Cecelia Ahern - Mrs Whippy

Brian stood up from the kitchen table and cleared his throat. “Da?”

“Not now, Brian,” Charlie growled, staring at me.

“Yes now, Da,” Brian said forcefully.

Charlie turned to face him in surprise. “What?”

“I was talking to Mam yesterday.” Brian raised his chin and puffed out his chest. “And she said that she doesn’t mind if you take us to that match on Wednesday.”

“Eh … Wednesday?” Charlie said, looking nervous.

“Yeah, Wednesday,” Brian repeated.

I was confused.

Brian looked at me to explain. “Da said he had tickets for us for the match on Wednesday, but he couldn’t bring us because you said we couldn’t go. But you said it was OK, didn’t you?”

I tried not to smile at what Brian was doing. Instead I nodded.

“See?” Brian said.

“Yes!” Mark jumped up from the table. He started dancing around and singing about how they were going to the match. My heart broke for him. I didn’t like this one bit.

“No, son,” Charlie said to Mark, trying to stop him from passing out with excitement. “Calm down. I … I … The tickets are … I don’t …” He stopped and looked to me for help.

I shrugged.

Charlie swallowed hard. “I had the tickets for you, lads. But when your mam said you couldn’t come I gave them to someone else.”

Mark stopped jumping up and down. He looked at me with big sad eyes.

“You said we couldn’t go, Mammy?”

“No,” Brian cut in. “She didn’t say no. Da didn’t even ask her, did he?” He looked at me. When I refused to answer, he looked at his father. “Did you?” he repeated, his eyes boring into Charlie.

Charlie slowly turned to me with narrowed eyes. I could feel his hate. “You’ve poisoned them against me,” he hissed.

He raised his hand and my hands flew to my face. Brian grabbed his dad’s raised arm and shouted, “Get out!”

Little Mark began howling. I dived for him and held him in my arms until he stopped.

There was a long silence.

And then, right on cue, the sweet music of Mr Whippy sounded once again.

Eleven

Mark’s eyes lit up. “Mammy! It’s your friend!”

Charlie’s head snapped around to face me. “Is this your fancy man I’ve been hearing all about, Emelda? I’ve heard all about you chatting him up like you’re some young one. Are you forgetting who you are and what you look like? A fat –”

“Charlie!” I warned, stopping him from continuing with his insults.

I immediately grabbed Vincent by the hand and carried Mark out of the room. I brought them to the Mr Whippy van. Their eyes lit up and their brows relaxed. Here they were allowed to be children again and to not worry about their parents.

“Are you OK?” Mr Whippy asked, reading my hurt expression.

“Yes.” I smiled, his concern touching me. “I am now.”

He returned the smile. “Now, what shall I get you boys? I remember you.” Mr Whippy looked at Mark. “Your name is Mark, isn’t that right?”

Mark nodded happily, feeling very special.

“And what’s your name?” He looked at Vincent.

I held my breath, hoping and praying that I would hear Vincent’s voice again. It had been so long. I was afraid the scene in the kitchen would have set him back even more.

Vincent looked at me with big, wide blue eyes. I nodded at him in encouragement. He looked back to Mr Whippy and opened his mouth. “Vincent,” he said, so quietly it came out as a whisper.

“That’s a lovely name. Well, Vincent, it’s nice to meet you,” Mr Whippy said softly. “I bet you love 99s like your brother, do you?”

Vincent nodded and said yes. And how I loved the sound of his little voice.

The boys sat happily on the grass with their ice-creams. Joe handed me a chocolate ice-cream cone with butterscotch sauce and sprinkles.

As I took my first taste, I watched as Charlie was forced out of the house by Brian. I watched as he was forced into his car and ordered off down the road. I watched him drive out of my life.

Twelve

When I was a little girl I believed in fairy tales. My mother used to read to me every night while I was snuggled up in bed. I loved hearing stories of princes and princesses who lived in beautiful castles in faraway lands. Just before I would drift off into my own faraway world, my mother would whisper to me that I too would find my prince some day.

Charlie was the first man I ever fell in love with. For over twenty-five years he remained the only man I loved. But when I fell in love with him, I stopped believing in fairy tales.

I believe in them again. Mother, if you can still see me, look. I’ve found my prince. His white van is the white horse that took him to me. His ice-cream cone is his sword! This fairy tale is real. I have a messy divorce to face and troublesome sons to guide. I have lost a best friend. But I’ve found my prince and that makes me smile. It’s not where I live happily ever after, or who with. It’s the fact that I live happily ever after. I know now that’s what my mother was trying to teach me.

I have a new ice-cream memory now. Chocolate ice-cream, butterscotch sauce and sprinkles gives me new feelings when I eat it. It gives me the feelings of empowerment, freedom and inner strength. I’ve learned that the best revenge is finding happiness again.

A revenge of the sweetest kind, served up by Mrs Whippy.