The Ice Cream Vendor

THE ICE-CREAM VENDOR

 “Mum, where’s that music coming from?”

 Stephanie Pearson paused. Desperate for a shower, her fingers plucked at the clammy t-shirt embracing her body. Unpacking nearly done; a cool drink would be heavenly. Faint strains of tinny music sailed the air: haunting, then strangely familiar. Suddenly, she was ten years old again.

“Ha! Beat ya!” shouted Peter.

Stephanie poked her brother in the ribs. “Next time. Just you wait.”

Childhood Sundays. Sunday School was first, where Peter always belted out his favourite song, The Angels are Watchin’ Over Me. His zest for life and his enthusiasm were infectious. On the way home it was a race to their front gate. Of course, Peter always won. In Summer after a quick change of clothes, Mum gathered supplies. Then it was a bus trip and ferry ride to the beach. Whenever they heard the Mr Dairy Dream music, the siblings raced each other across the burning sand to line up with all the other kids for a choc-topped Squishy Cone.

Tears stung her eyes. Her stomach twisted. Ah, Peter, where did you go?

 “Mum…the music?” Alana repeated.

 “Well, love, it sounds like an old ice cream van.”

 “What’s that?”

 “They were a thing when I was your age. On summer days, the van drove around selling ice-creams and cold drinks, playing music to attract kids. I haven’t seen one for years.”

 This aroused Alana’s interest. “You mean someone drove around selling ice-creams? Cool!” She grinned, her rounded tanned cheeks almost reaching to her earlobes.

 “Well, that’s the whole point of ice cream,” her mother joked. “It is cool!”

 “Oh, funny! If it comes up here, can we have one? Please?”

 “Okay, just let me get rid of this box. Where’s your brother?”

 “He’s poking around the backyard. HEY! Curtis! Where are you?” yelled Alana at the top of her lungs.

 A freckled, red-cheeked face, topped by a head with spiky brown hair poked around the corner of the side passage, followed by Curtis’ skinny frame. He held an old bird cage in one hand. “Yeah?”

 “Want an ice-cream or what?” Alana asked, poking out her tongue.

 “From where?” He inspected the cage and changed the subject. “Can I get a bird, Mum?”

 His mother stared at the rusty cage. “I’ll think about it. There’s an ice-cream van coming. Do you want one?”

 “What’s an ice-cream van?”

 “Explain it to your brother, Alana, while I get my purse.”

The removalists unloaded the last item of furniture. Glad to finish, they headed off to have a cold beer after a long, hot Friday.

Curtis and Alana leaned over the front fence, waiting. Before long an old blue and white van, topped by a large fake ice-cream cone bearing the sign Mr Dairy Dream, beetled along the road.

 “Wow! Look at that!” exclaimed Alana. “Hey Mum, he’s getting closer!” she shouted.

 “Okay! I’m coming,” Stephanie called.

  She waved to the van driver. He pulled over to the kerb, and the music stopped. The old vans had noisy motors whilst they were idling, yet this one was strangely silent.

 A white-haired man with twinkling grey eyes appeared at the serving window dressed in a retro uniform; a beige coloured jacket fastened down one side and a peaked cap. The name Bert was embroidered in dark blue thread on the left lapel.

 “Hi Bert,” said Stephanie. “I haven’t seen one of these vans for years. It’s great to know they’re still around.”

 “I might be the last of my kind in town,” the man replied in a gentle voice. “What’ll it be?”

 “Three double Squishy Cones, please. My kids haven’t had one of these before.”

 “In that case, let me serve you all with an extra-large dollop for no added cost. Enjoy yourselves.”

 The children’s eyes almost fell out of their heads when they saw the size of the ice-creams. “Don’t start on them yet,” said their mother, “I want to show you something.” She turned back to Bert. “They’re great! Instant memories of my childhood. How much do I owe you?”

 The old man smiled, showing a row of perfectly white teeth. “That will be one dollar-fifty, thank you.”

 “Oh, that can’t be right. That’s how much I used to pay with my brother twenty-five years ago.”

 “Yes. Ma-am, it is right. I like to provide old-fashioned service at old-fashioned prices. There should be lots of happiness in this sad old world.”

He smiled again and waved before resuming his place in the driver’s seat and slowly driving away.

 “Hey Mum,” quipped Alana, “I didn’t see anyone else getting ice-cream.”

 “Me either. That’s odd on a day like this. Let’s get started before they melt. This is how Uncle Pete and I used to do it. Ready, go!”

There was a race to see who could lick the chocolate off the top first.

 Stephanie upturned her chin and deftly bit the point from the cone base, sucking down the soft, gooey ice cream. The children did likewise. “Hey this is fun!” giggled Alana.

 They headed back inside and unpacked some kitchen boxes before there was a tap, tap, tap on the screen door.

 “Hello? Anyone in?”

 “Coming!” Stephanie called. She opened the door to an older, smiling man. She guessed he was in his eighties.

 “Hello!” he greeted cheerily. “I’m Ken, from number 47 across the road. Welcome to the neighbourhood.” He thrust out a well-worn, lightly tanned hand and grinned broadly.

 Stephanie shook hands. “Hi, Ken. I’m Stephanie Pearson and ….” She turned to call down the hallway. “Hey kids, come and meet one of our neighbours.” The children stepped in front of their mother. “This is Alana and Curtis. Say hello to Mr.?”

 “Farnley. Hi kids. Pleased to meet you. I was just wondering. You’ll be busy unpacking. Have you arranged anything for your evening meal?”

 “I packed bread and supplies for making some sandwiches later, nothing too fussy.”

 “How about joining my wife Joyce and I for a light meal? That’ll save you some bother. We’d like to make you feel welcome. Would six o’clock be okay?’

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

 Ken grinned broadly again. “No trouble at all. We’re a very friendly community. See you at six.” He waved and wandered back across the road.

“Thank you,” Stephanie called.

                                                           *

 Showered and freshened up, the Pearsons crossed the road at six and rang a cowbell fastened on a hook beside the front door. It was a neat fibro cottage, with a tidy garden. Two cheeky garden gnomes kept watch on the verandah overlooking the garden path. A small tabby cat poked his face around the corner to investigate the visitors, running up behind Curtis and rubbing the back of his leg.

 “Hello, puss,” he said bending down to stroke the cat. “What’s your name?”

 Ken appeared at the screen door. “Oh, that’s Tiger,” he smiled. “We call him that because he’s so small. Get it?”

 The children giggled at the joke. “He’s very cute,” said Alana. “And friendly.”

 “Yes, he is. Come on in and meet the missus.”

 He showed them into a cosy eating area just off the kitchen, where a small round table was set out for dinner, with a beautifully embroidered tablecloth and cheerfully coloured napkins. A short, plump woman entered from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a sunflower-patterned apron. She had snowy white hair and a kindly face like her husband. “Hello, I’m Joyce.”

 “Hello, Mrs. Farnley.” Stephanie answered. “Say hello, kids.”

 “Oh, please call me Joyce. Everyone else does.”

 “Thank you. I do insist on a little formality with the children, however, so I’d like them to call you Mr. and Mrs. Farnley.”

 Joyce smiled. “That’s fine. Now, being so hot, we thought that we would just have a salad. Is that alright with you?”

 “Oh, yes, Joyce. Please don’t go to too much trouble for us.” Stephanie looked at the children. “Why don’t you give Mrs. Farnley a hand in the kitchen?”

 Joyce and the two assistants wandered off to prepare food. Stephanie noticed only three places set at the table. Ken gestured for her to sit down and said the children could take their meal outside at the little wooden table reserved for when the grandchildren came to visit. They chatted over dinner.

 “Is it just you and the children?” Ken asked.

 “No, my husband Brad had to work today, which was the only date the removalists were available, so we came on ahead. He’ll have Monday off and join us on Tuesday.”

 “Oh, what does he do?” Ken asked.

 “He’s a branch manager for the Country-Wide Credit Union. He applied for a transfer two months ago, and the position here became available. We’re hoping it will be a fresh start for all of us.”

 “I think you’ll like our small town. Have you always been country people?” Ken ventured.

 “No. We’re from Sydney but moved to the country five years ago. My twin brother Peter came to live with us three years ago after his wife left him. He suffered depression and a mild heart attack. His health started to recover, and he was even able to take on light duties at the local aged-care hostel, such as gardening and running errands for the residents, which he really enjoyed.” Stephanie paused to check on the children and returned to her seat.

 “The children adored Peter, and he adored them. Suddenly, he had a major heart attack and died. It’s been a distressing time for us, so we decided as a family to move away and start somewhere else.”

 Ken nodded. “Sounds as though you were very close to your brother.”

 Tears welled in Stephanie’s eyes. “We were peas in a pod. I wish I could hear his voice one more time.”

 “We’re always here if you need us,” offered Joyce.

 “Thank you. I appreciate that.” 

                                                           *

 It was Curtis who heard the music first the next day, while busily cleaning the old bird cage. “MUM!” he called from the back yard. “The ice-cream man’s coming again. Can we have one?”

 “Yes, of course. Bring my purse from the kitchen.”

 Stephanie stood upright, a clump of dirt-encrusted weeds limp in her hand. Sure enough, there was the familiar tinny music again.

She threw the clump into the bucket and rinsed her hands. It was another sweltering day, and the cold soft serve would be very welcome.

 “Hello there!” Bert cheerfully called as he pulled into the kerb. “What’ll it be today?”

 “The same as yesterday, I’m sure.” Stephanie looked at her children. “Is that right, kids?”

 The children nodded eagerly. The double squishy cone seemed even bigger than the previous day. “Take them into the backyard,” Stephanie advised. “There’s a shady spot under the tree. How much do I owe you, Bert?”

 “One dollar-fifty,” the ice-cream vendor grinned. “No inflation here.”

 “You’re a lifesaver, Bert and it takes me back to my childhood. Happy memories of when my brother Peter and I would race each other to the Mr Dairy Dream van at the beach.”

 “Only too pleased to help. There should be plenty of happiness in this old world, I always say.”

 “Have you been doing this a long time?” Stephanie enquired.

 “Since I retired. Gave me a new lease on life, a new purpose. Do you still race your brother?”

 “Not any more,” replied Stephanie sadly. “He’s probably racing in Heaven.”

 “Well, my dear, I hope this brings you a little joy.”

 “Yes, it does. Joy tinged with sadness but thank you. Will we see you tomorrow?”

 “Tomorrow is my church day. Enjoy.” With that, Bert resumed his place in the driver’s seat and slowly continued along the street.

 Stephanie sighed. Oh Peter, where are you now? I wish we’d had more time together. It was all so quick.

                                                           *

 Sunday evening rolled around. Stephanie, Curtis, and Alana sat down to a simple meal of sandwiches and cold drinks. Glancing at the wall clock, Stephanie noted it was 7.30.

 “Gosh, I didn’t realise the time. You two need to be in bed in an hour ready for school tomorrow. I hope it’ll be a good first day for you. Don’t forget to pack your bags.”

 Alana nodded. “Okay. I hope it’s good too. It’s always hard making new friends and having new teachers.” Curtis agreed. The children cleaned up their plates and glasses, then headed into the garden for a few minutes. Tiger had wandered across the road into their yard to say hello. Stephanie watched them through the window, fussing over the little tabby.

I hope this is the right move. Maybe I should get them a pet when things have settled.

The next morning Stephanie walked with the children to the local public school, a short distance from home.

 After checking them in at the office, they meandered across the playground. She hoped they would make at least one new friend each. Stephanie made her way back on the opposite side of the road. After passing a few houses, she stopped in front of a tumble-down fibro house with a rusty leaning carport. Under the carport roof was an old Mr Dairy Dream van, paint faded and flaking, the large ice-cream cone on top tilted sideways. She decided to call on the Farnleys and ask them about it.

 As she rang the doorbell, her mind wandered to the previous day and how good the ice-cream had been. Ken answered the door, beaming. “Come in, come in, it’s good to see you,” he gushed. “Joyce, a cool drink. We’ve got a visitor.” Cradling the tumbler in her hands, Stephanie asked them how long they had lived there.

 “Oh, we’ve been here fifty years now,” Ken beamed. “This little town is home.”

 “Wow. That’s a long time. It’s hard for me to imagine living in one place for so long.”

 “Never had any reason to move.” Joyce remarked. She produced a battered photo album and placed it on the table in front of Stephanie. “Have a look for yourself. Lots of memories in there.”

Engrossed in the album, the question of the ice-cream van was forgotten. Stephanie remembered just as she was leaving.

 “Oh, that’s old Bert Kettle’s van.” Ken replied. “He retired and bought that van to make the neighbourhood kids happy. He was a deacon at our church and wanted to feel like he still had a purpose after retirement. The old house is empty now that his wife has gone into care. Heart of gold, that man.”

 “But… I bought ice-cream from him yesterday. The name Bert was embroidered on his jacket. Didn’t you hear the music?”

 The Farnleys shook their heads. “Not possible,” said Ken. “He passed away some years back. Must be someone else with another van. Maybe one of his friends has his uniform.”

“Oh, I suppose it must have been. Thanks for the tea and the chat.” Stephanie was puzzled. I’m not imagining things. His jacket said Bert, and he was an older man. He didn’t correct me when I called him by name. How strange.

Alana and Curtis arrived home just after three, with reports of a positive day all round. Stephanie looked forward to Brad’s arrival.

                                                          *

The next day, sweat poured down Stephanie’s forehead as she removed more weeds from the front garden. Pausing to wash her hands, she heard the familiar strains of the Mr Dairy Dream van coming along the road and raced inside for money. She glanced at the wall clock. He was early today. Brad was due to arrive just after lunch. A cold treat would be extremely welcome right now, and then she could freshen up. Wandering back down to the front gate, she wondered about what Ken and Joyce had said. It didn’t make any sense. Somebody else called Bert? Is that possible?

 The van pulled into the kerb. It almost seemed to glide to a halt, and once again, Stephanie marvelled at the quietness of the engine.

 “What will it be?” Bert beamed. “The usual?”

 “Yes please. Gosh, it’s so hot that I thought you’d be run off your feet, but it looks like I’m your only customer today. Come to think of it, I didn’t see anyone else come out to you on Friday or Saturday.”

 “Seems that way. How’s your day going?”

 “I’m keeping myself busy in the yard,” Stephanie replied, licking the melting ice-cream off the side of the cone. “That way I’m not dwelling on the past too much.”

 “Been thinking about your brother again?” Bert asked.

 “Yes. It’s hard not to. I have a huge empty spot inside.”

Bert leaned forward. His kindly grey eyes focussed on Stephanie’s blue ones. “Well,” he said in a soothing voice, “You don’t need to worry. He’s fine. Misses you too, but he’s quite okay. No more pain and suffering.”

Stephanie wondered how he knew that. Bert resumed his driver’s seat before she could get the words out to ask.

 “By the way,” he called as the van left the kerb, “he thinks you run like a girl, and he could beat you any time.”

 Stephanie stopped, dumbfounded. What did he just say? The music started up again, but this time it was different. Still hauntingly familiar. A tune from the past. What was it? Slowly she realised she was hearing the strains of The Angels are Watchin’ Over Me. Suddenly, Bert and his van vanished.

She nodded, absorbing Bert’s message. Finally, she turned and headed back inside. Yes, Peter, angels are real. They’re watching over you and me, and that’s the way it’ll always be.