Free The Vintage Ice Cream Van Road Trip (Cherry Pie Island - Book 2) by Jenny Oliver Page A

the guy’s crazy!’ Wilf put his hand on the horn again and followed him through the traffic, tail-gating his new nemesis.
    ‘What are you doing? Slow down!’ Holly leant forward and grabbed the dashboard as Wilf swerved in and out to follow the white van. ‘You’re the one driving like a maniac. Let it go. Just forget about it.’
    ‘He cut me up!’ Wilf looked at her as if that excused the driving.
    ‘Calm down.’
    ‘He cut me up!’ Wilf said again, his eyes blazing.
    ‘Grow up!’ Holly almost shouted. ‘This isn’t about the driving, it’s about what you’re thinking about the baby. Just pull over or slow down or something. Just stop it.’
    At the traffic lights, the guy in the van was undoing his window. Wilf had pulled up next to him and, with the ice cream van’s right-hand drive, they were face to face. The guy let out a furious tirade, waving his hands about and Wilf shouted back in immaculate French peppered with English expletives. Then, when the lights changed, the guy in the van put his foot down, cutting Wilf up again.
    ‘See? See what he’s doing?’ Wilf said.
    But Holly didn’t reply, just glared at him, furious. ‘You’re pathetic,’ she said. And Wilf wavered for a moment, but then the van driver slowed down, almost to a stop, forcing Wilf to slam on the brakes and then sped up, gesturing with his hands out the window. Wilf flashed his headlights and zoomed up behind him. Holly held her hands up in frustration. But then, suddenly, a police siren sounded and Wilf’s shoulders stiffened. Next thing, they were pulled over at the side of the road, the van driver waving his hands in the air and pointing furiously at Wilf as two policemen took their statements.
    ‘This is ridiculous,’ said Wilf, running his hands through his hair and getting angrier with the Frenchman’s version of events. ‘He’s lying,’ he said, gesturing to the policeman taking notes. Then he turned to Holly and said, ‘He says I drove into him. Did I drive into him? No of course I didn’t. He’s lying!’ he said again to the policeman.
    Holly watched from where she was leaning against the front of the van, tired and a bit nauseous from the fury and stress. It was just after lunch and the sun seemed to be at its hottest. She could feel it beating down on her head, relentless. She could feel a trickle of sweat down her back and her eyes beginning to blur.
    She needed some water but she’d drunk the little bottle that she’d bought. There was nothing around them except the outskirts of Dijon. Houses, schools, playgrounds. No shops. Cars sped past. She looked around for some shade. Nothing.
    Wilf was babbling away in French, matching the van driver for hand movements. Her smattering of school French wasn’t good enough to pick out anything that was being said. All she could feel was her heart-rate rising and her vision blurring.
    She wiped her forehead and slipped round to the side of the van where there was a ruler’s-length strip of shadow. She put her head in her hands and took some deep breaths.
    ‘Holly?’ she heard Wilf call, ‘Are you OK?’
    ‘Excuse me, sir…’ The policeman held Wilf’s arm as he tried to walk over to where Holly was starting to go wobbly by the side of the van.
    ‘She’s clearly in trouble.’
    ‘My colleague will check on your wife.’
    ‘She’s not my wife. Holly! Just let go of me. She’s pregnant. Holly? Go see if she’s OK. For god’s sake, do something.’
    Holly woke up with her head resting on the knees of the policewoman. Tiny and elfin, she smiled down at Holly and offered her a sip of water.
    Holly struggled to sit up. Then, taking the bottle with a smile and a ‘merci’, took a great gulp and tipped some into her hand and rubbed it on her face.
    The woman put her hand on her shoulder to steady her.
    She heard Wilf shouting something and looked over to see him being bundled into the back of the police car along with the van driver. ‘Where are they