The Canal Boat Cafe 3 - Cabin Fever

by Cressida McLaughlin

  ‘I appreciate it.’

  ‘You’re back again?’

  Summer gave him a rueful smile. ‘It was good to get away for a while. But it helped me to realize that, as beautiful and interesting as the river is, my home is here.’

  Adam gave her a chuckle. ‘Of course it is. Nobody can resist Willowbeck’s charms for too long.’

  ‘And I will be back for bacon, I just need to do a bit of repair work first. But you can expect good, steady custom from me from now on.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’

  ‘And let me know how much the permit is. I’ll pop in later with the cash.’

  Adam waved her a goodbye and, to Summer’s surprise, her little car started first time. Latte sat on the passenger seat as Summer chugged through the vibrant countryside towards Cambridge. It felt strange driving these familiar roads after such a long time, strange even to be at the wheel of a car, instead of the tiller. But she had the window open, the radio on and, while the café was looking forlorn at the moment, Summer knew that some elbow grease and a bit of investment would soon make it as right as rain. After all, she and Valerie had fixed it once before, there was nothing stopping them doing an even better job this time.

  The wholesaler met all her needs, and she emerged with a boot full of crockery and vases, balloons and bunting, a state-of-the-art cash register and, her most exciting purchase, a new, sturdy A-frame and a set of chalk marker pens. Summer was already imagining the beautiful words she could write, the messages that would entice customers into sampling her cakes and coffee.

  Back on the boat, Summer set to work, packing away her new items, setting the cash register on the counter. Licking her lips, a fresh coffee at her side, she got out her chalk pens and wrote a message, savouring every moment, using different chalks and drawing a steaming cup of tea in the bottom corner. No tables today, we’re blowing cobwebs away, but I’m still serving drinks, so come and get your latte. Summer knew she could put the tables out on the towpath, but she had so much to sort out inside that she thought doing both would be counter-productive.

  Before she put the new sign out and opened up the hatch, she walked up to The Sandpiper. It was nearly eleven – she had spent far too much time at the wholesalers – and she assumed Mason would have been long up. Their evening at the pub had been fun, relaxed and comfortable, so why did she feel so nervous? She hadn’t yet been on board his boat, and her heart was in her throat when she knocked on the glossy, black doors.

  She didn’t have to wait long for Mason to open them. In his glasses and a scruffy khaki T-shirt and jeans, he looked irresistibly crumpled.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, surprise in his voice.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you. If you’re busy I can come back later.’

  ‘No it’s fine, come in.’ He stepped back, inviting her forward. Summer stepped inside and, before she’d had a chance to look around, was greeted enthusiastically by Archie. She stroked the Border terrier and he looked up at her expectantly.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’ve left Latte on my boat. I didn’t think I’d be long.’ She gazed around her, her mouth falling open. The inside of Mason’s boat was beautiful, and unusual. It was decked out in white oak or alder with black and red accents, and was obviously done to a high standard. She was standing next to a small kitchen table, and beyond that the galley was open, with black, marble-effect counter tops, the line of the cupboards curved, like a wave. Behind that was the living space, where she could see a sofa, a television built into a cupboard against the wall, and a large iMac on a tiny desk. Everywhere she looked, there were curves. The large, rectangular windows were interspersed with portholes, there was a curved edge to the desk and round, red cushions on the black sofa. The floor was wood, apart from in the galley where it was black and white checkerboard.

  Summer had always known that her living area was squashed, because the café took up half the space, but it never really sunk in until she saw how spacious the other residential boats seemed. This, though, was something else. It exuded space, and light, and calm.

  ‘Wow,’ she breathed. ‘Your boat is stunning.’

  Mason grinned. ‘It’s been a long time coming, but I’m finally happy with it.’

  ‘Where do you put your muddy walking boots?’

  Mason laughed. ‘That’s your most pressing question?’

  ‘It’s beautiful, so full of character, so – so perfect.’

  ‘And I’m not?’ He grinned. ‘Do you want a coffee?’

  ‘Yes please,’ Summer said, but she was thinking of the famous Bridget Jones line. I like you, very much, just as you are. She trailed after him, taking in the tiny touches of detail, a sheep-shaped kitchen timer on the counter, a Kilner jar full of bone-shaped dog biscuits, with a label on it that said ‘Archie’ in case he got confused and ate them himself. There were small framed photos on the slanting walls: a muntjac deer in the mist, neck and head alert, looking straight at the camera; a swan taking off from the river, its body elongated, wings spraying flecks of glistening water; a close-up of a robin, its breast impossibly red, the detail of the individual feathers as intricate as lace.

  ‘These are yours?’ she said.

  ‘They are.’ Mason spooned coffee into the cafetiere. ‘Sorry I don’t have anything as sophisticated as a machine,’ he indicated, boiling the kettle.

  ‘I’m surprised you have anything other than instant.’

  He looked affronted. ‘Do you really think that little of me?’

  ‘You just spend a lot of money on my espressos.’

  ‘Coffee’s never the same at home, you know that. Although you’re probably the exception.’

  ‘I do have the means to make a good coffee.’

  ‘How’s the café? Do you want any help fixing it up?’

  ‘That’s what I’m here about actually,’ she said. She watched as he poured water into the cafetiere, stirred it, and put the lid on. The smell of the coffee mingled with his usual citrus and vanilla scent. ‘I wondered if you could give me the name of someone who can fix my door and windows, and maybe help with the table repairs too?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. He went to his desk, and started rifling through papers. Summer followed him, and noticed a few signs of his scruffiness creeping in amongst the show-boat. There was a pile of photography magazines on a side table, the page corners bent over, one left open with a large marker-pen circle round one of the articles. Two different jumpers were strewn over the back of the sofa, and an empty glass was on the floor, a dribble of red wine left in the bottom. A box on the sofa looked like it was full of rolls of film, and Summer wondered where he got them developed, grinning at the thought he hadn’t entirely embraced the digital age.

  ‘Here you go,’ he said, handing her a piece of paper. ‘This is where I got most of the work on The Sandpiper done. I knew nothing about boats when I bought her, and they’re keen to teach you, so I ended up being able to do quite a bit in the end. They’re not too far, and Mick, the guy I dealt with, might come out to you if it’s a quick job. Tell them that I recommended them to you.’

  ‘Thank you, I really appreciate it. I need the café up and running as quickly as possible in this weather.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll do you a quick turnaround.’ Mason slipped past her and poured the coffee, and they leaned on the kitchen counter, side by side, sipping their drinks.

  ‘This is the most beautiful boat interior I’ve ever seen,’ Summer admitted. ‘I mean, compared to the café, and then – I don’t know if you’ve been on Moonshine, but it’s all fabrics and dark corners.’

  ‘That’s because it’s Valerie’s office: where she sees customers. And you have people tramping in and out of yours all day too. Your cabin’s as nice as this.’

  Summer laughed. ‘No it’s not. You don’t have to be kind. Was your house like this, too, before you moved on to the boat? Beautifully designed, attention to all the little details?’ She ran her hand along the curve of the cupboard, and felt Mason
sigh beside her.

  ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘This was – it was a clean break, buying The Sandpiper, becoming a liveaboard, and I wanted to make the effort, to make it a home. And, to be honest, I also treated it as a project, working closely with the boatbuilders to design the interior, doing research about the best features, heating system, gadgets. And then, towards the end, working alongside them to get it finished. It was a good distraction.’

  ‘From what?’ Summer thought of Claire’s friend, and wondered if she had been a distraction too. She brushed the thought away.

  ‘From some unhappy memories,’ Mason said, giving her a quick glance. ‘But I’m glad you approve. I’m sorry it’s taken this long; you’re always welcome. You should come and have a look at the photos I took that day in Foxburn.’

  ‘I’d love that,’ she said. ‘How about a week on Friday? Let me cook you dinner in your beautiful galley, and you can show them to me.’

  Mason turned towards her, raising his eyebrows. ‘That sounds like an ambush.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Do you think that by leaving out the date, I’ll conveniently forget that a week on Friday is my birthday?’

  Summer laughed. ‘Isn’t it a nice way to spend it, having your dinner cooked for you? Unless of course you’ve got other plans.’ She felt herself flushing slightly at the thought he might have somebody else to spend his birthday with.

  ‘No plans,’ he said, narrowing his eyes at her. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Good. You don’t have to go all out, but I think you have to recognize the day you came into the world, even with something small. I’d like to recognize it,’ she added quickly, gulping down the last of her coffee. ‘I have to get back to Latte and my wreck of a café. Thank you for the boatbuilder details.’

  ‘Do you want help?’

  Summer shook her head. ‘There isn’t much else to be done until the door and windows are repaired. Thank you, though.’ She gave him a quick wave and then opened the door, squinting as the sunlight assaulted her eyes. As she left, she noticed a pair of muddy walking boots sitting on a carrier bag next to the door.

  She dawdled back to her boat, letting the summer breeze caress her skin. She would have loved Mason’s help, but she wasn’t just repairing the café, she was planning his surprise party. It would be small, nothing flashy or impressive, with less than ten guests – unless you counted the geese. But it would show Mason how much he was thought of, and it would show her gratitude for all that he’d done for her. She needed a fully functioning café before she could do anything, so first she had to call Mick.

  Mick arrived later that afternoon, and Summer was worried he’d break the boat apart rather than mend it. He was at least six-foot-three, wearing a bright red T-shirt and with a scruffy, wiry brown beard that could have housed a nest of blue tits. He reminded her of Desperate Dan from the comics she used to read when she was small, but he had kind eyes, and his handshake was solid and warm.

  ‘What happened here then, love?’

  ‘I had a break-in,’ Summer admitted. ‘They didn’t get away with anything valuable, but they’ve messed the place up a bit.’

  Mick nodded and turned in a small circle, his body stooped. ‘Nothing that can’t be fixed pretty sharpish.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘I can measure up, bring you new windows and replace the door with a better one, more secure – it was about time to replace this one anyway,’ he said, running his finger down the back of the door, which was still boarded up. ‘Won’t take me long, I reckon.’

  ‘And the tables?’ Summer showed him the damaged furniture.

  Mick ran his hand over these too, and Summer thought they looked like Hobbit furniture next to him. ‘I can take ’em now, love, bring ’em back tomorrow with the windows and doors.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Unless that’s too soon for you, love.’ He grinned, or at least Summer thought he did – it was hard to tell behind the beard.

  ‘That would be incredible. I had no idea you could fix it all so quickly.’

  ‘We’re a bit lighter in the summer, people cruising rather than mending. If it was winter, I wouldn’t be able to give you a look-in for weeks.’

  ‘Well then I’m very grateful they broke in during the summer.’

  ‘Yup,’ Mick admitted. ‘Let’s thank the burglar for their consideration.’ Now she did spot the grin, and she resisted the urge to reach out and hug this huge, weird man who was going to help her get her café right much sooner than she had imagined. ‘You said Mason recommended me to you? Is he in?’ He pointed in the direction of The Sandpiper.

  ‘He was this morning,’ Summer said.

  ‘I’ll give the old Lothario a look-in. Come back for the tables in a while, if that’s all right?’

  Summer told him it was, thanked him again and waved him goodbye. She tried not to think too hard about the nickname Mick had for Mason, or where its origins might lie.

  Mick was good to his word, and the following day returned with mended tables and the new windows. He also had a new door, painted a glossy, pillar-box red.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Summer said, her voice full of awe as she caressed the wood.

  ‘I’ll just pop ’im in,’ Mick said, ‘get ’im all set up for you.’

  Summer worked at the hatch, serving the Thursday strollers tea, coffee and cookies, while Mick removed the broken windows and replaced them. It was extra hot today, the humidity returning, and Summer thought there was another storm on the horizon. She kept the large man topped up with strong tea and choc-chip cookies, wondering if she should also offer him a massage, the way he was stooping to get her boat repaired. She wanted to ask him what had led him to boat repair when he couldn’t really stand up in one, but thought better of it.

  He was finished just as the families at The Black Swan’s picnic tables were being replaced with couples and groups of older friends. Summer had the money ready – Mick wasn’t cheap, but it was worth it to have the café beautiful again and, Summer knew, more secure.

  ‘Anything else, just give me a bell.’

  ‘You’ve been wonderful, and so quick. No wonder Mason recommended you.’

  ‘He’s all right, that one,’ Mick said, nodding thoughtfully.

  ‘Even if he is a bit of a Lothario.’ Summer laughed, but it sounded awkward, not at all relaxed as she’d intended.

  ‘Ah, speaking from experience.’

  Summer blushed furiously and shrugged. She shouldn’t have gone down this route; she shouldn’t have tried to go fishing for details.

  ‘He’s come round though,’ Mick continued, oblivious to her discomfort, ‘a bit like The Sandpiper.’

  Summer raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Started out as a wreck, but now he’s much more settled. Bit of a Steady Eddie, whereas before …’ Mick shook his head, gazing off into some distance Summer couldn’t see. ‘Still, can’t blame ’im, can you? After what happened. Anyway …’ He snapped back into the present, grabbed Summer by the hand and gave her a bear-paw handshake.

  Summer saw him out, and then went back to her new bow door, running her hand over the red finish. It was beautiful, almost like a little piece of The Sandpiper had been delivered to her as a present from Mason. Mason the Lothario, Mason the Steady Eddie. What had happened? Summer couldn’t spend her life wondering. She could either ask him, or wait for him to tell her, for their friendship to reach that level of trust. There were still things he didn’t know about her, after all. She needed a distraction, something to take her mind off the thoughts going round in her head. The trouble was, her distraction was Mason, and his impending birthday. Sighing, she gave her new door a kiss, and glanced quickly around to check that nobody was watching. Latte looked up at her, her head at an angle, a look of utter incredulity on her little doggy face.

  The tenth of June, Mason’s birthday, dawned as humid as the previous week had been. There was no sign yet of a storm t
o break the sultry atmosphere, and Summer had noticed a listlessness in her customers as well as herself. Everyone was doing things as slowly as physically possible, people lingering longer at the tables inside, where a minimal but welcome through-breeze came from the windows on either side, and a stream of customers wanting cold drinks and ice creams from the hatch, so that Summer’s stock ordering became frantic in response.

  Summer knew that she was in the best place possible, that being on the river was much better in this weather than a café in the centre of Cambridge. Latte was also lethargic in the heat, sleeping a lot and, occasionally, staring at the water as if she’d like to jump into it. She hadn’t done it yet, and Summer tried keeping her as cool as possible, taking her for walks early or late when the day was at its coolest, and almost following her around with the water bowl.

  She had everything prepared for that evening. The cake was made and in the fridge, balloons filled with helium were bouncing about in her cabin, and she had streamers to decorate the tables. She’d started work on a present for Mason – a small painting of a kingfisher – but with the short notice, she hadn’t had much time to work on it and knew it would be several weeks before it was ready. She’d invited Valerie and Adam from the butcher’s, and Harry was coming with Tommy and Greg. She’d also asked Norman, and left a note for Dennis and Jenny at the pub, but wasn’t holding out much hope of hearing from the occupants of either Celeste or The Black Swan. Even if there were only a few of them, Summer was sure it would be fun.

  When she closed the café at six, the balloons and streamers and confetti would come out, along with the bottles of fizz and the cake, and Summer would coax Mason off his boat on a pretence, though she hadn’t yet decided what that would be. She knew he’d be there, because she’d invited herself to have dinner with him on The Sandpiper. She felt slightly reluctant to share him with anyone else, but hopefully if the party went well, there’d be more opportunities for just the two of them to spend time together.

  Still in her summer pyjamas, pale yellow shorts and vest top, Summer went to turn on the coffee machine. At first, her bare foot registered only cold, and she frowned and looked down. Then she realized that the cold wasn’t just cold, but wet, and that there was a layer of water floating happily on the surface of the café floor. She didn’t realize she’d shouted aloud until Latte appeared, did a small dance in the water, and then ran back and hid behind Summer, yelping furiously.