The Canal Boat Cafe 3 - Cabin Fever

by Cressida McLaughlin

  ‘OK,’ Mason said, drawing the word out, and Summer realized she’d got it all wrong. She’d made him anxious and suspicious, because she was feeling anxious, whereas if she’d just said he should come and see how well the boat was drying out, then it would have been easy.

  ‘Sorry, Mason, I—’

  ‘What is it?’ He stepped closer, and Summer caught his familiar scent, the vanilla reminding her of the icing on the cupcakes she’d made the day before.

  Summer thought, in that moment, that she would happily leave everyone else to the party and stay here with him. But she couldn’t do that, not when everyone had made such an effort. ‘I’ve messed this up.’

  ‘What?’ He was looking down at her, a curious smile playing on his lips.

  Summer took a deep breath. She took his hand and, ignoring the fact that he had no shoes on, pulled him on to the deck and out on to the towpath. ‘Happy birthday,’ she said quietly.

  The small gathering on the towpath cheered, and Summer felt Mason squeeze her hand and then let go.

  ‘Happy birthday, Mason!’ Valerie said, clasping her hands together.

  Harry and Greg clapped, and Tommy scooped a load of streamers off one of the tables and threw them vaguely in Mason’s direction. Summer thought briefly that she would need to grab those before Jenny caught sight of them and gave her another reprimand for littering.

  Next to her, Mason inhaled, and Summer closed her eyes, waiting for the expletive, or for him to turn and storm back on board his boat. But the breath turned into a laugh, and she risked looking up at him. His eyes were wide, bright, and – along with the confusion – she saw genuine happiness.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, giving a vague wave to everyone. ‘I had no idea.’ He turned to Summer. ‘I had no idea,’ he repeated. ‘Did you do all this?’

  ‘Me and Valerie and – well, all of us, really. Didn’t you notice the balloons this morning?’

  ‘The balloons? I—’ He slapped his hand to his forehead. ‘I did. But I’d completely forgotten about them. I can’t believe you’ve taken the trouble to do all this.’

  ‘Come on, enjoy.’ She took his hand again and pulled him into the centre of the small crowd, letting everyone offer him their own birthday wishes.

  ‘Fizz?’ Valerie mouthed. Inside, they took out the bottles of prosecco, the sandwiches and nibbles that Summer had put together, and collected the glasses. They poured the prosecco into glasses and handed them out, and then, with everyone looking at her expectantly, Summer realized that as the organizer, everyone was expecting her to say something. In all her planning, this was not something she’d considered.

  The evening was beautiful, the water like shimmering glass beneath the clear blue sky, a faint breeze whispering down the towpath, making the streamers wave and the balloons bob. It couldn’t be more perfect. She could do this, for Mason’s sake.

  Her heart pounding unhelpfully in her throat, she swallowed. ‘I just brought everyone here to—’

  Quack. She looked down. Four ducks were waddling at her feet, their beaks angled up at the tables of sandwiches.

  ‘Shoo.’ She flapped her free hand. ‘Shoo, ducks.’

  Quack.

  Tommy ran at the ducks, his arms out, and they scattered a few feet away then turned and waddled back. Summer rolled her eyes, and realized several mouths were twitching. Tommy had his head down, ready to charge again like a raging bull, and Harry put her hand on his shoulder.

  ‘I don’t think there’s any point,’ she said. ‘They’re too determined.’

  Quack quack, went the ducks.

  Summer tried to suppress her own smile. ‘Right,’ she said, ‘if the ducks want to join in, that’s fine. In fact it says what I wanted to say, but probably more eloquently. Mason, I haven’t known you for very long.’ She risked a quick glance at him. He was looking at her, his warm eyes giving her confidence, but also threatening to derail her with their intensity. ‘But you have already become a good friend, and not just because you’re always there when I have a crisis – a break-in, or an impromptu paddling pool in the café. You’ve shown me things about the river, and about nature, that I could never have imagined. You’re patient and kind and funny, and I’m not the only one who has nice things to say about you. I know I’m speaking for everyone when I say that we all care about you, Mason. You’re a – a good person.’ She knew it was a lame ending, so she raised her glass and said, loudly, ‘A toast! Happy birthday, Mason!’

  Everyone raised their glasses and echoed her sentiment. The prosecco was cool and crisp, and welcome on such a hot day. Summer had never worked out how bubbles could be so calming, rather than making her more jumpy and nervous, but she was glad of them.

  They took the clingfilm off the food and everyone tucked in, falling into easy conversation, standing on the towpath rather than sitting at the tables, as if Summer’s outdoor furniture had become a typical kitchen-at-a-party. Tommy ran down the ducks once more and then gave up, and Summer noticed him throwing small chunks of bread in their direction, so that soon the four ducks had become at least fifteen, and included a couple of Canada geese as well.

  ‘Happy birthday, Mason,’ called a woman with a pair of miniature schnauzers, and Mason looked up, his mouth full of sandwich, and frowned at Summer.

  Summer pointed at the message on the A-frame, and Mason nodded in understanding, just as he was ambushed by Tommy, who asked him about his hunting, and whether he’d ever done it with guns, and what he thought of fishing and whether he’d ever caught any fish in the river.

  Summer joined Harry at one of the tables, topped up their glasses and gave her friend a long look.

  ‘How are things really?’ she asked.

  Harry smiled, her gaze drawn to the table. ‘We’re getting by,’ she said. ‘The café’s been good to me, offering me a few more hours, and it’s not horrible working there.’

  ‘But your fingers are getting itchy?’

  ‘Itchy?’

  ‘Your wonderful, creative fingers,’ Summer said, covering them with her hand. ‘You can be doing more, you should be doing more.’

  ‘I’m still doing lots of crochet.’

  ‘Are you selling it?’

  Harry shook her head.

  ‘So what about my idea?’ Summer asked softly. ‘I really want to make the café more unique, to set it apart from other eating establishments,’ she nodded her head in the direction of the pub, ‘but apart from the fact that my skills are sorely lacking, all I’ve done recently is fix up my boat. You can create masterpieces with a click of your fingers.’

  ‘I’m not the fairy godmother,’ Harry said, laughing softly.

  ‘You really bloody could be, for me and The Canal Boat Café.’

  ‘My cooking isn’t that great.’

  ‘Your modesty is going to get irritating soon,’ Summer said. ‘Look, I’ll do you a deal. If anyone has a bad word to stay about your pistachio cake – once I’ve unveiled it as the pièce de résistance – I’ll stop asking.’

  ‘No, I – I want to do it,’ Harry said. ‘I do.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’

  Harry shrugged, and Summer thought she knew exactly what her friend’s problem was. Just as Harry had known that Summer would be happy if she gave her mum’s boat a chance, Summer could see that her friend’s confidence had been knocked by the situation she found herself in. Although it wasn’t her fault, and they’d just been undone by circumstance – the failing fortunes of Greg’s job – Summer knew that Harry felt responsible for not keeping their small family unit running perfectly. Harry’s self-belief had been dented, and Summer knew that she could help get it back.

  ‘One month,’ Summer said.

  Harry looked up. ‘What?’

  ‘If your pistachio cake gets positive feedback – and I’m not including people who don’t like nuts, they don’t count – then we’ll try it on a one-month basis. I’ve drawn up a business plan.’

  ‘You have?’

&n
bsp; Summer nodded. ‘It’s just a starting point. I’ll give you a copy and you can go through it, make any changes you think it needs, and then come back here and we can iron out the details. You should stay the night and we can have a proper catch-up – I’ve got the pull-down bed I always used to stay on.’

  ‘You really don’t have to do this, Summer.’

  ‘It’s not a favour to you. I want to do this, for me and you and for the café. Come and have a night on the boat. Get Greg to look after Tommy and take a night off.’

  Harry rested her chin on her hand, and laughed.

  ‘What?’ Summer asked.

  ‘You,’ Harry said. ‘You seem happy. Happier then when I saw you in Foxburn. And this – this determination, business cases, plans for the café. It’s great, Summer. I knew that you’d flourish being back on the boat. But I’m not sure it’s just about that, is it?’

  Summer felt her cheeks redden. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Your blush tells me you do,’ Harry said. ‘And he seems lovely, though I haven’t spoken to him properly yet. I’m going to take a leaf out of my son’s book and corner him against one of the boats.’

  Summer laughed. ‘I still don’t know enough about him.’

  ‘About what Claire told you?’

  Summer nodded.

  ‘But that’s the point of getting to know someone,’ Harry said. ‘It’s not an instant download, is it? One button press and you know everything there is to know about Mason. It’s gradual, and that’s part of the fun. Don’t worry about what Claire said. Make up your own mind about Mason now, not what he was like five years ago.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ Summer said, glancing in Mason’s direction. He was laughing at something Charlie, Adam’s son, was explaining, his glass empty, Archie lying across his feet. Summer couldn’t help but smile. ‘I think it’s cake time,’ she said, forcing herself to look away. As she got up from the table, her best friend gave her a knowing smile.

  The party broke up gradually, Summer joking that it was as soon as all of Harry’s pistachio cake had been eaten. She gave Greg and Tommy a hug goodbye, and handed a copy of her business plan to Harry. ‘One night soon, here on the boat. Promise me?’

  Harry sighed, but she was grinning. ‘I promise,’ she said. ‘I’ll wait until I have my shifts at the café, and then I’ll speak to Greg.’

  ‘About what?’ Greg had one arm wrapped around Tommy, who was blinking furiously in an attempt to look like he wasn’t remotely tired.

  ‘I want to get your wife on my boat for a night, to have her to myself.’

  Greg looked down at Harry. ‘And what’s the problem? Sounds good to me.’

  ‘We have to work it out – there’s my shifts at the café, Tommy—’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ Greg said. ‘I’m sure the two of us can do one night without burning the house down. You go. Have some time off. God knows you could do with a break.’

  ‘Thanks, Greg,’ Summer said, grinning. ‘See, no excuses now.’ She embraced her friend and planted a kiss on her cheek, and then watched them walk back to the car park, looking like a perfect little family. She wanted to help Harry see that was still the case, and that their hardship only meant that was more true, not less.

  Valerie was clearing glasses and plates off the tables, swaying gently and humming to herself, and Mason was talking to Dennis. Summer’s heart leapt, and she approached slowly.

  ‘Here she is now,’ Mason said, and Dennis turned.

  ‘I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it down earlier,’ Dennis said. ‘Friday night in the pub, so we’re rushed off our feet. I heard it’s been a good night, though?’

  Summer nodded tentatively, ‘I think everyone’s enjoyed themselves,’ she said, glancing at Mason.

  ‘I’ve had the best night,’ he said, ‘truly.’ He was holding a bottle of prosecco, and Summer wondered briefly if he’d been swigging out of it, until she realized the label wasn’t the same as the one on the bottles she’d bought. ‘I have low expectations for my birthday these days, and this was so thoughtful. You didn’t have to, Summer.’

  ‘I wanted to.’

  Mason shook his head. ‘And with all you’ve had to deal with …’

  ‘But you helped me sort it out so quickly. If it wasn’t for you, I would never have been able to go ahead with this.’ She tugged on one of the balloons, and Latte barked. ‘So you really only have yourself to thank.’

  Mason frowned and rubbed his forehead. ‘I am not thanking myself for my own surprise birthday party – I can’t even get my head around the idea. I think we should take the prosecco Dennis has brought us, and finish off the evening in style. Dennis, will you join us for a glass?’

  Dennis glanced towards The Black Swan, started to thumb behind him, and then shrugged. ‘Oh what the heck, one glass won’t hurt.’

  ‘Great. Let me go and get some clean glasses.’ Summer found Valerie in the galley, rinsed four glasses and dragged her back outside.

  The four of them sat at one of the outdoor tables, watching the setting sun turning the water golden. There was still a gentle hum from the picnic tables, the warm evening encouraging people to stay out as late as possible, and there was a strong scent of freshly mown grass in the air.

  The silence was easy, comforting, and Summer was almost reluctant to fill it. She was sitting next to Mason, and could feel the warmth of his body close to her, knowing that a few inches to her right and their thighs, their arms, would be touching. She sipped her drink, feeling the burst of bubbles anew after hours of refreshing others’ glasses, and serving food and cake.

  ‘This is very near to perfect.’ It was Valerie who said it, her words softened at the edges by the alcohol.

  Three heads nodded in agreement. Latte snuffled at Summer’s feet. She glanced down, and started to laugh.

  ‘What?’ Valerie asked. ‘What is it?’

  Summer tried to stem her laughter, breathing deeply, and hiccupped. She looked at Mason. ‘You’ve spent your whole birthday party with bare feet. On the towpath. There could be anything – duck poo, cigarette butts.’ Another laugh overtook her, and she put her hand on Mason’s knee. ‘I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to laugh.’

  ‘Well clearly you do,’ Mason said, his eyes slightly narrowed. ‘But if you remember, you forced me off my boat without giving me time to dress properly. It felt rude to leave my own party to go back and put my shoes on.’

  Summer looked at him, studying his face for signs of irritation, but could find only warmth. Of course his job and the hours he spent outside meant that he couldn’t be too bothered by a bit of dirt, but then she pictured his immaculate boat.

  ‘You’re full of contradictions,’ she said, before she could stop herself.

  ‘How come?’ he asked softly. ‘Where do I contradict myself?’

  Summer opened her mouth, and then realized she didn’t want to explain, and that the first contradiction, about how he could be so scruffy and tidy all at the same time, inevitably led on to the second one; how could he be so warm and open and attentive to her, and capable of the behaviour Claire described? Could someone really change so completely? She shook her head.

  ‘Happy birthday, Mason.’

  ‘That’s not an answer.’ He put his hand over hers, where it still rested on his knee.

  She grinned at him.

  ‘Maddy appreciated a good sunset,’ Valerie said, ‘though she’d probably be dancing on the tables with her prosecco rather than sitting at one.’

  Dennis chuckled. ‘Too right. Maddy wouldn’t let a party end until there really was no other choice.’

  Summer closed her eyes.

  ‘You OK?’ Mason asked quietly.

  Summer nodded. ‘It’s nearly a year since …’

  ‘God,’ Dennis said, ‘it is, isn’t it?’

  ‘The eighteenth of June,’ Valerie added. ‘Not a day any of us will ever forget.’

  Summer shuddered. The date had been creep
ing closer, and Summer had been increasingly aware of it, but in her attempt to remain positive, she had been pushing it as far back as her thoughts would allow her. Now though, it seemed to loom large. Should she mark it? It seemed grotesque to mark the anniversary of losing someone so close. The start of grief, of sadness, and in Summer’s case, of guilt. Not something to be celebrated.

  ‘Here we are,’ Valerie continued, ‘marking something wonderful. The birth date of someone we all care about, and it’s so close to a contradictory anniversary, the passing of someone who we loved, who we miss every day. Beginnings and endings – you can’t escape them. You just have to be thankful for the time in between.’

  ‘Too right,’ Dennis muttered quietly.

  Summer stared into her drink, feeling a hollowness that she soon recognized as fear. She didn’t want to cope with the memories, the reminder, the anniversary. She let the others chat around her, but she could sense Mason’s awareness, his glances in her direction. When the darkness was complete, Dennis insisted on putting the last table and chairs back on board The Canal Boat Café, and Summer offered to walk Mason back to his boat.

  ‘It’s about ten feet,’ he said, but he put his arm across her shoulders, and they walked in step back to The Sandpiper.

  ‘You’re not looking forward to next week,’ he said quietly. ‘Will you do anything?’

  Summer shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. I’m dreading it, but I don’t know how I’ll feel until it arrives. The café will be busy, so that’ll be something. A June Saturday in Willowbeck will take my mind off it. Anyway,’ she said, ‘it’s still your birthday.’

  They stopped on his deck, Archie pawing gently at the door until Mason opened it and let him in. ‘It’s been the best one I’ve had in a long time. Thank you.’

  Summer could feel the gentle lull of the water beneath her feet. She looked up at Mason, his face in shadow, and felt a shudder run through her. ‘It was my pleasure,’ she said, her voice dropping, as if the moment required quiet.

  Mason reached up and slipped a strand of her hair away from her face. Summer could feel the tension, the anticipation between them, could picture herself leaning up to kiss him, slowly, lingeringly, on the lips. She wanted to, almost more than anything, but something was holding her back. Claire’s words, the need to find out more about him before she let him fully in. She’d made the mistake of giving in too soon in the past, and she had her wits about her this time.