Ice Creams at Carrington’s (31 page)

We move on to the actual ice-cream section and, oh my God, I don’t know where to start first. There are massive containers everywhere with all kinds of scrumptious ingredients in – strawberries, blueberries, raisins, cherries, jelly beans, Smarties, peanut butter cups, it’s all here. We’re like kids let loose in a giant sweet shop.

‘Go on, get stuck in.’ Marco reappears carrying a big bowl of hot cookie dough. ‘Here, tip it in Tom.’ And he does. We both stand transfixed as the dough hardens inside the cold creamy mixture before being chunked up by a big blender. We move on to the next vat, chocolate this time, and Marco gestures for me to pour in the hot chocolate sauce. It smells incredible. Rich and velvety. And the same thing happens: the smooth, creamy dark mixture hardens before being broken up and blended into the ice cream. So that’s how chocolate chip ice cream is made! I always wondered how the chocolate chunks stayed hard even when the ice cream is soft. It’s like magic, much like this place. And to my left are a dozen plastic tubes, each with a different coloured liquid flowing through, all ready to be dispensed into individual sections. Lollies. Oh wow! But the best bit of all is the giant Perspex tube right in front of me – rainbow sprinkles are whizzing all around before cascading out onto the lollies. It’s amazing.

We move on to the next part of the process and Marco gestures to the picture on the giant sheets of wrapping paper to be cut and sealed around each lolly. Fab. Oh my God! A real blast from the past. I haven’t had one of these in years.

‘Wanna try one?’ Marco takes two lollies from a packing box at the end of the conveyor belt and hands one each to Tom and me. Delicious. Strawberry, vanilla and chocolate layers with a truly scrumptious rainbow sprinkle top tier. Treble mm-mmm!

‘Georgie, this is brilliant. Thanks for organising such a wonderful surprise,’ Tom says, in between licks of his lolly. We got the early train this morning from London to Scarborough, which gave us loads of time to finally have the talk that I had hoped for – just me and him and no distractions. In other words, no secret visits and meetings about the new store, no impromptu trips to New York, no bungled surprises, or crazed women with knives at his throat – none of those shenanigans: just two ordinary people enjoying a day trip in the glorious sunshine. So lovely. And I’ve never ventured this far north before. The lush rolling green countryside from the train window was spectacular; easily as good as the Grand Canyon, I reckon – although I have yet to watch
Thelma and Louise
as per Eddie’s suggestion. That was followed by grassy cliffs overlooking the electric blue hue of the sea. There’s even a castle. It took my breath away. I know I can see the sea every day, but the beach up here is different – wild and evocative and in total contrast to Mulberry, where it’s calmer. Tranquil, and then touristy in season.

‘Well, you know me … I’m really good at surprises!’ I tease. Tom shakes his head.

‘Hmm, that’s debatable! You ruined mine, remember, and then your “apology picnic” in the tunnels turned into a disaster.’ And with a cheeky look on his face, he swiftly leans away when I go to play-punch his arm. We both grin.

‘Well, that was hardly my fault. How was I to know she had a personal vendetta against the Carrington family?’

‘And my neck still aches …’ He grins, tilting his head from side to side as if to emphasise the fact.

We had a proper heart to heart after the regatta, and Tom admitted that he’d been angry at first – furious, in fact, which is why he’d avoided talking to me for a bit in case he said something he might later regret. But he was devastated and hurt too, just as Dad had predicted he might be. But, interestingly, he hasn’t mentioned his planned proposal in Vegas.

‘Come on, there’s more.’ I take his hand to distract him from his neck issues. Tom doesn’t know that Isabella inadvertently told me about the engagement ring; I called her when Tom was showering after Meredith’s knife attack, and explained everything to her. She totally got it and agreed to keep it just between us, as I really didn’t want him to feel even more angry or hurt about the whole ruined-surprise thing than was necessary. I had spoiled his moment, yes, inadvertently, but still, I imagine your own girlfriend not turning up to your planned wedding proposal is a massive thing for a man. Or a woman. And then to find out that your mother had let on about it all by mistake – well, I guarantee that I would still be reeling if the situation had been reversed and my plans had fallen so flat. But, hopefully, today will go some way in making it up to him. Bring back a cherished childhood memory too.

‘Gosh it’s warm in here,’ I say, making big eyes at Marco, and he knows what I mean right away. He leads us through a door into a changing area.

‘Why don’t you two get those hairnets off and pop outside to cool down?’ Marco gestures towards double doors while surreptitiously giving me a look when Tom isn’t watching.

‘Cool down? But it’s sweltering outside; even hotter than Italy is at this time of year.’ Tom laughs as he pulls off his hairnet and hands it back to Marco. I do the same.

‘Follow me.’ Taking Tom’s hand, I push through the double doors and out into the sunshine at the back of the factory, and there, just as I had planned with Marco on that day at the regatta, is a bona fide, proper vintage ice-cream van. It’s painted a glorious sky-blue colour and has Rossi Ice Creams stencilled down the side in baby pink lettering.

I run towards it, keeping hold of Tom’s hand so that he has to follow too, until we’re standing right outside the open serving hatch.

‘Wait there!’ I run around to the other side and jump in the van and quickly find the box marked Harvin – it’s exactly where Marco said it would be, on the dashboard. And, right on cue, ‘Greensleeves’ chimes out of the Tannoy. I pop my head out through the hatch to see Tom grinning and shaking his head in amazement.

‘What can I get you, sir?’ I laugh as I pretend to serve him.

‘Um, I don’t suppose you have a Screwball by any chance?’ Tom plays along, and I could kiss him right now. So I do. I had banked on him going for a Screwball; it was his childhood favourite, after all.

I fling open the freezer cabinet lid, and there, where Marco said it would be, is the Screwball. I bounce out of the van and whizz back around to stand opposite Tom.

‘Here you are.’ After ripping the plastic top off, I hand it to him with a little pink plastic spoon. ‘But you must eat it really quickly,’ I say, barely able to contain my excitement. He looks so thrilled with his Screwball. ‘I’ll help you.’ I push my spoon into the raspberry split ice cream too.

‘Hey, what’s the rush?’ Tom laughs, gently nudging my spoon out of the way so he can get more ice cream for himself.

‘You’ll see.’ And then, ‘Ta da!’

‘What’s this? Where’s the bubble gum? I was going to let you have it, seeing as you were never allowed it as a child.’ Tom frowns.

‘Aw, you’re just too kind and thoughtful.’ I grin. ‘But this is
my
surprise, remember?’ I take the Haribo sweet ring and push it onto the tip of his little finger. ‘Tom, can I ask you a question? Well, two questions really,’ I say, trying to sound casual, but my heart feels as if it’s about to burst right out of my chest, it’s clamouring that fast. Tom tilts his head to one side.

‘Sure,’ he says tenderly, with a quizzical look on his face. I take a deep breath and go for it, remembering Dad’s sage advice about being ‘so busy trying to avoid getting hurt that we forget to enjoy the good bits’. After everything that’s happened recently, I’m going to concentrate on enjoying the good bits from now on.

‘Good. Um, err. Right, here goes … question one – can Mr Cheeks and I please move in with you now? Like tonight, if you’ll still have us, of course, because you may have changed your mind after, you know, well, what with everything that’s gone on … With me spoiling your Vegas surprise and then you being held at knifepoint … well, I wouldn’t blame you, it’s OK, really—’

‘Stop talking.’ Tom gently lifts my chin to look me straight in the eye. His eyes search mine momentarily. And then his face creases into a massive smile. ‘At last.’ He laughs. ‘Georgie Hart … she say yeeeesssss. She will move in with me. It’s a miracle. Hal-le-lu-jah!’ And, after lifting me up, Tom twirls me around and around. I feel as if I’m flying on top of the world as the warm summer air mingled with the delicious aroma of ice cream flows through my hair.

After everything that’s happened, it’s made me realise just what really counts when it comes down to it. What’s important to me – Tom, my friends, my family; that’s what it’s all about.

Eventually, we pull apart and, still holding hands, Tom gently bumps my arm with his.

‘So, what else did you want to ask me?’ And I can see that he’s trying really hard to keep a serious face.

‘Um …’ I will my cheeks to stop flushing and my heart to stop pounding; even my palms are tingling, which only ever happens when I’m
really
REALLY
nervous. But it’s now or never – I’ve spent the whole week rehearsing this inside my head. I may even have practised out loud in my bathroom mirror. And besides, it’s not just me who has experienced heartbreak in the past, and who worries sometimes about it happening again – Isabella told me Tom has been there too. And I never even considered that, I just presumed he had lived a privileged, sparkly kind of life where nothing bad ever happens, but I know now, that perception is a weird thing and, underneath it all, we’re actually just the same. Plus maybe it explains why he was a little cool about asking me to move in with him, citing it as the ‘practical’ solution; I guess he was just being cautious too. Besides, I’m a grown woman; I can take whatever life puts in my path, I know I can – not that I’m anticipating Tom will let me down, I don’t think he will, and I’m excited about finding out what the future holds, together, if he’ll still have me. And for some bizarre reason, the conversation with Eddie over that silly bet pops into my head – I wonder if the terms still stand, if I’m the one asking Tom to marry me? Eek! OK. Deep breaths, lots and lots of them. On second thoughts, maybe not, I’m starting to feel a bit dizzy. Right, I can do this. I open my mouth. I close it when Tom speaks instead.

‘Actually, I have a question of my own,’ he says, casually.

‘You do?’ I swallow hard, wondering if this is a good or a bad thing. I was going to do it, I really was … I open my mouth again, but he gently puts a finger to my lips.

‘Shhhussshh. Ooops, oh hold on.’ And he bends down. ‘I’ve dropped the Haribo ring.’ But he doesn’t get back up; he stays down on one knee.

And oh my actual God
.

I cup my hands up under my chin. I shiver.

Is this what I think it is?

‘Georgie. Please will you marry me?’

It is! I freeze.
Scream
. And instead of retrieving the Haribo ring, Tom stands up and pulls a small red velvet box from his pocket, and winces.

‘Tom! Are you OK?’ Instinctively, I dart forward to help him as he bends over in obvious discomfort.

‘God, I’m so sorry, I’m still getting twinges in my neck.’ He stands up straight and pulls me in close. And then he laughs. A proper big belly laugh. ‘Only joking.’

‘Whaaaat? But I don’t understand.’ My forehead creases and my voice wobbles. Tom lifts my chin.

‘Oh God, no, sorry. Oh Georgie. No, I didn’t mean it … I wasn’t joking about that. My neck is fine, honestly, look.’ And he shakes his head around. ‘Jesus. No, I’ve never been more serious in my life. I can’t believe I’ve bodged it all up for a second time. You know I had it all planned – helicopter ride, champagne picnic, romantic moment with the Grand Canyon for a backdrop.’

‘Oh my God. Really? Oh no! No wonder you were so cross with me. But in that case, I think you’ll find it was me who bodged it up the first time around for forgetting to open the envelope.’

‘None of that matters now,’ Tom smiles tenderly, and my heart flips over and over, and I now know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is what I want. I love him. I always have, right from the first moment I clapped eyes on him, standing by the help-yourself salad bar in the staff canteen, with my jaw practically on the floor. And I know I can’t guarantee that we’ll live happily ever after forever and ever, but something I do know is that one day I’ll be old and have lived a life worth living. And that will be a truly awesome thing.

‘So what do you say? Marry me!’ And he flips open the box. I gasp. Inside is the most beautiful diamond ring I think I’ve ever seen. And not at all the style I thought he would choose. I imagined something modern and huge. A statement. A rock. Oh God, I’m doing it again – perception. I vow to make a concerted effort to relax, to wait and see in future, instead of trying to second-guess all the time. This ring is exquisite. And the box is worn, the gold lettering on the inside of the lid is all faded, and I instantly imagine a sophist-icated flapper lady graciously accepting it from her beau. ‘Is it OK? It’s old – well, they call it antique. But I know that you like stuff with a bit of history …’ Tom shrugs and grins, a little nervously.

‘It’s more than OK. It’s breathtaking. Perfect.’ And it is. It’s an Art Deco diamond cluster tablet ring, already with a lifetime of memories attached. I tiptoe up to kiss his cheek, thinking he knows me so well. He lifts the ring from the box.

‘So how about it, Georgie Hart. Me and you, what do you say?’

‘Yes! Yes please. A trillion times … I’d love to marry you!’ Tom slips the ring onto my finger and pulls me in close. I can feel his heart pounding right next to mine.

‘It’s going to be amazing,’ he murmurs, nuzzling into the side of my neck, then tracing a path with his lips to my mouth.

‘And I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be than with you, at home in Mulberry-On-Sea.’

‘Ah, about that …’ Tom pulls back to look me in the eye and I’m sure there’s a hint of apprehension.

‘What is it?’ I smile tentatively, looking straight into his gorgeous velvety-brown eyes.

‘Ah, you’ll see.’ He grins and gently lifts a stray tendril of hair away from my face.

‘Oh, you’re such a tease.’ I bat his arm.