Chapter 8

“You don’t seem likely to make much money today,” Rob said.

“You know this is a use-it-or-lose-it pitch.”

Rob knew it. If Bianchi’s didn’t use the pitch often enough, the council would take it off them and let another firm lease it. Rob’s firm. Problem was, the trade here was so up and down it meant plenty of wasted days. Chez leaned against the freezer, while Rob took a good look around the interior of the van. In decent nick, but the machines were a bit old. Clean, though. No hygiene inspector could find fault.

“You actually want an ice?” Chez asked.

“Why not? I just had lunch and no dessert. Give us a 99.”

“I thought you liked my Nana’s sophisticated flavours.” Chez took a cone from the top of the stack.