The Ice Cream Van – Part 1: Last Stop on the Seafront

The van had been painted cream and mint green in 1978, and the chimes still played the first four notes of a song nobody could name. Poppy parked it every morning at the same spot on the Brighton seafront, between the pier and the old bandstand, and every morning she sold ice cream to tourists, dog walkers and children with sticky hands.

The lifeguard on the nearby tower never bought anything.

He sat up there all day, tanned and serious, scanning the water with binoculars and a whistle round his neck. He looked as if he had been carved out of the same warm wood as the lifeboat house. She had nicknamed him Tower Man in her head, and had decided he was far too sensible for ice cream.

On a Tuesday in July, the sun was so bright the pebbles hurt to look at. Poppy was counting out change when a shadow fell across the serving hatch.

"Two scoops of mint choc chip," said Tower Man. "One cone. Please."

She looked up. Up close, he was younger than she'd thought, with sun-bleached hair and laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.

"You've been watching me for a week," said Poppy.

"I've been watching the sea," said Luke. "You're in the way of it."

She laughed, and scooped the ice cream, and handed him the cone. He paid with a crumpled five-pound note and didn't walk away.

"Do you ever get bored of the same flavour?" he asked.

"Never. It's the only one I trust."

"Then I'll have the same tomorrow," said Luke, and grinned, and went back up his tower.

He came back the next day, and the day after that. Mint choc chip, one cone, a few words over the hatch. He told her about the currents off the Palace Pier and the jellyfish that drifted in when the wind turned. She told him about the van's original owner, an old man who had left her a box of postcards and a broken whistle inside the glovebox.

By the second week, Poppy had started saving the best scoop for him.

"You're cheating," said Luke, on the Friday.

"I'm being generous," said Poppy. "There's a difference."

"Can I ask you something?" he said, leaning on the hatch.

"Yes."

"Would you like to watch the sunset from the tower with me tonight? Not for the view. Because I'd like to see what you're like when you stop being behind a counter."

Poppy's heart gave a sudden, hopeful jolt. "Yes," she said. "But only if you let me climb the ladder first, so you can see how bad I am at heights."

"Deal," said Luke. "Green?"

"Green," said Poppy, grinning. "Very green. Now pass me a flake, and let's see if you're as brave up high as you pretend to be."