The Ice Cream Girls (51 page)

If you aren’t in an abusive situation can I gently nudge you to
become more aware that maybe someone you care about is in
such a relationship? That’s all, a gentle nudge. Oh, and a little
advice that says that if you suspect someone you care about is in
a dangerous situation, try to offer non-judgemental support
whatever they decide to do. Because if they think they have
someone to rely on who won’t condemn or patronise them,
they may find the steps to freedom all the more easy to take.

So, that’s what this book,
The Ice Cream Girls
, is about. Hope
for the future, and hope for our ability to constantly affect positive
change in the world.

I hope you enjoyed it and that it touched you in some way.

Dorothy Koomson, 2010

reading group questions

These questions might help get a reading group discussion on
The Ice Cream Girls
started. Warning: contains possible spoilers!

1. Who was your favourite character? Why?

2. Who was your least favourite character? Why?

3. Why do you think Serena stayed with Marcus after he hit
her the first time?

4. Why do you think Poppy stayed with Marcus when he was
so abusive to her?

5. Why do you think Serena chose to keep her past a secret
from Evan? Do you think she did the right thing? Have you
ever kept a secret from someone you love?

6. Do you think Evan was right to react the way he did to finding out about Serena’s past? How do you think you would
react to finding out something like that about your partner?

7. How do the choices Serena made as a teenager influence the
lives of her sisters and parents? Do you think she was right
to feel guilty?

8. Why do you think Poppy’s parents did the things they did?

9. What are the similarities and differences between how
Poppy’s family and Serena’s family reacted to them being
arrested and tried for Marcus’s murder?

10. What is the relationship between Serena and Poppy? Could
they have been friends if not for Marcus?

11. How does prison change Poppy?

12. How does being found not guilty change Serena?

13. How do Poppy and Serena change as people during the
course of the book?

14. Do you think the killer was justified in what they did?

15. What are the main themes of
The Ice Cream Girls?

My Best Friend’s Girl

What would you do for the friend who broke your heart?

Best friends Kamryn Matika and Adele Brannon thought nothing could come between them – until Adele did the unthinkable and slept with Kamryn’s fiance, Nate. Worse still, she got pregnant and had his child. When Kamryn discovered the truth about their betrayal she vowed never to see any of them again.

Two years later, Kamryn receives a letter from Adele asking her to visit her in hospital. Adele is dying and begs Kamryn to adopt her daughter, Tegan. With a great job and a hectic social life, the last thing Kamryn needs is a five year old to disrupt things. Especially not one who reminds her of Nate. But with no one else to take care of Tegan and Adele fading fast, does she have any other choice?

So begins a difficult journey that leads Kamryn towards forgiveness, love, responsibility and, ultimately, a better understanding of herself.

The Woman He Loved Before

Libby has a good life with a gorgeous husband and a home by the sea. But over time she is becoming more unsure if Jack has ever loved her – and if he is over the death of Eve, his first wife.

When fate intervenes in their relationship, Libby decides to find out all she can about the man she hastily married and the seemingly perfect Eve. But in doing so she unearths devastating secrets. Frightened by what she finds and the damage it could cause, Libby starts to worry that she too will end up like the first woman Jack loved...

Goodnight, Beautiful

Nova Kumalisi would do anything for her closest friend, Mal Wacken. She owes him her life. So, when he asked her to be the surrogate mother for him and his wife, in spite of her fears about how it would alter their friendship, Nova agreed.

Eight years later, Nova is bringing up their son alone, and she and Mal don’t speak. Months into the pregnancy, Mal’s wife changed her mind about the surrogacy agreement. Already suspicious of how close Nova and Mal were, Stephanie realised her strained marriage was in serious trouble when she found a text from her husband to Nova, saying, ‘Goodnight, Beautiful’. She asked Mal to cut all ties with his closest friend and unborn child.

Now, seven-year-old Leo is critically ill and Nova, despite her anger and hurt, wants Mal to have the chance to know his son before it’s too late. Will it take a tragedy to remind them how much they mean to each other?

The postman jumped as I snatched open the front door to my block of flats and eagerly greeted him.

Usually when we came face to face, he’d have buzzed up to my first floor flat and I’d come shuffling down, pulling on my dressing gown as I tried to rub dried sleep drizzle off my face. Today, though, I’d been hanging out of my window waiting for him. I was still in my usual post-receiving attire of dressing gown and had sleep-sculpted hair, but this time my eyes weren’t barely open slits, I’d washed my face and I was smiling.

‘Special day, is it?’ he said without humour.

He clearly didn’t like this reversal of roles. He wanted me to be sedate and disorientated when he handed over my post. It was probably the only power trip he got of a day. Ahhh, that’s not fair. He was lovely, my postman. Most postmen are nice, aren’t they?

In fact, everyone in the world was lovely today.

‘It’s my birthday,’ I grinned, showing off my freshly cleaned teeth.

‘Happy birthday,’ he commented, dour as a priest at prayer time, and handed over the post for the four flats in our block. I keenly took the bundle that was bound up by a brown elastic band, noting that almost all of the envelopes were red or purple or blue. Basically, card coloured. ‘Twenty-one again, eh?’ the postie said, still unwilling to be infected by my good humour.

‘Nope, I’m thirty-two and proud,’ I replied. ‘Every birthday is a bonus! And anyway, today I get to wear gold sequins and high heels and brush gold dust all over my cleavage.’

The postie’s small brown eyes flicked down to my chest area. Even though it was the height of a long, hot, humid summer, I was wearing pyjamas and a big towelling dressing gown, so he didn’t see anything suggestive – he was lucky to get even a glimpse of my throat skin. That seemed to startle him, that the chest of which I spoke was highly covered, and he immediately snatched his eyes away again. It’d probably occurred to him that he shouldn’t be eyeing up the women on his delivery route – especially when said lady wasn’t even undressed enough to make it worth his while.

He started backing away. ‘Have a good day, love,’ he said. ‘I mean, dear. I mean, bye.’ And then he legged it down the garden path far quicker than a man of his girth and age should be able to.

The postman moved so fast he probably didn’t even hear me call ‘You too’ after him as I shut the door. I slung the letters that weren’t for me, but had the audacity to arrive at this address today, on the floor of the hallway. They landed unceremoniously on top of the other, older letters that sat like orphaned children, waiting, longing to be rescued. I usually felt sorry for those letters, wished the people they’d been sent to would give them a good home, but they weren’t my problem today. I barely gave them a second thought as I took the stairs two at a time back up to my flat.

In my bedroom I had already laid out my birthday breakfast feast: fresh croissants with smoked salmon, three chocolate truffles and a glass of Möet.

Everything had to be perfect today. Everything. I’d planned it that way. After I’d devoured my special brekky, I’d stay in bed until midday, opening birthday cards while receiving calls from well-wishing friends and relatives. Then I had an appointment at the hairdresser to get my hair washed, deep conditioned and cut. I was going for a radical change – ditching my usual chin-length bob for a style with long layers and a sweeping fringe. After that, I’d come back home and get dressed up. I really was going to wear a dress of gold sequins that set off my dark skin in a spectacular fashion. I was going to squeeze my feet into gold high heels and I was going to brush gold dust over my cleavage. And then a few of the girls from work were coming round for drinks and nibbles before we went into town to dance the night away.

I slipped carefully under the sheets, not wanting to spill any of the special spread, then took a swig of champagne before I tore through my cards like a child. Around me the pile of brightly coloured envelopes grew as I tugged out the cards and smiled at the words written inside.

It wasn’t dim of me, then, not to notice it. It was like all the others. Slipped in among the bundle, innocuous and innocent looking. And, like all the others, I didn’t really look at it, didn’t try to decipher the handwriting on envelope, ignored the picture on the front. I simply opened it, eager to receive the message of love that had been scrawled inside. My heart stopped. I recognised the handwriting before I read the words. The words I read with a racing heart.

Slamming it shut I registered for the first time that the card had ‘I love you’ on it instead of one of the usual birthday greetings.

The piece of glossy cardboard sailed across the room when I slung it as though it had burnt my fingers. It landed on the wicker laundry basket and sat there staring at me. With its white front and simple design, and three treacherous words, it sneered at me. Daring me to ignore it. Daring me to pretend the words inside weren’t carved into my brain like they were scored onto the card.