Brain Freeze

by Tom Fletcher

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  A little girl discovers that eating ice cream from her grandfather’s old ice-cream truck gives her the power to travel through time, in this brilliant, funny and heartwarming story from bestselling author Tom Fletcher.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE: The End

  CHAPTER TWO: No Ice Cream

  CHAPTER THREE: Ice Cream After All

  CHAPTER FOUR: Frozen

  CHAPTER FIVE: Re-freeze

  CHAPTER SIX: Visiting Hours

  CHAPTER SEVEN: What If?

  CHAPTER EIGHT: The Final Brain Freeze

  CHAPTER NINE: Me Again!

  CHAPTER TEN: The Future

  Read More

  For Nan and Grandad –

  thanks for always having choc ices in the freezer

  CELEBRATE STORIES. LOVE READING.

  This book has been specially written and published to celebrate World Book Day. We are a charity who offers every child and young person the opportunity to read and love books by offering you the chance to have a book of your own. To find out more, as well as oodles of fun activities and reading recommendations to continue your reading journey, visit worldbookday.com

  World Book Day in the UK and Ireland is made possible by generous sponsorship from National Book Tokens, participating publishers, booksellers, authors and illustrators. The £1 book tokens are a gift from your local Bookseller.

  World Book Day works in partnership with a number of charities, all of whom are working to encourage a love of reading for pleasure.

  The National Literacy Trust is an independent charity that encourages children to enjoy reading. Just 10 minutes of reading every day can make a big difference to how well you do at school and to how successful you could be in life. literacytrust.org.uk

  The Reading Agency inspires people of all ages and backgrounds to read for pleasure and empowerment. They run the Summer Reading Challenge in partnership with libraries, as well as supporting reading groups in schools and libraries all year round. Find out more and join your local library. summerreadingchallenge.org.uk

  World Book Day also facilitates fundraising for:

  Book Aid International, an international book donation and library development charity. Every year, they provide one million books to libraries and schools in communities where children would otherwise have little or no opportunity to read. bookaid.org

  Read for Good, who motivate children in schools to read for fun through its sponsored read, which thousands of schools run on World Book Day and throughout the year. The money raised provides new books and resident storytellers in all of the UK’s children’s hospitals. readforgood.org

  *€1.50 in Ireland

  The End.

  OK, I know that’s not how stories usually start, but this is my story about time travel, and the thing about time travel is that not everything happens in the right order. The end can be at the beginning, the middle can be at the end, and the beginning … well, sometimes that just happens randomly in the second paragraph.

  ‘Izzy, close your mouth when you’re eating!’ Mum nagged at me from across the dinner table as a lump of tasteless broccoli slopped out of my open mouth.

  ‘Yuck!’ I winced. ‘It tastes like tree poop!’

  ‘I know you don’t like it, Iz, but if you want ice cream for pudding, then you have to eat your greens,’ Dad said in his best negotiating voice.

  The thing is, I knew I would get ice cream for pudding whether I ate my greens or not.

  It was non-negotiable.

  You see, it was like this: once a day, no matter what, I ate ice cream. I’m not talking about that fancy-pants Italian gelato stuff that everyone bangs on about, and not that non-dairy, sugar-free, zero-calorie slush either. I’m talking about good old-fashioned swirly vanilla ice cream in a cone with a chocolatey Flake shoved in the top. If it comes with sprinkles and fudge sauce too, then that’s even better.

  That’s the kind of ice cream I ate every day. Without fail. It was a promise I’d made to myself last year.

  Why?

  Well, I guess that takes me nicely to the next part of my story.

  My grandpa was an ice-cream man.

  Yep – Gramps had one of those big ice-cream vans. I know, it’s cool, isn’t it? His was as blue as the sky, and it matched his kind, twinkly eyes perfectly. For years and years Gramps had driven around our village with that magical music chiming out of the speakers on top.

  My earliest memory is of being in his van on a hot summer’s day, sitting on the cold freezer, enjoying an ice cream while Gramps served the queue of kids waiting outside. He made serving ice cream look like a dance. He’d flip the cone out of the box and roll it up his arm like a basketball before spinning it round on the tip of his finger. Then he’d flip down the handle on the ice-cream machine and, while the cone was still spinning, he’d pour out the twirliest, twistiest, yummiest ice cream, and everyone in the queue would applaud.

  He’d serve ice cream all day until the little flashing light on the freezer turned from green to red – full to empty! When that happened, he’d sigh and say, ‘All gone for today!’ and we’d drive home.

  That was a long time ago, though, before Gramps fell ill – too ill to work any more. I remember the day Dad parked the ice-cream van in our garage at the bottom of the garden, and the way a little teardrop fell from Gramps’s eye as the engine cut out for the last time.

  It broke Gramps’s heart to see his pride and joy sitting in the shadows between the lawnmower and the ladder, gathering dust. He asked me about it every time I went to visit him in hospital. I remember walking into his room for the first time with a big blue balloon to cheer him up. ‘Blue, just like my van,’ he’d said, beaming. Every day after that, I would walk straight there after school, arriving as Nurse Rita wheeled in his dinner tray.

  ‘What’s for pudding, Izzy?’ he’d always say, propping himself up on the pillow.

  ‘Ice cream!’ I would cheer, spotting two little tubs of delicious, swirly ice cream. Nurse Rita would always sneak an extra one on to Gramps’s dinner tray for me each night. It must have been against hospital regulations, as she would scratch her head and act surprised, saying something like ‘How on earth did that get there?’ or ‘I don’t know where that came from!’

  Even though Gramps was poorly, those hospital visits were the best. I’d sit on the end of his hospital bed, eating ice cream and listening to his stories – and he always told THE BEST stories. They were all about the places he’d been and the things he’d seen. There was the story about the time he’d climbed a tree to avoid being eaten by a hungry T. Rex and had to distract it by feeding it Fab lollies while he slid down its scaly tail to escape. Or the one about the time he’d accidentally reversed the ice-cream van into a pyramid in ancient Egypt and had to give Tutankhamun a free 99 Flake to say sorry.

  I knew his stories were all made up and silly, but they were great fun, and his twinkly blue eyes twinkled even more when he told them, and that made me happy.

  There was only one night I didn’t get to see him when he was in the hospital.

  The night of my stupid school orchestra concert.

  I played the cymbals – you know, the two ridiculous big metal plates you smash together. I only had to remember to smash them together once, at the end of ‘Bare Necessities’, but, as the eyes of a hundred proud parents watched us, all I could think about was poor Gramps eating his ice cream alone. I was so distracted that I missed the cue and forgot to smash the cymbals anyway.

  By the time the concert was finished, visiting hours at the hospital were over.

  ‘Can’t we pop in quickly?’ I’d pleaded. ‘Just for a little ice cream?’

  ‘Not tonight, Iz,’ Mum had said.

 
‘Just a single scoop?’

  ‘You’ll see Gramps tomorrow.’

  But that was the night we got the call.

  I wouldn’t be seeing Gramps tomorrow. Or the next day.

  Gramps had died.

  From that night on I promised myself I would eat ice cream every single day. No matter what.

  For Gramps.

  ‘Izzy …’ said Dad, coming out of the kitchen as I forced down my last piece of broccoli. ‘I’m sorry, but it looks like there’s no ice cream tonight.’

  ‘What?!’ I gasped.

  ‘I’m sorry, Iz – it’s the freezer. It’s packed up and everything’s melted!’ Dad explained. He sounded nervous, and I could tell he knew that this was going to go down about as well as Mum’s broccoli.

  ‘B-but … but …’ I stuttered as he stepped out of the way, revealing the stupid broken freezer with its stupid door wide open and its should-be-frozen contents oozing on to the floor. I was trying hard to think of a way to unmelt the puddle of creamy goodness that was forming at the foot of the busted freezer, but then I remembered that I’m a ten-year-old girl, not a frozen food scientist!

  ‘It’s still ice cream – it can be saved!’ I cried, lunging for the cutlery drawer and snatching a spoon before diving head first towards the river of vanilla flowing through the cracks of the kitchen tiles.

  ‘Stop her, Peter!’ Mum screeched, and Dad leapt towards me with his arms outstretched.

  There was no time for spoons.

  I needed ice cream.

  Mum shouted as I began slurping up as much melted ice cream as I could before Dad hoisted me in the air.

  ‘But … I … must … have … ice … cream!’ I struggled. ‘For … Gramps!’

  Silence.

  Dad put me down gently, and Mum came over with that awful look of worry on her face. Actually, she’d had that look on her face every day since Gramps … well, you know … but right then, at that moment, it was even more that look.

  ‘Iz, you don’t have to have ice cream every night,’ Mum said, wiping the melted ice cream off my chin.

  ‘But what if I forget him?’ I said.

  Mum looked at Dad.

  Dad looked at his watch.

  They both sighed.

  ‘Well, the corner shop might still be open. If we hurry, we might just make it … Izzy?’

  I was already out of the front door.

  ‘Come on!’ I said, begging Dad to walk faster as I ran down the hill from our house towards the corner shop.

  ‘Blimey, Izzy! I’m going as fast as I can!’ Dad puffed, running after me and trying not to stumble.

  The funny thing about the corner shop in our village was that it wasn’t actually on the corner. It was in the middle of the street, between a post office and a house, but ‘middle shop’ didn’t sound right, so everyone called it the corner shop anyway.

  The sun was beginning to set, its light slowly fading. The street lamps suddenly flicked on and my heart sank. I could see the corner shop and the sign hanging behind the glass door.

  CLOSED!

  It was over. That night was going to be the first ice-cream-less night.

  ‘Never mind, Iz,’ Dad said, rubbing my back as we trudged home. ‘There was always going to be one night when you couldn’t have ice cream.’

  I went straight to bed with an empty stomach and a head full of thoughts.

  Actually, it was full of only one thought – Gramps.

  I thought about his stories. I thought about his laugh. I thought about his twinkling blue eyes … or were they green? No, blue, definitely blue.

  My heart skipped a beat. All of a sudden I couldn’t remember what colour his eyes were. I mean, I knew they were blue, just like his ice-cream van, but I couldn’t see them as clearly as usual in my mind. It was like I was starting to forget!

  I sprang out of bed in an instant. I needed to see something. Something that would put the colour back into my memories of Gramps’s eyes.

  I needed to see his van!

  Creeping out of the house was easy enough. Dad snored so loudly it was like Darth Vader was sleeping in the next room, and Mum wore earplugs to block out the noise. With them both fast asleep, I slipped into my clothes from earlier and walked briskly down to the kitchen. I paused at the back door and checked that no one was watching. I knew there wasn’t anybody, but when you’re up to no good in the middle of the night it’s always wise to check over your shoulder.

  Dad suddenly let out a loud pig-like snort from upstairs and I quickly used it to drown out the sound of me cracking the back door open.

  I was outside. So far, so good!

  It was a warm summer’s night. There were insects buzzing around the bird feeder beneath the walnut tree, and my wooden swing, which hung from its thickest branch, swung gently in the breeze.

  A bat suddenly flitted past, snatching a moth mid-flight right in front of my face at the exact same moment that the village clock chimed midnight.

  The bat-and-bell combo scared me so much that a little yelp blurted out of my mouth!

  Izzy, be quiet, you twerp! I thought to myself. You’ll wake someone up.

  I glanced at Mum and Dad’s bedroom window, which overlooked the garden. It was a hot night and the window was open, which was meant to let some air in but seemed mostly to let Dad’s snores out.

  Dad’s snores … They’d stopped!

  You’re a goner! I thought. You’re going to be caught in the garden in the middle of the night. You’re such a –

  Then my thought was interrupted by the sound of the loo flushing, and a few minutes later Dad’s snores returned.

  I took a breath and kept moving towards the garage at the end of the garden. All I could think of were Gramps’s eyes. I was desperately trying to picture exactly what shade of blue they were, but I kept seeing swimming-pool blue, or light-sabre blue, or Cookie Monster blue. Gramps’s eyes weren’t any of those blues. I had to see his ice-cream van. I had to colour in my memory.

  I stepped on the pebbled slabs that were dotted across the lawn like stepping stones. I could see the garage. I was halfway there when …

  The sprinkler system sprang into life, showering the grass – and me – with water that was even colder than ice cream!

  I ran through it, heading for the largest plant pot at the edge of the lawn. I lifted it and revealed the key for the garage doors. I ran over, unlocked the doors and pulled them open before jumping inside, away from the cold spray of the sprinkler.

  I was out of breath and everything was so quiet all of a sudden that I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I felt like a criminal about to steal a car.

  It’s your own garage! I told myself.

  Yeah, you’re right, I thought back.

  Of course I am, I agreed.

  I closed the doors behind me and flicked the light on. The harsh fluorescent tubes blinded me for a moment, but my eyes quickly adjusted, and there it was – Gramps’s glorious ice-cream van, covered in dust.

  I reached out my hand and slid my palm over its curved surface. I brushed through the dull dust, painting a road of fresh, shiny blue in the cool metal.

  The blue I was looking for!

  I took it in, then closed my eyes and thought of Gramps. It had worked! His eyes were all blue and twinkly again in my memory.

  I smiled. I’d got what I came for.

  I was about to leave when I spotted something that stopped me in my tracks.

  The door to the ice-cream van.

  It was open.

  How could the door be open?

  ‘Hello?’ I called, but it came out as more of a squeak. Not because I was scared. I was just … erm, OK, well, maybe I was a little scared!

  There was no answer. I shrugged it off and started to leave, but something made me stop as my hand was about to switch the light off.

  My tummy rumbled!

  Now, I’m not sure if all tummies speak the same language. I’m not saying that I would be able t
o understand what your tummy was saying if it rumbled at me, but I could certainly tell what mine was saying.

  Ice cream!

  I placed my hand on my tummy. ‘I’m sorry, not tonight,’ I said.

  I raised my hand once more to turn off the light when …

  ICE CREAM! my tummy moaned again.

  I was about to ignore it, but then my brain decided to chip in on the conversation.

  What about the van? Brain said.

  ‘What about it?’ I replied.

  There could be ice cream in it!

  Yes, great idea, Brain! Tummy chimed.

  ‘Of course there won’t be!’ I said.

  But how can you be sure? asked Brain.

  Worth a look if you ask me, added Tummy.

  I sighed and turned to look at the suspicious open door.

  Let’s vote! chimed Brain. All those in favour of checking inside Gramps’s van for leftover ice cream say, ‘Aye!’

  Aye! rumbled Tummy.

  Aye! voted Brain.

  ‘Well, looks like I’m outvoted!’ I huffed.

  I crept up to the open door on the driver’s side and quickly peered inside. There was no one there.

  That’s when I spotted them. The keys!

  The keys to the ice-cream van were dangling from the ignition, swinging slightly as though someone had just switched the engine off.

  Goosebumps popped up all down my arms. This was getting a little freaky! I wanted to run back to the house, but I was stopped by something.

  Something amazing.

  Something not possible.

  A little light was blinking at the back of the van. It was the light on the ice-cream machine … and it was green.

  The ice-cream machine was full!

  Told you so, said Brain.

  ‘Not now – I’m thinking!’ I told it firmly.

  There’s ice cream to be eaten! rumbled Tummy.

  I couldn’t tell you exactly what happened next. They say that sharks can smell a drop of blood in the ocean from three miles away. Well, it was as if I was a shark – and vanilla ice cream was my prey. Before I knew it I had jumped over the driver’s seat, laid my head down underneath the pump of the ice-cream machine and pulled the handle!