The Ice Cream Girls Read Online Free PDF Page B

boyfriend who plays drums in a band and who is expecting her to leave school and get a job so she can support his ‘art’ while they live in a glorified squat in Kemptown? And how can I not expect, when I protest, for her to throw, ‘Well, you were pregnant before you got married and only got married because you had to’ back in my face?
    When it comes to my teenage daughter, I am a hypocrite and I don’t pretend to be anything other than that.
    I continue, ‘And, besides, you get to be there,’ even though you were technically at the last one , ‘and so does Con. We have the chance to get married with all our family there. So, in that sense, we are actually doing it for the first time. You know?’
    From the corner of my eye, I see her nod.
    I check the rear-view mirror and my blindspot before I indicate and pull out into the right-hand lane. I hit the accelerator to get past the blue Micra proudly displaying a green ‘P’ on its rump and keeping a steady ten miles below the speed limit. New drivers like that make me nervous. I always suspect they’re going to do something crazy for no other reason than that they don’t know any better, so I always speed past them and get away as soon as possible.
    I check the rear-view mirror again to make sure there’s nothing too close behind me as I go to pull back into the left-hand lane when I see the blue lamp of a police car. As always, even after all these years, anxiety spikes in my chest cavity. I cannot help it, the police make me nervous. Always.
    The light flashes on suddenly, and I have to tear my eyes away from it in the rear-view mirror to concentrate on the road ahead.
    ‘They’re coming for you, Mum,’ Vee says, copying what her dad says every time we see the police. If Con was here, he’d say it too. None of them have ever noticed that I never laugh, I never even smile. I tug at the corner of my mouth and say nothing, allow the joke to wash over me and pretend I don’t know that the police may very well be coming for me.
    I hold on to the steering wheel for dear life, and concentrate on the road and pulling safely back into the left-hand lane. It’s all right, they’re not here for me, I think to calm myself, even though the siren is whipping up the anxiety that darts around my chest like a bird that’s accidentally flown through an open window and can’t find its way out again. They’ve got an emergency to get to; a real criminal to arrest.
    The police car surges forwards, but instead of speeding off down the road, it keeps level with our car. Oh God.
    I risk a look across and the policeman in the passenger seat points to the side of the road. ‘Pull over,’ he’s indicating. ‘At the first safe spot, pull over.’
    ‘Mum,’ Vee hisses in alarm, her eyes probably wide like saucers.
    ‘I know,’ I say, sounding calm and in control. Not at all as if I’m contemplating putting my foot down and making a run for it.
    I look over again, hoping that he’s made a mistake.
    The finger is still pointing to the side of the road, still ordering me to pull over. His face is a little more set, a little more angry now, the shape of his mouth an unimpressed line, his eyes hard, unamused pebbles in his face.
    Oh God .
    I can almost feel the handcuffs closing around my wrists again; the smell of a police cell is not one you can ever forget.
    I hit the left indicator and start to look for a place to pull over. Once I do, once he comes striding over to me and asks for my licence and then types my name into his computer or says it over the radio, the truth will come out. He’ll find out who I really am. And so will Vee.

poppy
    Where am I?
    I have been waking up every hour or so all night and each time I think the same thing: where am I? It’s the quiet that wakes me. Drags me from sleep, wondering what is wrong, what is amiss, what has happened to stop the world being so loud.
    My eyes would dart around the room, looking for familiar shapes – the sink in