The Vintage Ice Cream Van Road Trip (Cherry Pie Island - Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

‘So you’d be happy to let Holly drive, pregnant ‒ with your baby I hasten to add ‒ and alone, all the way to the South of France. Go Wilfred. Very gentlemanly. Nice one.’
    As Holly was reversing out of the space, she saw Emily backing away towards the clubhouse with Alfonso, her expression one of disappointment, shaking her head at Wilf. Alfonso was looking at the grass.
    Holly was halfway down the rubbly path, passing the spectators having picnics from wicker baskets and lounging in deckchairs. She was contemplating their freedom when suddenly the passenger door swung open and Wilf jumped in. She slammed on the brakes. He was out of breath from his sprint but still frowning when he said, ‘Why are you stopping? There’s a ferry to catch.’

Chapter Six
    They only spoke twice on the way to Dover. Once for Holly to say that Wilf was going to have to drive for a bit because she was getting tired. And then for Holly to tell him that it was an ice cream van, not a Porsche, and to stop going so bloody fast.
    Wilf had huffed his replies. Holly had rolled her eyes and glared out the window.
    By the time they made it to the ferry port, it was like someone had pumped fog into van ‒ the atmosphere between them was so tense. Parking in the hold and heading for the nearest exit, the industrial metal doors clanging behind them, Wilf said, ‘Deck 3.’ His tone of voice seemed to suggest he didn’t think Holly would think to look.
    Holly glanced up at the big green sign on the wall. ‘Yeah I got it, thanks,’ she said. ‘Meet you back at the van when we dock.’
    Wilf frowned, ‘What do you mean? Where are you going?’
    People were pushing past them to get up the stairs and out of the car hold. A fluorescent light was flickering just above Holly’s head, ‘I don’t know. To the cafe or something.’
    ‘On your own?’ Wilf looked slightly taken aback, green eyes narrowing.
    ‘Yeah.’ Holly nodded and looked at him as if surprised he could think anything else.
    He pulled a hand through his hair and took a step back to let an elderly couple pass between them to the stairs. ‘Oh right. Fine. Yeah. OK.’
    ‘OK.’ Holly looked at him for a second, one brow raised, and then turned and walked up the stairs. She got the feeling that no one had ever walked away from Wilf before. No one had ever left him standing on his own.
    At the top of the stairs she was confronted by the bright, glaring lights of the ferry reception. Posters advertised a quiz and entertainment in the bar, films in the cinema room and a person dressed up as a giant bunny for the kids. Holly made her way to the shop, browsed the magazines for a while and hid behind a carousel of paperbacks when she saw Wilf, incongruous in his dirty polo kit, enter the busy reception area. He didn’t pause to read any of the signs, just headed straight out the nearest exit door to the deck.
    Holly bought an overpriced magazine, a bottle of water and a bar of Dairy Milk, then went to look for somewhere to sit.
    The ferry was packed. Full of holidaymakers and school trips. Kids, like the ones she coached, in sports uniforms, going on tours to play volleyball and lacrosse. They chattered and shouted and played music really loudly on their phones, and Holly walked as far away down the ship as she could get. The bright sunshine propelled her outside to a small seating area of white plastic chairs where people were drinking beer and reading books, the pages flicking about in the wind.
    She found an empty seat by the railing. Behind her the wake frothed and spat. Birds looped in the sky and the engines boomed. Holly tipped her head back, closed her eyes and felt the sun dance on her face. She could do this, she tried to convince herself. She was an ex-Olympian. She was tough and strong and dedicated. She blew out a breath, trying not to think about her first attempt at making it to the Olympic team. The way her arms had locked rigid at the start of the time-trial. How her