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

by Jenny Oliver

  That’s pathetic, Holly.

  Holly didn’t reply, just looked at her phone.

  I didn’t mean pathetic pathetic, Holly, just silly. Why would he go off with a model when he has you?

  Because I’m too normal.

  No one’s normal.

  Holly stared at her phone again.

  I think you need to trust your instinct a bit more, Hol.

  I did your mum’s ski slope mindfulness thing. It’s good.

  I KNOW! Btw, River WAS flirting with Hannah. Silly sod. Think he got overwhelmed by the boobs. Operation desperately-trying-to-make-up-with-Clemmie is in process. He’s mooning about the cafe being a more useless waiter than normal.

  Young love. Path never runs smooth. I have to go, we’ve arrived at the restaurant. Pretty impressive.

  I’m jealous. I’ll pass your words of wisdom onto River! And will search for diary. Be nice to Wilf. You need to start believing that you’re a very likeable person. A x

  Chapter Twenty

  The restaurant owned by Wilf and Jean-Paul was a stunner. Le Bouc Qui Fume, or The Smoking Goat. The original name before they owned it had been kept and the sign taken down and the bronze lettering polished. Part of a row of old stone buildings that overlooked the giant turquoise reservoir, it had a tiled awning edged with lightbulbs, and a bare-brick façade. The two tall thin windows were painted dark green to match the door, which was panelled with stained-glass. Outside were three cafe tables and chairs, and a blackboard was hooked onto the dark-green shutters with the simple menu scrawled in chalk.

  Inside it was all panelled in dark wood with bare lightbulbs strung at intervals over the bar and every table. The chairs were simple dark wood, as were the tables, and the bar was lined with a lacquered wood veneer. At the back, a wrought-iron staircase twisted up to a small landing with an office and toilets. It was simple, understated and stunning. Holly was almost speechless. It felt like a cross between the old rowing clubhouse and a speakeasy. Some men were playing chess in the corner and a couple of regulars were sitting at the bar, eating steak and salad and sharing a carafe of red wine. They raised their hands in greeting to Jean-Paul when they arrived.

  Emily and Alfonso were already seated when they got there and had chosen a table in the window, Emily complaining that it was too hot to sit in the sun when Diana pointed to the vacant table outside. Holly was quite relieved. Inside it was cool and smelt of wood smoke. From the window seat she could look out over the cobbled road to the vast expanse of turquoise ‒ little sailing boats tacking back and forth, swimmers relaxing on lilos, rowers boating from the club on the far side, and canoeists paddling towards the gorge where the mountain narrowed.

  She found herself checking every couple of minutes for Wilf. Wanting to see him after her chat with his mum in the car and Annie’s text. She was starting to think that maybe they could at least discuss it all a bit more. That there was perhaps no need to be quite so black and white.

  The waiter came over to take their drinks order and they all had citron pressé, except Jean-Paul who ordered a brandy. ‘I have to settle my nerves,’ he said, ‘I’m getting married tomorrow.’

  Holly watched as he took hold of Diana’s hand under the table and gave it a squeeze.

  Emily sat forward, her chin in her hands, ‘I just don’t know which dress to wear. Mum said it had to be cream but it’s hard to find a cream dress that you like when it’s been stipulated. I think other times I’ve liked a cream dress, just not this season. So I bought three and I think they’re all awful. Holly, what are you wearing?’

  She thought back to the shopping trip, to the lovely dinner in Avignon, to Wilf appearing at her door and her closing it without inviting him in. ‘I have a grey dress,’ she said, distracted because Wilf had just leant his bike up against the lamppost outside and was taking his cap off. He wiped his forehead of sweat, and then pulled it back on again.

  When he came into the bar he was greeted with waves from the staff and waiters, and went to shake hands and have a quick chat before coming to join their table. He grabbed a chair from the table next to them and as he was deciding where to put it, Holly did an almost imperceptible shuffle to her left, making the space just wide enough for a chair.

  Wilf seemed to pause for just a moment too long and she thought he’d go over to the bigger space next to Alfonso, but then she heard the scrape of wooden chair on the herringbone parquet next to her and she shuffled over more obviously to give him enough room. Emily and Alfonso moved round as well to make more space and then started a chat about the running order for the wedding the next day.

  ‘Hi,’ Holly said, turning to look at Wilf, his cheeks tinged pink from the cycle ride and his breath coming in short bursts.

  He leant forward, poured himself a glass of water from the carafe and downed it before turning her way and saying, ‘Hi’ back.

  ‘Are you still sulking?’ Holly asked with a small smile.

  Wilf poured another glass of water, ‘A little bit.’

  Holly sniggered.

  ‘I don’t like to leave a sulk too quickly,’ he said, downing the second glass and then ordering a beer from the waiter.

  ‘I can relate to that,’ Holly said, sipping the eye-waveringly bitter citron pressé.

  It was Wilf’s turn to smile and he lounged back in his chair and looked at her, ‘You can join me in it, if you like.’

  ‘Maybe I will,’ said Holly, half-smiling, her arm brushing his as she leant forward to get the menu from the centre of the table.

  ‘So, Wilf, do you know the plan of action tomorrow?’ Emily said.

  ‘No.’ He shook his head, ‘I have absolutely no idea, just tell me where to be and I’ll be there. Have the steak,’ he said to Holly, ‘It’s amazing. Best thing on the menu. We found this brilliant supplier from the village over the other side of the lake. He’s got this tiny mountain farm, just the nicest place, isn’t it?’ he said, nodding towards Jean-Paul.

  ‘Ah, it is perfect. We have cut the menu, we focus it and already business here, it doubles.’

  ‘So I’m going to go with Mum in the wedding car to the church,’ Emily said, completely ignoring the restaurant chat because she’d heard it all before. ‘Wilf, you need to already be there, usher everyone to their seats, and then you’ll walk Mum down the aisle, yeah?’

  ‘You want me to walk you down the aisle?’ Wilf said, surprised. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to do it, but you’ve never wanted me to do it before.’

  His mum laughed, seemingly at the fact that sentence existed, referencing all the marriages of her past. ‘Yes, because I feel like this one is different. It’s real.’ Her voice hitched slightly as she talked. ‘I would like my son next to me. And my daughter actually.’

  ‘Well the aisle’s not big enough,’ Emily said, matter of fact, ‘And I can’t walk in my shoes, so I will just be standing and looking pretty.’

  Alfonso snorted a laugh into his pressé.

  ‘Then what do we do?’ Wilf asked. ‘Go back to the house?’

  Diana nodded. ‘Yes, they’re putting the marquee up in the morning so we’ll be there for drinks, dinner and dancing. It’s going to be lovely. I’m so pleased you’re all here. And you, Holly, it’s lovely. I love having my family round me. She reached over and patted Wilf and Emily’s hands.

  Jean-Paul took a sip of his brandy and said, ‘And when Wilf is living here it will be even better, n’est pas?’

  The whole table was silent.

  Jean-Paul raised his huge eyebrows, and muttered, ‘I have said something wrong?’ as Diana had clearly kicked him under the table.

  Holly frowned, ‘You’re moving here?’

  Wilf winced.

  Emily took the menu off Holly and said, ‘Not for a while, is it?’ as if trying to smooth over everything.

  Holly tipped her head, confused, ‘I didn’t know you were planning to live here.’

  Wilf leant his elbows on the table, then he bit down on his thumbn
ail and nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he said, quietly.

  ‘Why did you keep it a secret?’

  ‘Now I didn’t actually keep it a secret, I just maybe…’ He dipped his head from one side to the other. ‘Just maybe didn’t go into detail about the plans. There’s a lot of opportunity here for our brand.’

  ‘I thought you said it was all New York and Sydney expansion?’ Holly realised as she said it, and watched him sort of agreeing, that she didn’t know him at all.

  ‘It is about Sydney and New York. We’re keeping the existing businesses but each developing our own arms of the company. Like Alfonso…’ He pointed to where Alfonso had his head buried in the menu, refusing to be any part of this bombshell. ‘He’s going to Rio for a bit. See what’s happening there, it’s a massive emerging market.’

  Holly shook her head, trying to swallow over a lump of emotion, of worry, of fear that, of course, she would be doing this baby thing on her own ‒ exactly as she had thought ‒ of anger, of frustration, of stupidity. ‘Well that really is fascinating,’ she said, cutting Wilf off and glancing away to find the waiter, calling him over with a smile when he caught her eye.

  ‘We are ready?’ the waiter asked.

  Everyone jumped at the chance to order, anything to change the subject. They all had the steak, all except Holly who had the fish pie and didn’t look at Wilf again for the rest of the meal.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  After lunch Emily and Alfonso went for a swim, laying out their towels and running carefree into the water.

  Diana and Jean-Paul had a meeting with the pâtissier a couple of doors down from the restaurant about the desserts and cake for the following day’s celebrations.

  Holly sat on a rock and watched a couple of young rowers struggling to keep their timing. Their blade-work was painful to watch.

  ‘I should have told you,’ Wilf said, coming over to sit on a rock next to her. ‘I wimped out. I should have told you. But now you know, you can think about it - France is lovely…’ He added sweeping a hand out across the view of the shimmering water and the buffeted sails of the laser dinghies.

  ‘Wilf…’ Holly turned to look at him, one brow arched and said, ‘I’m not moving to France.’

  He scrunched up his nose. ‘Fair enough.’

  They watched the terrible rowers until they crashed into the bank and Holly took a couple of steps down to help them push away. ‘Parlez vous Anglais?’ she asked and the two teenagers nodded.

  ‘You need to be more like this, with your hands…’ She did a demonstration from the bank and they both looked at her with big eyes and nodded. ‘If you do that you’ll be less…’ she made a movement to show that their wobbliness would reduce. ‘And you will get home faster,’ she smiled, nodding towards the boathouse over the other side of the reservoir.

  ‘Ah oui! Phew,’ One of them joked.

  Holly smiled and gave their blades a push so they were cast off onto the water again from where they’d got stuck on the bank.

  ‘Merci beaucoup,’ they shouted in unison and started again, really focusing on what she’d said and setting off with almost perfect balance.

  ‘Merci!’ the boy at bow shouted and Holly did a little salute, then turned back to Wilf, climbing up the rocks to where he was sitting.

  ‘See, look, you could still coach…’ He shrugged.

  ‘Don’t even think about it!’ she said. ‘Wilf, we just don’t know each other well enough.’

  Wilf rolled his eyes and did a really exaggerated sigh. ‘Of course we don’t! We’ve only just met. The whole thing is we get to know each other. That’s how friendships and relationships work. Holly, we’re stuck together now, whether you like it or not. I mean, what d’you want from me?’

  She paused for a second, bit her lip and thought about what he’d said, then said, ‘For you not to think that you’re stuck with me.’

  She smiled, did a little laugh and then, putting her hands in her pockets, started to wander away from him towards the car where her swimming costume was sitting in a hastily packed bag.

  Wilf sighed again and Holly turned so she was walking backwards and said, ‘Let’s just forget about it all for now. Your mum’s getting married tomorrow, let’s just enjoy it. Look at the lake, it’s like a swimming pool it’s so blue. Let’s maybe just go swimming with Emily and Alfonso. Like we don’t have a care in the world.’

  Wilf shook his head and was clearly about to say something more about their set-up but then he seemed to hear what she’d said and, instead of saying anything, just nodded, his face pulling into a resigned smile.

  Holly turned so she was facing away from him, heading for the car, when she suddenly felt him scoop her up and start running with her to the water.

  ‘What are you doing? Wilf, what are you doing, put me down! I’ve got all my clothes on.’

  ‘So have I,’ he said.

  ‘And my phone in my pocket.’

  He paused, ‘Chuck it out.’

  ‘Or put me down.’

  ‘You have five seconds.’

  Holly scrabbled in her pocket and threw her phone onto the pebbles.

  Next minute, they were both waist-deep in the water, fully clothed, the shock of the cool water making them gasp, Emily and Alfonso laughing, paddling over on their lilos.

  ‘You’re crazy!’ Holly shouted, slicking her hair back and flicking the water from her eyes.

  ‘There you go,’ said Wilf, lying on his back and floating away from her. ‘That’s one new thing you know about me.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  From: Annie@DandelionCafe.com

  To: HollySomers22@gmail.com

  It’s literally like I’m reading a soap opera. I refresh my emails every spare second just to see if you’ve sent another one. I even contemplated allowing Push notifications.

  Maybe you need a pro and con list? I’ll start you off:

  Pro: he’s the baby’s father.

  Con: he’s a well-known cad. (Cad. Do people say that? I’m struggling as the only other word I can come up with is playboy and that seems far too 80s)

  Pro: he’s very, very handsome.

  Con: he kissed you in the ice cream van. Oh no, silly me, that’s a pro.

  Con: he keeps very fit on that lovely polo pony of his and wears cool polo outfits that are v. sexy… Oops, there I go again, mixing up the pros and cons. LOL.

  Oh, actually, I’ve thought of a con. Jodhpurs. They’re not massively manly, are they?

  I’ve just Googled them. More like tight white trousers which, in Wilf’s case, I’ll allow.

  Send me some cons. I need convincing. CONvincing, get it?

  So, Enid’s diary. I’ve searched the cafe. Even pulled up a loose floorboard and was certain it would be there but found zilch plus a big, dead, furry tarantula the size of a house. Horrible. Martha says that she remembers the diaries but doesn’t think she could bring herself to read them. Feels like snooping. I said that surely that was the reason people wrote diaries, no? So people read them once you were dead and thought what an interesting, deep, funny person you were. What’s the point otherwise?

  She’s given me her key to the houseboat, but the plot thickens because Martha says that a woman called Jane Williams has already started sorting through the stuff for her. You prob know this, but I didn’t, so I don’t know if you do, but her and her mum lived on the boat next door and always kept an eye out for Enid. Jane’s mum though, really sadly, passed away last weekend. Martha said that it was probably a blessing because she’d been so ill for so long, but Jane’s started coming into the cafe and she didn’t look like it was a blessing. She looked exhausted and really skinny. I gave her a free slice of pie because I felt so sorry for her.

  So I need to talk to her about what she’s already sorted through, but I don’t feel that I can do it so close to such a personal tragedy. Or maybe this is exactly the time to do it, maybe she wants something that will take her mind off it? Oh god, it’s so complicated. Maybe i
t’s a sign to leave the past buried.

  I can imagine you rolling your eyes at the idea of a sign.

  I think maybe that rowing boat crashing in front of you was a sign. ‘Coach us, Holly. Learn French and coach us.’

  Hahahahahha. I’m imagining your eyes rolling again.

  Mwah,

  Annie

  PS Make sure you look amazing for the wedding. Nick some make-up from Emily because I imagine that yours is prob from Boots (so is mine, so don’t take offence) and hers will be all her own brand which is about a hundred pounds a tube of mascara. If you’re lucky she’ll give you a load free.

  PPS The whole River/ Clemmie debacle is a NIGHTMARE! How do you surround yourself with teenagers? They’re just one big ball of hormones. Clemmie was in here the other night as I was just closing, balling her eyes out. I told her that people just make mistakes sometimes. That it wasn’t a bad thing to forgive but, equally, if her instinct said otherwise, then to call it quits. She said that I sounded like the agony aunt on This Morning, which I don’t think is a compliment.

  PPPS Goss on the Robinsons from the Manor House. I didn’t know you knew them. I’ve asked around a bit for you and apparently it was all really casually done on his part and came almost out the blue for her. He told her he liked the idea of being on his own. Apparently he said it over the morning papers ‒ just glanced up from the Sunday Times financial section. But that’s prob been embellished as word spread. He says she can either buy him out or the house has to go on the market, pronto. Of course she doesn’t have that kind of money so the For Sale sign is up. Fancy buying a manor house?

  PPPPS About the allotment. It’s not as healthy as it was when you left. We had some quite warm weather and I accidentally might have forgotten to water it. Martha is very angry. Says that it was Enid’s pride and joy and I’ve let her down. Eek. Felt awful. You may have to come home just to perk up the sunflowers.