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

don’t know, sweetheart,’ Holly said, tilting her head to one side, ‘You never let me into the kitchen. He never lets me cook.’ She looked regretfully at the old woman. ‘He insists on doing everything ‒ the cooking, cleaning, hovering and ironing. He’s a real metrosexual.’
    Wilf bit down on his lip, glanced away for a second, and then leant towards the woman, elbows resting on his knees and said, ‘It’s actually just cos she’s so terrible at it. No idea what to do with a saucepan.’
    Holly was chewing on her cheese sandwich and had to force down a swallow before saying, ‘Darling, I thought you loved my cooking! I don’t know what he’s talking about, seriously. He adores my food. I think the problem is…’ She lowered her voice as if taking the woman into her confidence, but kept it loud enough for Wilf to hear. ‘He’s a bit embarrassed that I earn so much more than he does and that he wants to stay at home and keep the place lovely. He’s scared people might not think it’s manly enough, but I tell him that actually people would admire him. Wilf’s dream…’ she whispered and the woman sat forward a touch, ‘is to be a house-husband.’
    Wilf snorted into his beer.
    The woman looked slightly aghast.
    ‘My secret is out,’ Wilf said, turning to look out to sea, a grin on his lips as he took a swig from the bottle of Kronenberg.
    The woman didn’t say anything else, just started folding up her tinfoil packages, clearly a bit puzzled by the back and forth. Holly sat back and took another bite of her sandwich, a satisfied smile twitching on her lips.
    ‘Ah, there’s my husband,’ the woman said, seemingly ready to wave at anyone who walked by just to leave the two of them, and started putting all her packages back into her bag. ‘Bit windy for me out here, I think I’ll go back inside,’ she said and, picking up her walking stick, she stood up and looped her bag over her forearm. Before she left she leant forward, patted Holly on the back of the hand and said, ‘A nice packed lunch. Always keeps them coming back.’
    When she had gone, Wilf raised a brow at Holly. Holly wondered whether to say something back, to make some quip that joined them as insiders on a joke, but when he didn’t say anything she realised she didn’t want to look too eager, too keen. She didn’t want to show her cards in fear that he might act aloof or dismissive. She didn’t want to make herself any more vulnerable than she already was, so she just raised her brow back at him and they ate their sandwiches in silence.

Chapter Seven
    ‘OK, so which way do I go?’ Holly asked as they drove away from passport control. Wilf was in the middle of unfolding the giant map. The early evening sun was still bright, the light a hazy yellow mist that seemed to infuse the trees and graffiti-covered concrete.
    ‘This map is useless. I don’t have data roaming. Where’s your satnav?’ he said, peering into the glove compartment.
    Holly shrugged, ‘I don’t have a satnav.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Because I know where I’m going most of the time,’ she said. ‘Shall I go right? Everyone else is indicating right.’
    ‘You’re not going right. You’re going left. Left. Look. Left. Head towards Lille.’
    ‘OK, well you’ve gotta tell me the directions in advance. How am I meant to know?’
    Wilf was struggling to get the map to fold into a decent size. ‘Just turn left. Left. Other side of the road, Holly!’ he shouted.
    ‘I know,’ she shouted back, stress levels rising as other cars were shooting past her. ‘I’m just adjusting to being on this side.’
    ‘Shall I drive?’
    ‘No,’ she snapped.
    Wilf went back to his map. ‘Jesus, this thing’s from 1994.’
    Holly glanced over, ‘It’s my dad’s.’
    ‘Well, this road we’re on ‒’ Wilf pointed to the motorway they were about to pull out on. ‘It’s not on here.’
    Holly frowned. ‘Why not?’
    ‘Because it wasn’t built!’ Wilf