The Secrets of Ice Cream Success (2 page)

THUD…

THUD…

Luigi woke up at the noise and
turned to find his son beating his head against the ice cream
maker.

‘…
reason’
THUD

‘…
I’m Creamy’
THUD

‘…
you know.’
THUD

‘
Stupid’
THUD

‘…
bloody’
THUD

‘…
idiot!’
THUD

‘
If you break
that machine, you’re paying for it!’ Luigi muttered nonplussed,
before turning back to get comfortable once more.

As the morning turned slowly to
afternoon and the heat of the day climbed considerably, a steady
stream of customers visited the van until by three in the afternoon
both Luigi and Carlo were beginning to feel like they were covered
head to foot in grime. As usual the approach of teatime saw the
pace slacken as everyone started to make their way home. Taking the
opportunity to rest, Carlo jumped into the driver’s seat as his
father wiped down the counter after saying goodbye to the last of
the customers with his traditional motto.

‘
Why do you
say that dad? It makes no sense.’

‘
It’s the
motto. We always say that. It’s our tagline.’ Luigi answered,
taking up his son’s usual position on the counter.

‘
I know that.
But why?’ Carlo persisted.

‘
Well, I
suppose it’s all down to your Mother.’

‘
What? She
made it up?’

‘
No. It’s
about her.’

Carlo sat up straight in the
seat and turned to face his father. ‘What are you talking about,
Dad? It’s about the ice cream. Do you mean it’s about how she used
to make it?’

Luigi turned to stare out of
the window over the moors laid out before them. The afternoon sun
was stretching the shadow of the van towards the distant peaks.
‘Your Mam loved this job.’ he said, almost to himself. ‘She always
loved watching the smiles on the kids’ faces as she handed them a
raspberry ripple or lemon top. When she became ill, she told me
that she would like to go on being a part of this business after
she passed away.’

Carlo shifted in his seat. He
had never heard his Dad discuss his mother like this. Though his
father had told him many things about his mother, they had never
really talked about her death beyond the fact that she had died
only days after Carlo had been born, having been diagnosed with
cancer during the pregnancy.

Luigi turned back to look at
his son. ‘Your mother and I came up with this plan just before the
end. It’s why she was cremated and not buried like the rest of the
family. I suppose I had to tell you at some point.’

‘
Tell me what,
Dad?’ Carlo asked, still lost.

‘
Well, do you
know those speckles in the Vanilla ice cream?’

Carlo nodded and waited for his
father to carry on, but Luigi just looked back at his son with a
strange expression on his face. Slowly comprehension began to dawn
on the young boy.

‘
They aren’t
vanilla seeds?’ he tentatively asked as if afraid to hear the
answer. Luigi slowly shook his head before turning again to look
out of the window, saying ‘Most are, but not all of them,
no.’

‘
Ugh! Dad
that’s sick!
You’re
sick! I don’t believe it!’ Carlo shouted, jumping up and
gesticulating wildly. Remembering the cute girl he had tried to
talk to that morning, he opened the door and jumped out of the van.
‘Aww, Dad! That poor lass is eating Mam!’

‘
Vanilla was
always her favourite.’ Luigi added wistfully, but sensing that that
probably wasn’t helping, he climbed out of the van after his son
and carried on. ‘It’s only a pinch in each batch Son. We have to
make it last after all.’

‘
Dad! Just
shut up will you!’ Carlo slumped down on a large rock by the side
of the car park and put his head in his hands. This was a joke, it
must be. ‘So let me get this straight.’ he said trying to keep his
voice calm, ‘Every time I’ve had an ice cream in the past I’ve
being eating bits of Mam?’

‘
No, of course
not. Don’t be silly!’

Carlo breathed out and felt his
body began to relax. ‘Thank God for that…’

‘
Only if it
was vanilla.’ Luigi added before his son could continue

‘
Eh? Dad, no!’
Carlo looked like he was going to be sick.

‘
It’s what she
would have wanted, Carlo.’ his father said rushing over to put an
arm around his son.

‘
It’s not I
want Dad! You’ve got to stop it. It’s horrible, plus if anyone else
finds out you can go to jail!’

Luigi sighed. ‘I know. I know,
son. I wouldn’t expect you to continue when you take over the
business. And I’ll probably have to stop soon anyway, the way it’s
going.’

‘
What was
that?’ Carlo asked, taken aback. ‘Take over the business? Dad, I
doubt I’m ever going to have an ice cream again after this news,
never mind run the bloody company! I’m twelve; I don’t want to be
part of feeding my mother to horrible sticky kids! I’m going to
need counselling for life after this.’

Stepping away Luigi turned back
to the van, a tear forming in his eye, heartbroken at his son’s
words.

‘
But it’s what
we’ve always dreamed of…’ he whispered.

‘
We? We who?
You and Mam? Are you nuts?’ Carlo screamed running to get in front
of his Dad. Luigi pushed past him as more tears began to roll down
his face.

‘
Right, if
that’s how you feel. Don’t you worry about it!’ he sobbed. Covering
his face with his hands, Luigi climbed back into the van. Feeling a
lump begin to form in his own throat Carlo followed him. What on
earth was going on? His Dad was in floods of tears; his Mam was in
the ice cream; this was not how the summer holidays were supposed
to go. Climbing back into the van Carlo thought of the usual start
of term question that every young student was given as their first
assignment. “Please describe what you did during your summer
holidays.” How on earth would he begin?

Wiping a tear from his own face
he jumped into the passenger seat next to his father. ‘I didn’t
mean to make you cry, Dad. Really, I just…’

‘
It was your
mother’s last wish.’ Luigi interrupted, starting the engine and
pulling into the road, swerving wildly as he tried to wipe tears
from his eyes. ‘Your mother’s last wish that you grow up to be a
proper Leodoni and you’ve dishonoured her.’

‘
Me
dishonour her? Dad, you’ve put her in the
dessert!’ Carlo shouted whilst reaching across to grab the
seatbelt.

Moving down the road at over 60
miles over hour, Luigi automatically stretched to the dashboard and
switched the van music on. With “You Are My Sunshine” garbling out
of the tiny speaker on the top of the van at full volume they
hurtled towards a steep bank that lead back down towards the
town.

‘
All I wanted
was for you to take over after I’m gone…’

‘
I’m not
putting you in the chocolate ice cream, Dad! Forget it!’

‘
I just wish
my son loved me enough to do this.’

Carlo started to answer but
found himself having to cling on as the van swung wildly around a
corner, careering from one side of the road to the other as
motorists screeched to a halt only just avoiding a collision.
Behind the wheel Luigi had become so upset that he barely seemed
concerned about driving anymore. ‘Dad, slow down. You’re going to
kill us!’

‘
Die? We might
as well all die now! We might as well all join your
mother.’

‘
Don’t be so
bloody dramatic, Dad! Err, Dad? What are you doing?’ Carlo dove
across the seats as his father released the wheel to cover his
face, wailing, too distraught to continue driving.

‘
My poor love,
my sweet love… I’m coming to you Sweet Helena… I can’t live without
you.’

Kicking his father out of the
way, Carlo fell into the driver’s seat and tried to slow the van,
but it was too late and they missed a turn, plunging off the road
and down a steep bank, staying on four wheels until the van hit a
tree and flipped onto its side. Sliding down the rest of the
incline, the van slowly came to rest with “You Are My Sunshine”
still blaring from the speakers.

Carlo opened his eyes and to
his surprise found himself still sitting in the driver’s seat
holding tightly to the wheel and leaning against the door
underneath him. Looking through the windscreen at the outside world
he was rather curious to see that everything seemed to have shifted
ninety degrees.

Looking up to where the
passenger seat was now hanging above him, Carlo tried to find his
father but couldn’t see him.

‘
Dad? Are you
all right, Dad?’ he shouted, slowly pulling himself upright so he
could stand on the door. Getting no response, he clambered over the
seats to the back of the van, but nearly threw up in shock as he
found his father slumped awkwardly against the counter whilst the
Ice Cream machine, now hanging from the ceiling, slowly dripped the
tainted vanilla ice cream onto his head where it began to mix with
blood from a large gash across his temple. The liquid flowed over
his still open eyes, past his nose and down into his mouth. Unable
to take in what he was seeing, all Carlo could think about was the
music still playing. Climbing onto the counter and up to the hatch,
he hoisted himself through and onto the side of the van before
gingerly dropping to the ground. From above him at the top of the
bank he could hear voices as motorists, having witnessed the
accident, called out, some slipping down the bank as they rushed to
help.

But all Carlo could concentrate
on was the music; the music from the van; the van that now
contained his dead father as well as serving his dead mother. The
music that was a call to all the sweaty, horrible, whining children
to attend the Ice Cream Van of Death!

Carlo ignored the shouts and
questions as the would-be rescuers neared the crash and instead
walked over to the tree the van had hit during its descent and
grabbed the biggest branch he could. As the first of the motorists
reached the accident, Carlo returned to the van and began to
repeatedly thrash the speaker with the branch, each blow
accompanied by a steadily growing scream from the young boy.

Eventually the music stopped as
the speaker broke free from the roof under the onslaught, dangling
on a wire like a chicken with a broken neck. Carlo looked at the
speaker with a strangely satisfied smile on his face before he
turned to the crowd of people who were now staring at him in
confusion.

‘
Apparently,
there’s a reason.’ he said, before slumping to the floor
unconscious.

Carlo heard his mobile phone
beep as he stepped out of the car into the rain and knew
immediately who it would be. Ignoring it he pulled his hood over
his head and zipped up his coat as he waited for Mr Fox to get out
of the other side of the car. Next to him were two once impressive
but now rusty black, wrought iron gates. Eight feet high and
unnecessarily ornate, they spelt out the words “Leodoni’s Ice
Cream” across the top. He used to think them impressive and
imposing but it had been two years since he had last seen them and
now they were just the tarnished entrance to the one place in the
world he did not want to see again.

On the other side of the gates
there was a large yard that used to hum with activity on summer
mornings as ice cream vans, tricycles and trolleys, laden with his
father’s best products would zoom out of the factory and into the
streets. As the rain thundered down into the now empty yard Carlo
saw one of the tricycles standing awkwardly near the factory doors,
one wheel badly buckled and the cool box in front of the handlebars
faded. The orange parasol attached to the box was hanging rather
forlornly at an odd angle, reflected in the busy puddles slowly
covering the yard.

As Mr Fox fumbled with the
three huge padlocks that had been put in place to keep the gates
closed, Carlo heard his phone beep once more. Taking it out of his
pocket he saw that, as expected, the last two text messages were
from Norton. He opened the latest one which simply and rather
unhelpfully said “Psst! Over here!”

Carlo looked to his right, but
could see nothing asides from Uncle Randy searching through a huge
bunch of keys.

‘
Oi, you
stupid Italian, over here!’

Carlo turned to his left and
despite his dark mood let out a small laugh. Peeking around the
corner wall of the factory were four heads, one atop the other,
three with a concerned look on their faces and one, Norton’s,
grinning with enthusiasm and giving a thumbs up. Ben, the top of
the head structure was struggling with a large umbrella,
simultaneously trying to keep all four dry whilst still being able
so see round the corner yet also keep from sight. He seemed to be
failing spectacularly on all three counts and finally slipping from
whatever he had been standing on he managed to push all four of
them into plain sight. With a lot of jostling and swearing they
jumped back behind the wall before Mr Fox could see them and then
one by one the four heads reappeared Totem pole-like from around
the corner.

Trying his best to keep his
laughter inside, Carlo waved to his friends but then stepped
towards the gates as Mr Fox finally managed to get them open. The
gang had offered to come with him on his first visit to the factory
since his father’s death, but knowing how anxious it was going to
make him feel he had thanked them but said no. It was just like
them to turn up anyway. He could feel them looking on as he entered
the yard, but he didn’t turn around; he knew that if he saw their
concerned faces again he would probably lose his nerve and not go
in.