shop, Hepburn barked at the birds. Imogen pulled her cardigan around her and looked out for any likely customers. She was startled by a blur of fur as a golden retriever dashed past her, heading straight for Hepburn.

  ‘So sorry,’ a woman with a dark bob said, catching up with the dog and grabbing hold of his lead again.

  A man in a trench coat caught up with them and came to a breathless stop. ‘You got him, Jill. Well done.’

  ‘Harry has a bit of a thing for dachshunds,’ the woman said apologetically. ‘That’s Harry,’ she said, pointing at her golden retriever, ‘Not him,’ she laughed, taking her partner’s hand.

  ‘Ah, the old ice cream shop. We’ve been meaning to stop here, as it happens,’ the man said. ‘We heard this place was under new ownership. Jeffrey and Jill, pleased to meet you.’

  Imogen smiled and shook their hands. ‘Imogen. Likewise. And yes, we’re the new owners. Still in the family, though – “Vivien’s and Granddaughters”, it should be called, really. It’s me and my sister Anna who’ve taken it over.’

  ‘It looks tremendous,’ the woman said, taking in the new paint job and the retro fittings. They’d made a light out of ice cream scoops, with lightbulbs dangling down into them, a fitting centrepiece. ‘Our grandsons would love this, wouldn’t they, Jeffrey?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure they would. Let’s bring them next time. We’ll have two, please,’ Jeffrey said. ‘It’s just chocolate and strawberry you’ve got, isn’t it?’ Imogen nodded. ‘I’ll take a chocolate, and a strawberry cone for my wife.’

  Imogen scooped out the cones, being careful not to break the delicate waffle. She’d sourced the cones especially – they were a step up from the usual kind.

  ‘Looks delicious,’ Jill said, paying Imogen. They headed towards the exit, Harry on a slightly shorter lead this time. Hepburn poked his head out cautiously from the back room, his big brown eyes questioning her.

  ‘It’s safe to come out now, Hepburn,’ Imogen whispered. ‘We’ve just said goodbye to our very first home-made ice cream customers.’

  He gave a gruff bark of approval.

  ‘Do you think our neighbours would like to try some?’ Imogen asked him.

  He barked again and wagged his tail. Imogen took that as a yes. She walked out of the shop and down the sea-front towards Evie’s souvenir shop. The bell tinkled as she entered.

  ‘Evie, hi,’ Imogen called out when she saw her. ‘Can I tempt you to some home-made ice cream?’

  ‘Oh, sweetheart, I’d love some,’ Evie said, from behind her shop counter. ‘Kind of you to offer. But the doctor would kill me. Says I’ve got to watch my cholesterol.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Imogen said. ‘Well I’d hate to get you in trouble. We’ll just have to come up with some healthier options for you.’

  A little boy with freckles pushed his way past Imogen, holding up his large shark inflatable. ‘It’s got a puncture!’ he whined.

  ‘Duty calls,’ Evie said, with a smile. ‘But why don’t you ask Finn? I bet he’d be delighted to take you up on the offer.’

  ‘Yes,’ Imogen said. ‘I’ll do that.’

  She walked down the stretch of arches towards Finn’s school. Outside, there was a group of surfers preparing to set out and she saw Finn standing in the doorway.

  ‘Enjoy your surf,’ Imogen announced to the group. ‘Afterwards, there’s a fifty per cent discount on the homemade ice cream cones at Vivien’s just over there.’ She pointed at the shop.

  ‘Sounds good,’ one of the wetsuited women said. ‘But I expect we’ll be freezing.’

  ‘Science is on the side of ice cream,’ Imogen said, thinking on her feet. ‘The colder your internal temperature, the warmer you’ll feel.’ She’d read that somewhere. She wasn’t entirely sure it was true, but it definitely sounded good.

  One of the men in the group, tall and dark, with short black hair, gave Imogen a wink as he finished zipping up his wetsuit. She couldn’t help noticing that the rubber clung to him in all the right places.

  ‘We’ll be there,’ he said.

  That afternoon, Imogen looked out with pride at the full ice cream shop. The requests from Finn’s surf class had come in so thick and fast, she’d struggled at first to write down all of their orders. It seemed they’d bought her internal/external temperature line, and after a long morning session in the sea were ordering the ice creams by the bucketload to fight off their post-surf shivers.

  ‘Incredible stuff, this,’ the guy with the dark hair called out to her.

  ‘Here, try some of the strawberry,’ another young man said, passing his over.

  A glow of pride built up inside her as Imogen saw them take greedy spoonfuls.

  Chapter Twelve

  Anna stepped out of Giovanna’s house and into the Santa Maria de Novella Piazza, bustling with crowds coming out of the Sunday service. She put on her sunglasses. The night’s sleep had left her refreshed and ready to start exploring the city, and with just one day left before the ice cream course started, she was looking forward to making the most of it.

  The sun was high, and in her floaty turquoise dress and gold sandals she relished the way it warmed her skin. After the UK’s rainiest May on record, she soaked up the much-needed vitamin D booster. The only decision she had to make today, she thought with pleasure, was what to go and see first. She took another look at her guidebook and opted for the river, criss-crossed with historic bridges, that divided the compact city. Walking down the cobbled street, she could make out the glistening of sunshine on water at the end of the path. She instinctively picked up her pace, walking until she saw the Ponte Vecchio appear in front of her: the distinctive landmark she’d seen so many times on postcards and in books, a bridge with little houses like children’s toys built onto it, overlooking the water. The backdrop that opened up behind it was lush Tuscan countryside peppered with tall cypress trees. She took a deep breath of fresh air; it even smelled different here – a trace of Italian coffee from a nearby restaurant, with the faint smell of a passing woman’s perfume.

  ‘Signora,’ said a young man with a bright smile, offering her a fake Gucci handbag.

  Anna shook her head politely, and stepped up onto the bridge.

  ‘Will you take our photo?’ a Japanese couple with excitable children asked her politely.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, taking the camera. As she stepped back, through the lens she saw that the little houses she’d been looking at we
re actually jewellery shops. Light glinted off the windows, which housed diamond rings and delicate gold necklaces.

  ‘Thank you,’ the woman said, taking the camera back. ‘This is a special city, isn’t it?’ she said slowly. ‘Very romantic.’

  ‘I’ve just arrived,’ Anna said, with a smile. ‘But I’m starting to see that.’

  She crossed the bridge, and settled for lunch in a shady, peaceful square in San Spirito, on the other side of the river. Away from the more touristy areas, the scene in front of her was peopled only with locals, children playing in the fountain and a grandma looking out from her shuttered window. She ordered tagliatelle with mussels and garlic, and a glass of white wine.

  Anna smiled as the waiter brought over a steaming hot plate of pasta and her drink. She sipped the wine and enjoyed the view out over the square. Once it had cooled a little, she twirled the tagliatelle around her fork and took a bite – fresh with the perfect balance of flavours. It tasted like a dream.

  After lunch, pleasantly woozy from the midday wine, she continued her walk, wandering past elegant art galleries and museums, teenagers posing for photos with the statue of David. As the sun lowered in the sky, and the hot day softened to a balmy evening, she realised she’d left her most important stop till last. It was time to try some local ice cream. Giovanna had recommended a gelateria over breakfast that morning, and Anna found the name she’d written down in her notebook: Vivoli.

  The shop was tucked away in a neighbourhood called Santa Croce, ten minutes’ walk away. When Anna located it, she found a long queue spiralling out and up the narrow street. The Italians in the line in front of her chattered excitedly, and she caught the occasional words, rich with flavour and promise: ‘Cioccolato … stracciatella … frutti di bosco’. While her everyday Italian might be limited, Anna’s knowledge of ice cream flavours was anything but. Her heart raced as the queue went down and she got near enough to see the enticing piles of pastel-coloured gelato on offer in large glass cabinets. The nerves she’d felt yesterday, arriving in a new city, had vanished. Here – with an array of ice cream and sorbets in front of her – she felt right at home.

  When she reached the front of the queue, she pointed with an enthusiastic smile to the double cone trimmed with chocolate and hazelnut, and gesticulated towards the dark-chocolate ice cream, hoping the young man serving her would understand. ‘Cioccolato?’ she attempted shyly.

  ‘And in the other one?’ the young man replied flawlessly, with a smile.

  ‘You speak English,’ she said, relieved. ‘The raspberry sorbet, please.’

  ‘I used to live in London,’ he said. ‘I loved it, but there was just one thing missing.’ He nodded down to the ice cream and added a generous scoop of deep-pink sorbet to her cone.

  Anna thanked him and walked away with the ice cream. As the dark chocolate met her lips, she was transported: the gelato was mind-meltingly creamy. She weaved her way back towards Giovanna’s under a star-studded sky, interspersing the chocolate with mouthfuls of raspberry – fresh, tangy and laden with fruit. Now this, she thought to herself, is something I could get used to.

  Florence is beautiful, Anna texted her sister on the walk home to Giovanna’s, and the ice cream is out of this world. How are you? xx

  The phone beeped as Imogen’s reply came in an instant.

  Hey, sis. Green with envy. But talking of ice cream, I made and sold my first batch today! I know we said we’d wait … But it went down a storm x

  Anna smiled as she read it – so she wasn’t the only person who’d been feeling inspired today. Imogen was blossoming at the shop without her, spreading her culinary wings. Just one night’s sleep, and she’d be doing the same.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Imogen,’ Finn said, a steely look in his hazel eyes, ‘what on earth have you done?’

  He was standing in front of his shop as she went to open Vivien’s on Monday morning, and by the look of things, he wasn’t happy. Hepburn barked a cheery greeting, and Imogen bent down to quieten him.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Imogen said, trying to push away the uncomfortable doubts that were creeping up. She racked her brains … last night she’d closed the shop, then gone home and had a quiet night watching a DVD. Had she done something before she left – put out the bins in Finn’s spot? He seemed like the kind of person who might get uptight about something like that.

  He shook his head wearily. ‘The afternoon session with my surf class yesterday was an absolute disaster. Apart from one guy, Paul – who joined us after lunch – the rest of the class were throwing their guts up.’

  Oh no, Imogen thought, as the reality of the situation struck her between the eyes.

  Oh NO.

  ‘Yep, that’s right,’ Finn continued, running a hand raggedly over dark-blond wavy hair, his forehead furrowed. ‘And as bad as you imagine it was, believe me, it was worse. Pebbly beach, no toilet for miles around – and ten students with acute food poisoning. It would almost be funny if it wasn’t such a frigging disaster.’

  Imogen cringed as she took in the full horror of it all.

  ‘And you’re sure it was the ice cream?’ she asked, aware she was clutching at straws.

  ‘I’m pretty sure it was the only thing that all of them ate. I’d say ask them yourself,’ he said, his voice heavily laced with annoyance, ‘but they’re all at home still spewing their guts out.’

  ‘That’s terrible,’ Imogen said.

  ‘I don’t understand it. Were you using a recipe?’

  ‘Yes,’ Imogen said, hearing the defensive tone her voice had taken on. ‘I thought it looked OK.’ Looking back, she had skipped some sections that might have been important. But the letters moved around sometimes when she read. They always had.

  She knew what she should say, those two small words: I’m sorry. But she couldn’t bring herself to say them – to admit she could have made such a stupid mistake.

  ‘I don’t know if these students will be well enough to continue the course tomorrow, and given that I recommended your place to them, I don’t think it’s right to take their money, do you? But you can’t carry on like this, or you’ll ruin the Arches’ reputation … Have you looked into getting a hygiene certificate yet?’

  ‘No,’ Imogen said. It was on the list Anna had left her, the boring thing at the end that she’d been putting off.

  ‘That might be a start,’ Finn said, shaking his head.

  Imogen closed the door to the shop and locked it behind her. A few minutes of peace and quiet, that was all she needed. She sat down in a booth with her back to the door and dropped her head into her hands. Two days Anna had been away and she’d managed to mess things up monumentally already. She took a deep breath, and then another. Perhaps Finn was wrong, she told herself. Perhaps something else had triggered the group’s sickness – norovirus, maybe? She’d heard everyone was getting that. She wouldn’t let him make her feel bad about something that was unproven.

  Drawing on her inner strength, she got to her feet and went over to the front door to open it again. There, standing in front of her, were the couple who’d visited yesterday, Jeffrey, his wife Jill and their golden retriever. Their faces were ashen.

  ‘Good morning,’ Jill said politely. ‘Sorry to bother you, but we wanted to ask if maybe there might have been something wrong with that batch of ice cream yesterday. It’s just … ’

  ‘We started to feel unwell,’ Jeffrey continued. ‘When the vomiting started yesterday we called NHS Direct. We weren’t sure, you see, if we should go into A&E.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Imogen said, biting her lip. ‘You’d better come in.’ She motioned for the two of them to take a seat. Their postures were slightly hunched – it was as if they’d gained ten years overnight, and they seemed relieved to sit down. The fine lines on their faces had deepened.

  ‘I have a horrible feeling this is my fault,’ Imogen said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘These things happen,’ Jill said kindly. ‘And we
feel a little better today, don’t we, Jeffrey?’ Her voice sounded strained and weak.

  ‘I managed to eat a cracker this morning,’ Jeffrey said, the tiniest hint of a smile appearing at his mouth. ‘And Jill kept her cup of tea down.’ He reached over to stroke their retriever. Even he seemed less lively that morning, barely reacting to Hepburn, who was skulking around in the kitchen, keeping a low profile.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Imogen said, guilt twisting her stomach into knots. ‘I’m afraid you’re not the only ones who seem to have been affected.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Yes, I managed to poison one of the surf classes too,’ Imogen said, feeling mortified. ‘How I can possibly make it up to you?’ she said. ‘Can I offer you some compensation?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Jill said, putting her hand on Imogen’s reassuringly. ‘Everyone makes mistakes, dear. And we know you’re just starting out.’

  ‘But you’ve been stuck at home, being sick … ’ Imogen said. ‘I feel dreadful about this.’

  ‘We’re always at home,’ Jeffrey smiled. ‘No difference there. And while it hasn’t been the most pleasant twenty-four hours, we’re relieved that it’s nothing serious, aren’t we, Jill?’

  ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘We’re almost back to our brightest now.’

  ‘Well, I still wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to see us shut down,’ Imogen said.

  ‘We know you and your sister are new to this. And we had our share of bad luck, back in the day.’

  ‘You thinking of that barbecue?’ Jeffrey laughed.

  ‘Can hardly bear to remember it,’ his wife said, shaking her head. ‘Half our friends were off work after eating some chicken we hadn’t cooked through. We shouldn’t laugh. But you learn from these things, don’t you? To be more careful next time?’

  ‘Believe me,’ Imogen said, ‘I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t be selling any more.’