business,’ said Eve, changing the subject quickly. ‘I want you to supply the ice cream for Winterworld. What do you
think?’
Violet’s big violet eyes rounded with delight. ‘You’re joking.’
‘I’m not,’ said Eve, thinking how beautiful her cousin was – more so because she hadn’t a clue how lovely she looked.
‘Jeez, Eve, that’s just fab.’ Then a sensible thought tugged at the sleeve of her elation. ‘Won’t you have to clear it with Mr Glace first?’
‘I suppose,’ replied Eve, with a snarl playing on her lip. ‘But I can’t see there being a problem. No one makes ice cream like you.’ And like he would dare to
override her on this. Or anything else come to that.
‘I’ve got some lovely Christmas flavours,’ said Violet. ‘And they’ve got edible glitter in them as well.’
‘Winter,’ corrected Eve. ‘Try and keep Christmas out of it as much as possible.’
‘Oh Eve, if it’s a winter theme park, people will expect it to be Christmas-heavy.’
‘Well, they’re going to be disappointed then, aren’t they?’ said Eve, licking the last of her ice cream from her spoon. ‘I’ll ring you as soon as I’ve
spoken to him on Monday.’ She imbued the word ‘him’ with all the charm of a disease-ridden clown. ‘You’ll be able to run a second parlour, won’t you?’
‘Yes, yes of course,’ said Eve. ‘Janet wants full-time work rather than part-time so I’ll increase her hours, get her some part-time help and then Pav and I will set up
the new place.’
‘I see it just like this,’ said Eve, looking around her at the beautiful horses painted on the walls. It was ice cream heaven as far as she was concerned.
‘Only with a Christmas theme, I presume,’ Violet put in.
‘Winter,’
amended Eve. ‘Yes, just like this.’
‘Pav would be delighted to paint more horses on walls,’ smiled Violet. ‘He loved doing these. I can safely speak for him on that score.’
‘Good, that’s settled then,’ said Eve. ‘And now I must be off.’
‘So soon?’ said Violet. But she knew she was lucky to see Eve at all these days. She was always working, never stopped. Never gave herself time to relax – or think. Or grieve
properly as she should have done.
Violet hurried across to Pav to tell him the good news about having a new parlour in Eve’s theme park. He was delighted, as she expected, that there would be more horses to paint. White
ones, he envisaged. Like Christmas horses made of snow. And Violet knew they would look wonderful.
It didn’t look as if there would be any more customers that day, so they decided to finish early. Pav turned the sign around on the door to read ‘closed’. Then he crossed over
to Violet, put his big arms around her, pulled her close to his chest and kissed her long and softly. Violet still felt butterflies inside her stomach flutter their wings with delight when his
fingers threaded into her long silver-blonde hair. To think once she had been about to marry a man whose kisses and touch she avoided at all costs and would have committed herself to a sad, dry
life. She sometimes dreamt that she was still in that stifling, choking relationship, and woke up in a cold sweat only to see the sweet form of Pav at her side. She had always thought love like
this happened to other people, not to her.
‘Marry me,’ said Pav. ‘I want you to have the same name as me. I want you to be Mrs Nowak, not Miss Flockton. I’m an old-fashioned boy.’
Boy.
It was the loudest word in the phrase.
Violet laughed and prepared to fob him off as usual. ‘One day. What’s the rush?’
‘Always you say the same thing,’ said Pav, releasing her from his hold and throwing up his arms into the air. For the first time, Violet detected that there was none of his usual
humour in the gesture.
She loved him so much. And of course she wanted to be Mrs Pawel Novak, but she was afraid of her own happiness. He might have looked like a man, but he was
think?’
Violet’s big violet eyes rounded with delight. ‘You’re joking.’
‘I’m not,’ said Eve, thinking how beautiful her cousin was – more so because she hadn’t a clue how lovely she looked.
‘Jeez, Eve, that’s just fab.’ Then a sensible thought tugged at the sleeve of her elation. ‘Won’t you have to clear it with Mr Glace first?’
‘I suppose,’ replied Eve, with a snarl playing on her lip. ‘But I can’t see there being a problem. No one makes ice cream like you.’ And like he would dare to
override her on this. Or anything else come to that.
‘I’ve got some lovely Christmas flavours,’ said Violet. ‘And they’ve got edible glitter in them as well.’
‘Winter,’ corrected Eve. ‘Try and keep Christmas out of it as much as possible.’
‘Oh Eve, if it’s a winter theme park, people will expect it to be Christmas-heavy.’
‘Well, they’re going to be disappointed then, aren’t they?’ said Eve, licking the last of her ice cream from her spoon. ‘I’ll ring you as soon as I’ve
spoken to him on Monday.’ She imbued the word ‘him’ with all the charm of a disease-ridden clown. ‘You’ll be able to run a second parlour, won’t you?’
‘Yes, yes of course,’ said Eve. ‘Janet wants full-time work rather than part-time so I’ll increase her hours, get her some part-time help and then Pav and I will set up
the new place.’
‘I see it just like this,’ said Eve, looking around her at the beautiful horses painted on the walls. It was ice cream heaven as far as she was concerned.
‘Only with a Christmas theme, I presume,’ Violet put in.
‘Winter,’
amended Eve. ‘Yes, just like this.’
‘Pav would be delighted to paint more horses on walls,’ smiled Violet. ‘He loved doing these. I can safely speak for him on that score.’
‘Good, that’s settled then,’ said Eve. ‘And now I must be off.’
‘So soon?’ said Violet. But she knew she was lucky to see Eve at all these days. She was always working, never stopped. Never gave herself time to relax – or think. Or grieve
properly as she should have done.
Violet hurried across to Pav to tell him the good news about having a new parlour in Eve’s theme park. He was delighted, as she expected, that there would be more horses to paint. White
ones, he envisaged. Like Christmas horses made of snow. And Violet knew they would look wonderful.
It didn’t look as if there would be any more customers that day, so they decided to finish early. Pav turned the sign around on the door to read ‘closed’. Then he crossed over
to Violet, put his big arms around her, pulled her close to his chest and kissed her long and softly. Violet still felt butterflies inside her stomach flutter their wings with delight when his
fingers threaded into her long silver-blonde hair. To think once she had been about to marry a man whose kisses and touch she avoided at all costs and would have committed herself to a sad, dry
life. She sometimes dreamt that she was still in that stifling, choking relationship, and woke up in a cold sweat only to see the sweet form of Pav at her side. She had always thought love like
this happened to other people, not to her.
‘Marry me,’ said Pav. ‘I want you to have the same name as me. I want you to be Mrs Nowak, not Miss Flockton. I’m an old-fashioned boy.’
Boy.
It was the loudest word in the phrase.
Violet laughed and prepared to fob him off as usual. ‘One day. What’s the rush?’
‘Always you say the same thing,’ said Pav, releasing her from his hold and throwing up his arms into the air. For the first time, Violet detected that there was none of his usual
humour in the gesture.
She loved him so much. And of course she wanted to be Mrs Pawel Novak, but she was afraid of her own happiness. He might have looked like a man, but he was
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