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

by Jenny Oliver

‘Excuse me, sir…’ The policeman held Wilf’s arm as he tried to walk over to where Holly was starting to go wobbly by the side of the van.

  ‘She’s clearly in trouble.’

  ‘My colleague will check on your wife.’

  ‘She’s not my wife. Holly! Just let go of me. She’s pregnant. Holly? Go see if she’s OK. For god’s sake, do something.’

  Holly woke up with her head resting on the knees of the policewoman. Tiny and elfin, she smiled down at Holly and offered her a sip of water.

  Holly struggled to sit up. Then, taking the bottle with a smile and a ‘merci’, took a great gulp and tipped some into her hand and rubbed it on her face.

  The woman put her hand on her shoulder to steady her.

  She heard Wilf shouting something and looked over to see him being bundled into the back of the police car along with the van driver. ‘Where are they taking him?’ she asked.

  The policewoman shook her head and gave Holly a little smile. ‘They are a little hot,’ she said, pointing to her head, ‘We take them to cool off.’

  ‘Are you arresting him?’ Holly tried to stand up but lost her balance, and the woman tried to encourage her to stay sitting.

  ‘Mais non, just a little time to sit. Oui?’ she said.

  Holly nodded, quite pleased it was completely out of her hands. ‘Oui.’

  ‘Holly?’ Wilf shouted.

  ‘Yeah?’ she shouted back.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, still mad with him for his driving, for his stupidness.

  ‘Is the baby OK?’

  ‘Yeah the baby’s OK,’ she shouted back, softening slightly when she saw him leaning out the car, his cuffed hands resting on the wound-down window.

  The siren started.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

  ‘Yes!’ she shouted. Shaking her head at the policewoman who rolled her lips into a little smile.

  ‘Are you going to come to the station?’ he shouted over the siren, but the car pulled away before she could reply.

  ‘This van, it is very exciting, n’est pas?’ the policewoman said.

  ‘C’est pour la glace,’ Holly replied.

  The policewoman laughed, ‘Mais oui. Camionette des glaces,’ she said and Holly repeated it as she strolled over to look at the little stickers of ice creams on the window and look up at the forget-me-not patterned ceiling of the van. ‘C'est tres tres jolie, very pretty,’ she said, then asked, ‘We go and get your husband?’

  ‘Oui,’ Holly said. ‘But, just for the record, he’s most definitely not my husband.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  They kept Wilf in the cell for four hours. When Holly walked into the reception area, she could just see him out the back, sitting on a metal bench, slouched against the wall, his bare feet crossed in front of him. The white van driver was sitting on the bench opposite, his elbows on his knees, his head bent forward. It was boiling in the police station. Sticky and humid, with flies buzzing near electric zappers.

  She saw Wilf look up as she came in, trying to catch her eye through the bars, but she didn’t look at him, instead she waited for the policewoman to come back and tell her how long she thought they’d be keeping him in and then left. She walked across the road in the scorching heat towards an Intermarche supermarket.

  Ambling up and down the aisles looking at pots of duck confit, French cereal packets, big displays of fresh fish and shiny fresh vegetables, she tried to imagine what Enid would have done in her situation.

  She knew she’d have been furious with Wilf. She’d have strung him up for putting added stress on Holly and the baby and she’d be delighted that he’d been thrown in jail, but she’d think that punishment enough. She’d look at the reason behind it all. The fear. She’d make Holly acknowledge that she was scared too and had had longer to get used to it. She would then probably tell Holly that it was time for her to accept it as well. To accept the baby and enjoy it. She’d tell her to turn and face it, head on.

  Holly walked away from the vegetable section and found herself searching out the baby aisle. Soon she was standing, perplexed, in front of rows of bottles, bowls, Sophie the Giraffe chew toys, rattles, Calpol, nappies, wipes… It was endless and all a foray into the unknown. On the peg closest to her was a cream comforter blanket with the head of an elephant. It looked so soft and fluffy that her fingers just reached forward to touch it on instinct.

  Holding it in her hands she looked down at her tummy and said, ‘Do you want one of these? I don’t know if you’ll want one of these but it’s pretty soft. I think I’d have liked one of these.’

  At the till a middle-aged woman scanned the comforter and glanced at Holly, looking at her surreptitiously to see if it was for her own baby. She raised her brows at her with an expectant smile and Holly did a tiny nod and smiled back. The woman put her hand on her chest and gave her a look as if to say how lucky she was. Holly kept her smile in place, paying, then quickly shoving the comforter and a bottle of water into her bag.

  In the car park she sat on a bench under a walnut tree and took the elephant comforter out of her bag and looked at it. Then she held it down to her tummy and said, ‘So I got it for you. You don’t have to like it. You can have a different one if you don’t like it.’ She stroked the velvety fur of the toy. ‘You can have whatever you like. Within reason. I don’t want you to be spoilt. But I will do whatever it takes to make sure you’re happy.’ She swallowed. ‘I promise.’

  She looked up and out across the car park, her eyes wide to dry out the moisture. ‘That was probably our first proper conversation, wasn’t it?’ she said, her hand on her tiny bump, looking out at the sun beaming off the shiny cars. ‘I’m Holly, by the way. I’m your mum.’

  ‘OK, he can go,’ the policeman who had taken Wilf in came over as Holly walked back into the station. ‘But you tell him not to drive so fast and crazy. Oui?’

  Holly nodded.

  She saw Wilf and the white van man shake hands as the door was unlocked and they were both free to go.

  ‘Au revoir,’ Wilf said.

  The guy nodded and replied, ‘Good luck with the bébé.’

  Wilf waved a hand in goodbye and thanked the policeman and then walked with Holly out of the station and into the sunshine before saying, ‘I was a prat. I’m sorry. I know you hate me. It was all my fault. Please forgive me. I’m sorry.’

  Holly stopped and looked at him without replying.

  ‘I am genuinely really sorry. I’ve had a long chat with Pierre over there, the van driver, about fatherhood. It was very enlightening. I admit I’m not prepared. You were right, it hadn’t sunk in. I’m getting there though. Four hours is quite a long time to think,’ he laughed. ‘I’m getting there. I’m sorry.’

  Holly nodded. ‘It’s OK,’ she said, ‘I think I’m only just getting there myself. I think you’ve done your time.’

  ‘I was hoping you’d say that. I had to pee into a bucket,’ he laughed, then said, ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

  ‘Yeah I’m fine,’ she said, shielding her eyes with her hand as they walked to the van.

  ‘I was really worried about you,’ Wilf said as he opened the passenger-side door for her. ‘It was horrible seeing you slumping to the floor. I thought… I don’t know. I thought…’ He paused, bit his lip and looked at her as she strapped herself in and looked back at him, amusement on her face.

  ‘I’m fine, Wilf.’

  He nodded, one hand holding onto the door, the other resting on the back of the passenger seat behind her. ‘I suppose I thought I would only be worried about the baby,’ he said. ‘But actually I was…’ He glanced back at the station. ‘I was really worried about you too.’

  Holly tilted her head and studied him, his eyes looked like they might be welling up.

  ‘And…’ He paused, ‘When the guy wouldn’t let me come over, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so helpless. It was so annoying.’ He huffed a laugh.

  She didn�
�t know what to say, just felt him really looking at her. Then, before she realised what was happening, he stepped up onto the footplate so he was level with her in the cab and bent down and kissed her. Full-square on the mouth. Warm and hard and intoxicating. It buzzed her back to their first kiss behind the festival marquee. Illicit and unexpected. He took his hand from the door of the van and put it on her cheek, his fingers stroking the softness of her skin, cupping the back of her neck, threading through her hair. He smelt like sweat and prison cell and sunshine. Then she heard someone wolf-whistle and snapped back, embarrassed.

  ‘We’re in a police station car park,’ she whispered.

  Wilf straightened up and looked around, ‘So we are,’ he said with a grin and then, jumping down from the cab, went round to the driver’s side and they got the hell out of there.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The police station debacle had pushed them into the late afternoon. The sky, which had been like a blue sheet all day, was beginning to pepper with splodgy white clouds that threw shadows on the shimmering road ahead of them.

  Holly wasn’t thinking about anything other than the kiss.

  Neither of them had mentioned it since.

  In her head she was alternating between the kiss and the look on his face when he’d said that he had been worried about her.

  She was replaying it over and over, each time trying to nail the exact glint in his eyes, the exact tilt of his head, the exact way his hair had fallen forward over his forehead.

  ‘You alright?’ he said and Holly pulled herself back to the present.

  ‘Yeah fine, absolutely fine.’

  Wilf’s mouth curled down as he nodded. ‘Good.’

  ‘Good,’ she repeated and they carried on in silence.

  She wondered if they would mention the kiss at any point.

  They should probably put it behind them because it just complicated everything.

  There was a baby to think about.

  ‘About earlier,’ Wilf said, taking her by surprise.

  ‘There’s a baby to think about,’ she said, the words slicing through the humid air like a hatchet. Unnecessary, untake-backable, not what she meant, in completely the wrong tone. She winced, tried to turn it back by saying, ‘I don’t mean…’

  ‘No, I’m totally on-board.’ Wilf nodded, taking a swig of the water she’d got from the supermarket. ‘We’ve just got to do whatever is best for the baby,’ he said, ‘How is the baby?’ he asked as they sped past wide green fields and forests, the lines of trees peppered with sunlight.

  ‘Fine, I think. You OK, baby?’ she asked.

  ‘Do you think we should name it?’

  ‘Not really.’

  Wilf shrugged then, changing the subject, asked, ‘Have we got anything to eat?’

  Holly bent forward and found the bag Annie had given her the day before. ‘Cherry pie? And cold coffee.’

  ‘That’d do. I definitely think we should give it a name. Like Algenon.’

  Holly snorted. ‘There is no way I’m calling it Algenon.’

  ‘Algenon was my father’s name,’ Wilf said, giving her a look like she should have thought before she criticised.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No. But it could have been. What about Frank?’

  ‘I think of Frank Butcher from Eastenders.’

  ‘I’ve never seen Eastenders.’

  Holly unscrewed the flask and poured a cup of cold coffee for Wilf. ‘You really are from another planet.’

  He laughed and they drove on for a bit in silence. He sipped the coffee and intermittently scooped cherry pie into his mouth. Holly looked out the window at the trees and the lush grass, the cows in the fields and the ramshackle farmhouses.

  ‘What was the Olympics like?’ Wilf asked, taking her by surprise.

  ‘It was brilliant. I loved it,’ she said. ‘Every minute of it. I loved that my dad saw it, and Enid was there. I think that meant everything. I think it was more nail-biting for them than it was for me,’ she laughed.

  ‘Did your mum go?’

  Holly shook her head. ‘I asked her not to. I feel bad about it now, actually. It was stupid. I thought that she’d put me off and I didn’t want her there with my dad.’ She looked down at the cool bag in her lap, at the slice of cherry pie on a paper plate. ‘I'm also worried I did it out of spite,’ she said, cringing a bit, and then glanced at Wilf to see his expression.

  He took a sip of coffee and then shrugged one shoulder. ‘I think that’s OK. It’s not brilliant, but it’s understandable.’

  ‘It would have been a nightmare if she’d come. But, you know, really stupidly I just wanted her to come anyway. Even though I told her not to. That’s what was really stupid.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s stupid,’ he said, looking over at her and making her blush under his scrutiny.

  ‘Can you keep your eyes on the road?’

  Wilf looked back to the road, a grin on his face, then said, while putting a huge forkful of cherry pie in his mouth, ‘We’re passing the historic town of Lyon. Lyon’s quite good. Gives it some sense of place.’

  ‘Are we talking about the baby?’ Holly frowned. ‘I’m not calling my baby Lyon.’

  ‘Not the baby, the bump. The baby will be Wilfred Jnr. Whatever the sex.’ Wilf turned to look at her again and when she caught his eye he smiled and winked, his eyes crinkling, a wicked glint in the green.

  ‘Keep your eyes on the road,’ she said, holding in her smile, her body tingling because she was really enjoying herself and, against her better judgement, didn’t want the journey to end.

  Chapter Fifteen

  They stayed the night in Avignon. Both of them were too knackered to drive any further and Wilf was desperate to change his clothes after wearing them for two days straight and a stint in prison.

  He booked them into a swanky hotel just inside the city wall ‒ two rooms ‒ and declared that they were going shopping before dinner.

  The sun had dimmed to a more acceptable temperature and they strolled around town, pointing into the window of shops for little babies at ridiculously expensive blazers and frilly dresses. Holly bought Wilf an ice cream ‒ he had pistachio, she had cherry ‒ and they sat on a bench together watching a group of tourists taking pictures.

  When they were done Wilf said, ‘We’ve got to shop. These clothes are killing me.’

  ‘You are beginning to smell a bit!’ Holly laughed and he held his hands wide as if to say I told you so.

  They went into a couple of flash shops that made even Wilf baulk at the prices, and then they discovered the main street with a Lacoste shop where he bought a pale-blue shirt and a pair of black shorts that he put on straight away. A couple of doors up, in a little independent boutique he bought a navy polo shirt and another shirt and a pair of jeans.

  ‘Do you have a shopping problem?’ Holly asked, sitting on a leather armchair by the till, sucking on a lemon sherbet from the pot on the counter.

  Wilf laughed. ‘I just don’t ever get any time to buy anything.’

  Holly watched him pull the polo shirt off as he was walking into the changing room. His back was tanned and the muscles defined like pebbles on the beach. She wondered if he’d done it on purpose so she would see and decided he definitely had when he turned ever so slightly to see if she was looking his way. She turned away quickly so that he wouldn’t be able to tell that she was.

  ‘Do you need anything?’ he shouted from the now-closed curtain of the changing room. ‘Like for the wedding?’

  ‘I’ll be serving ice cream at the wedding,’ Holly said.

  ‘Really?’ He poked his head out the changing room and frowned. ‘That’s no fun. We can get one of the waiters to do that. You should be able to enjoy yourself.’

  ‘Wilf, I haven’t been invited to the wedding. I’m here to work.’ She shook her head like he was mad.

  ‘Well I’m inviting you. And I’ll pay for one of the staff to serve the ice cream. What are you doing
about ice cream, anyway?’

  Holly bit her lip, ‘I’m not really sure. I think we’re just going to have to buy it from the supermarket.’

  ‘Sounds like a very professional organisation you’re running,’ he said. ‘So do you need something to wear?’

  Holly thought about what she’d packed. She hadn’t planned particularly well, especially not for this heat. ‘Yeah maybe, but there’s a Hennes down the road, I’ll just pop in there.’

  ‘Do they have anything here?’

  ‘Wilf, have you seen the prices here?’

  ‘Look, Holly, I don't go shopping very often, I’ve spent the day in jail, I’ve recently discovered that I’m going to be a father, so I’m going to blow some cash. Because of me, you’ve passed out in the heat today and sat waiting in a shitty police station, I think the least I can do is buy you a bloody nice dress.’

  ‘No, you don’t have to.’ Holly shook her head, biting into the sweet, her mouth filling with sherbet.

  ‘Go!’ He pointed to the other side of the shop, ‘Go and find whatever you like. We’re not leaving here without a dress.’

  ‘Really?’ She looked unsure.

  ‘Really!’

  So Holly got up and went over to browse around the beautiful clothes hanging in the women’s section of the boutique. Luscious silks and fine filigree taffetas, sharp cotton pencil skirts, floaty shirts and dresses that looked all boho and dreamy. She took a couple of things tentatively into the changing room but they all looked dreadful. Her shape was changing. The pencil skirt had been stupid to even try. The boho stuff made her look like a tent. The scoop neck on the blouse, teemed with her growing boobs, made her look ridiculous. She stood feeling pasty and rubbish, staring at her tired reflection. The image of Wilf and his super muscle-y tanned back made her feel even worse.

  ‘Ça va?’ she heard a voice ask and peeked her head through the curtain to see a chic sales assistant hovering outside the changing room.

  ‘Ce n’est pas bon!’ Holly said, shaking her head.