The Heavenly Italian Ice Cream Shop (12 page)

Later that day, Matteo took Bella for a walk around the square while Anna started getting the shop ready. She raised the shutters and cleaned the slightly grimy windows with a bucket of soapy water. At least this was something she could manage on her own. She’d spent the morning trying to arrange an order with their supplier, her broken Italian meeting with his broken English, until the two of them had ended up thoroughly confused. Frustrated and disappointed, she’d had to call Matteo and get him to return from the supermarket to translate. It pained her to have to rely on him when she was used to placing orders herself in the UK. She was distracted from her task by a friendly male voice.

‘
Benvenuta!
’ it intoned loudly. Anna turned at the sound, and saw a grey-haired man in a smart suit approaching the shop. ‘Welcome,’ the man said. ‘My name is Luigi.’

‘Anna,’ she said, holding up her soapy hands apologetically.

He laughed. ‘I am your new neighbour here in the square.’ She was relieved to hear his English, a little stilted but far better than she would manage in Italian.

‘Of course, the restaurant. I see!’ Anna said, recalling the crowds of lively customers she’d seen the previous evening. ‘I saw how busy it was last night.’

‘Forty years I have been running it, and it’s like that every night. I am getting old now but I think they’ll have to carry me out of there.’ He laughed.

‘You and your family come from England?’

‘I do. Matteo’s from Siena, and we met in Florence. Our daughter is a bit of both.’

‘Well, it is always a pleasure to see young people starting here in the square. They were a good couple, the people who used to run this gelateria, and people here were fond of them. But I think what they really wanted was to retire. Now it’s your time.’

‘Thanks. We have a week to get everything in order, but then we’ll be open next Saturday. Will you come?’

‘Of course,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘I would not miss it.’

‘Great,’ Anna said. ‘We’ll see you then.’

After lunch, Anna turned her attention to testing out the new menu that she and Matteo had just finalised. She tasted the strawberry sorbet on a small silver spoon – it was light and sweet, bursting with flavour. Absolutely delicious. It had been simple to make. She’d adapted a basic recipe, but there was something about the fruit here in Italy: it was tasty and rich from days soaking up the sun. She and Matteo had spent over an hour at the local fruit market that morning, picking up the ripest fruit and fresh mint to experiment with as they finalised their menu.

Matteo put his head round the door of the kitchen. ‘Ooh, that looks good,’ he said. ‘Do you need a second opinion?’

‘Of course,’ Anna laughed. ‘I’ve been testing this one pretty extensively actually. What do you think?’

He took a spoonful. ‘It’s good. But I think it needs a little something else. Texture. Could you put more chunks of fruit into it?’

Anna mulled it over. Perhaps it
was
a little too smooth. ‘I’ll try that. I’m also thinking it’s all a bit healthy at the moment, not nearly indulgent enough – so I’m going to make up some more chocolate-dipped waffle cones to serve it in.’

‘Perfect.’

‘How are things going out there?’

‘OK, the furniture we bought looks great outside. We’ve got room for four tables, and then people can always sit on the edge of the fountain when those are full. Seems like kids like playing around there.’

Anna peeked out into the restaurant. The pictures she and Matteo had brought over were up on the walls, and it was starting to feel as if it was really their place. ‘I’m excited, Matteo. It feels good, doesn’t it? Being here.’

‘Vivien’s will always be special – the first place we worked together. But that place was yours and Imogen’s, and my family’s shop is my family’s. This one, this is all ours.’

‘Let’s take some time out this Sunday,’ Anna said. ‘Everything’s shut then, anyway. We could go out as a family. Rent a car and drive down the coast.’

‘I’d like that,’ Matteo said. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She curled in towards him and kissed him gently on the mouth.

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.

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.

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.