Page 17 of The Cosy Travelling Christmas Shop

‘I’m not saying. It was supposed to be a gift, so you could make your dreams come true.’

‘My dream isn’t to drive around in an ice cream van selling stuff. I was hoping someone else had that dream, and I could ask them to visit Aunt Nelly.’ Seren was astounded, stunned, dumbfounded, and flummoxed that he should have gone to such lengths on the basis of her conversation with Aunt Nelly and a disappointing internet search.

Her father looked as though he was about to cry. ‘Will you at least take a look at it? I can’t leave it here – the chap I’ve bought it off wants it gone this evening.’

‘If I must. I’ll even drive it home, considering you’ve already paid for it.’ She shook her head incredulously. ‘But you can put it back up for sale tomorrow. Or use it yourself.’

Seren reluctantly followed her father as he made his way to the front door, rang the bell and waited for it to be answered.

She didn’t say anything when the chap who was selling it handed over the various documents along with the keys, and showed them around the van.

The only time she made any comment was when the seller demonstrated the chimes, and the jaunty sound of a tinny ‘O Sole Mio’ rang out, and even then she only muttered, ‘Good grief,’ and covered her ears as her dad started singing, ‘Justa one Cornetto, geeve eet to meeee…’

‘It’s a lovely thought,’ she said to her father once the man had gone back inside, leaving them alone with the ice cream van. ‘I appreciate it, but when I said a mobile shop, I was imagining something more in the way of a large van, or even a bus; something people could climb aboard and browse.’

‘You said yourself that it’s a good idea, and that there is a market for it.’

‘It’s a good idea forsomeone– just not me. I can’t see myself driving around the streets in this. Look at it. It’s got a cone on the top, a couple of fridges inside, and an ice cream dispensing machine. It’s got pictures of ice cream all over it and it’s bubble-gum pink.Pink, I ask you!’

‘It needs a bit of work,’ her dad admitted.

‘You think?’

‘It won’t take much to knock it into shape.’

She gave him a sceptical look.

‘I know you were imagining something bigger, but think how manoeuvrable this is. You can take it almost anywhere.’

‘The scrapyard?’

He ignored her comment. ‘And you can play a tune to let people know you’re on the street.’

‘Imagine their faces when they pour out of their houses expecting to buy a 99, and what they get offered is a berry-scented candle. It playsO Sole Mio, Dad. It’s anice cream tune.’

‘I expect it can be altered to something more festive for Christmas.’

Seren didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘OK, say I agree to this madness… It needs a complete renovation, including a paint job.’

‘On the plus side, it’s got a brand new MOT, and the engine is in good nick and so’s the underneath.’ He kicked a tyre as if to prove his point.

Bless him, he was so excited and she hated to burst his bubble, especially since he’d already bought it. If money hadn’t changed hands, she’d have dragged him away, but as things stood, she had no choice other than to drive the monstrosity home and hope she could persuade him to see sense.

Feeling a right idiot, she clambered up into the driver’s seat and shoved the key into the ignition. She half expected nothing to happen even though it had started without a hitch when the seller showed them around, but the engine rumbled into life, and as she familiarised herself with the bite on the clutch and where the indicators were, she had a mischievous urge to sound the chimes again.

Seren knew her dad’s heart was in the right place, but she couldn’t help wondering what he’d been thinking. Aside from the expense of doing the van up, she already had a job, for goodness’ sake – when was she supposed to fit in trawling the streets with her wares? Assuming she had any wares to trawl with. She had no idea what to stock, where to get the stock from, how much to charge, whether she needed a licence… There was simply too much to consider. And even if she was fully on board with the idea, it was already early November. The van would never be ready in time for Christmas.

She was about to pull off when there was a tap on the window.

Seren wound it down. ‘What?’ she asked, warily, fearful her father had something else up his sleeve.

‘Just to let you know, I’ve arranged for you to take the van to a garage tomorrow. T&M Conversions in town; they’ll give you a quote for… well… converting it. Then we’ll know.’

Yes, we will know, Seren thought, although she didn’t need to be officially told that converting the vehicle from an ice cream van to a travelling gift shop was going to cost a pretty penny. And she’d been trying to save all of hers for a deposit on a place of her own.

‘It won’t hurt to see what’s what,’ Patrick said. ‘You might be pleasantly surprised.’

‘And I might not,’ she muttered under her breath.

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