The Canal Boat Cafe 3 - Cabin Fever

by Cressida McLaughlin

  ‘I need to go now, but thanks for the drink.’ Summer had barely drunk any of her wine, so in an attempt to look like she wasn’t flagging, or in need of rest, she gulped the rest down in several long swigs.

  ‘Already?’

  ‘I’m busy this evening,’ Summer said.

  ‘Oh?’ Ross raised an eyebrow, but she could see the tightness of his lips, the inner irritation that he didn’t want to reveal leaking out, like a glass with a crack in it.

  ‘Thanks again,’ she said. ‘Sorry I can’t stay longer.’

  ‘You’re always rushing off,’ he said, ‘always busy. I miss spending time with you, Summer, real time.’

  ‘Maybe if you didn’t just keep turning up,’ she said sharply.

  Ross held his hands up. ‘I know, I know. I’m sorry. Let’s plan something, when you’re able to take some time off. There’s a Jeff Koons exhibition coming to Cambridge soon. How about that? We could make a day of it.’

  Summer chewed her lip and wished she hadn’t drunk her wine so quickly. The acid was burning its way down her chest. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Think about it seriously,’ he said, putting his hand on her arm. ‘I miss you, Summer.’

  She nodded quickly, wondering if it was possible for her to be any more non-committal without being downright rude. ‘I have to go. Thanks for the drink.’

  ‘Any time,’ Ross said. He stood and gave her a quick hug, and then sauntered off in the direction of the car park. Summer stared after him for a couple of minutes, and then stomped towards her boat, Latte moving slowly at her feet after being unceremoniously woken from her doze.

  It meant nothing, she told herself as she got Latte’s dinner ready, banging drawers and kitchen implements. It was Ross being his usual, interfering self. He’d gone to see Valerie, had a cup of tea with her and then pretended he’d had a reading to spook her into staying away from Mason. She could clear it up in a moment by going and asking Valerie the truth. But then, why had the word ‘Lothario’ come up? Was Ross just hedging his bets, hoping to put her off, unaware that he’d sailed so close to the wind? Pitching Mason as a womanizer was the simplest way of making him seem undesirable to Summer, so maybe he’d just landed on the name out of chance. But he could have said anything – Casanova, heartbreaker, bad boy. Lothario was very specific, and it made Summer feel unsettled, like maybe the words had come from Valerie.

  She’d picked out her outfit for the evening before she’d started work: cut-off jeans and a royal blue vest top, with a hint of lace around the hem and neck. She looked at it now, sighing, not moving as quickly as she could when Latte jumped on to the bed and stood proudly on top of the cut-offs.

  Valerie could have heard Mick refer to Mason as Lothario – he wasn’t the quietest man she’d ever met, he was doing his work in summer, when windows were open and sound carried on the still air. But if Valerie had heard that – through her own, mortal ears as opposed to divine intervention – then why had she passed it on to Ross? Was she trying to put Summer off Mason indirectly, using her profession to get the message across? Summer didn’t really believe Valerie would do that. She wasn’t a fraud, and she was Summer’s friend. Except, Summer thought, running a brush through her hair, the curls around her temple refusing to settle, Valerie had been underhand about her dad and Ben arriving, had organized the memorial for her own good. Was this also, supposedly, for Summer’s own good? And if that was the case, what did Valerie know about Mason that made her want to put Summer off in this way? Why couldn’t she come out with it directly? Was it because she didn’t want to hurt Summer’s feelings, and inadvertently show her that she didn’t trust her decision making?

  ‘Shit, Latte.’ She sat on the side of the bed and let her dog walk on to her knees. ‘It could be coincidence, couldn’t it? It could just be that Ross or Valerie used a word, and it’s more accurate than they could have imagined.’

  She hoped it was Ross. She hoped that he had wanted to spook her by bringing up the break-in again, and was trying to put her off Mason because somewhere, in some part of his brain, he thought he still had a chance of getting together with her – showing concern for her wellbeing, wanting to be the one to look after her. Either of the other explanations – that Valerie was consciously trying to dissuade her, or that Valerie’s inner sight knew about Mason – didn’t bear thinking about, because both of them ended with the truth that, to Mason, Summer was just another notch on his bedpost, even if he was playing a longer game to get her there. She pulled on her outfit, her nerves squashing down the excitement that had been bubbling happily all day. So much for her fresh start, she thought, as she lifted Latte into her arms and locked up the boat.

  Chapter 6

  ‘Hey,’ Mason said, opening the door with a casual smile. He was wearing a black T-shirt and grey shorts, the skin on his legs almost as tanned as his arms, his feet bare as usual. His dark eyes met hers, and Summer found she was staring at him more closely, trying to read his thoughts. He frowned, and gave a nervous laugh. ‘You can come in, if you want to.’

  ‘Hi,’ Summer said, ‘sorry, sorry. Thank you.’ She stepped on board his beautiful boat. It was cool and fresh and smelled of delicious, slightly spiced food. The galley windows were open, and the summer breeze licked into every corner, tugging slightly at her hair. ‘Have you had a good day?’ She wanted so much to detach him from Claire’s warning and Ross’s weird prediction, and look at him objectively.

  Mason nodded, and got two bottles of beer out of the fridge. He opened them and handed her one. Summer clinked her bottle against his and sipped, the bubbles refreshing after the tang of the white wine.

  ‘You?’ he asked. ‘It looked relentless in the café today.’

  ‘It was,’ she nodded. ‘And you – did you do any … bird watching?’ She closed her eyes, angry that she could no longer even make small talk with him. After the previous night, and her confession that she could be comfortable in his presence even when they weren’t talking, she felt like they were grating against each other, and it was all her fault.

  ‘Not today,’ Mason said, moving towards his desk and beckoning for her to follow. He gestured for her to sit in the compact leather desk chair, while he perched on the edge of the sofa. She sat, beer in hand, and felt her senses respond as Mason leaned over her to reach the mouse. His skin smelt of lemons, and his dark curls glistened, as if they were still damp from the shower.

  She wondered if he was as nervous as she was after their kiss last night, the what happens next that hung in the air between them. She wished her nerves were pure anticipation, and not the wariness that was beginning to block everything else out.

  ‘I’ve been sorting through my photos,’ he said, ‘and not just the shots I took of the eagle. I thought you might want to see some others, including some that I took that day in Foxburn.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ Summer said, ‘but don’t you want to sit here and have better control of the computer? You look uncomfortable leaning over like that.’

  He flashed her a grin. ‘Guests get the proper chair.’

  ‘Guests? So you bring lots of people in here and show them your pictures?’ She knew she sounded defensive, but the words were out.

  ‘Only if I really like them,’ Mason said, and then glanced behind him to where Latte and Archie were tussling good-naturedly on the floor, ‘or if their dog is firm friends with mine.’

  ‘Ah, so you pick your friends based on how much they can stop your dog causing mischief? If I hadn’t had Latte, would you have even given me the time of day?’

  Mason sat up and turned towards her. Their knees were almost touching, and he was so close that she could see the flecks of gold in his dark irises. ‘I don’t just want you for your dog and your espressos,’ he said, his face serious.

  ‘But you … you …’ Summer’s voice trailed off and she licked her lips.

  Mason cupped her face with his hand, his thumb rubbing along her cheek. ‘I want you,’ he said, ans
wering the question she couldn’t get out, ‘in my life. Having you here on board The Sandpiper is a good start.’ He searched her eyes, let out a barely-there sigh, and dropped his hand.

  ‘What?’ Summer asked, the single word noticeably shaky. She took a quick sip of beer and tried to calm her breathing. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I don’t want to take things too far,’ he said, ‘if you’re not ready.’

  ‘But I – I—’

  ‘You’re not ready,’ he said, and this time there was no question in his voice, ‘so let’s just look at some photos.’ His smile was wide and warm, with no hint of frustration, and Summer found it impossible not to smile back. She’d unconsciously wheeled the chair across the floor, away from the sofa and the computer screen, and Mason took hold of the arm and wheeled it back again. ‘But I don’t bite,’ he said, ‘and you need to see these properly.’

  Summer nodded and focused her attention on the screen.

  ‘I’ve picked a selection,’ he said, ‘but if there’s anything you’re interested in that isn’t here, or you just want to browse then that’s fine – though there are a few thousand photos.’

  ‘Thousands?’

  ‘I’ve been doing this job five years,’ he said.

  ‘What about your photos from before that?’ Summer asked. ‘The non-nature ones? The fashion and magazine shoots?’

  It might have been her imagination, but she thought she sensed him go very still, the mouse pointer hovering over a folder called Summer.

  ‘I don’t have them here,’ he said. ‘There’s not enough room on the hard drive for everything. So, here we go.’ He clicked open the folder, and then selected the first photo, which popped up and filled the whole screen.

  Summer, confused a moment before by the change in Mason’s demeanour, was immediately transfixed by the beautiful photograph. It was of a blue, curving river next to a wide, raised bank, with golden-green fields beyond, on which a couple of cows were grazing. A windmill, its white sails reaching up towards the sky like open arms, broke the horizon, but it was the light that Summer was mesmerized by. It was white-gold, pure and perfect, as if she could drink it. She realized she was doing that now, trying to drink it in.

  ‘It’s stunning,’ she murmured. ‘Where is that?’

  ‘Norfolk,’ Mason said, ‘on the broads. I don’t get down there too often because the waterways aren’t suited to narrowboats, but they have some great reserves, and some beautiful views.’

  ‘You took this?’

  Mason laughed. ‘I haven’t invited you round here to show you a bunch of photos by other people.’

  ‘Why is the light like this?’

  ‘It was just after dawn, in summer. You don’t see that quality of light at any other time.’

  ‘It’s like a fairytale.’

  ‘Lacking a castle or a princess, I would have thought.’

  ‘The princess could live in the windmill. She wouldn’t care about a castle if she had that view.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Mason said, reaching forward and clicking on to the next photo, ‘but you should see it on a damp, grey October day. I’m not sure the princess would be particularly happy then, especially if she was called Summer.’

  ‘Hey,’ Summer said, laughing, though her eyes were once again drawn to the image on the screen, this time an incredible close-up of a spider’s web, its dew-covered strands glistening like silver thread. A spider sat in the very centre of the web, creating an almost perfect sense of symmetry. ‘I wasn’t saying I was the princess.’

  ‘Weren’t you?’ Mason gave her a sideways look.

  She glared at him for a second, and then turned back to the screen. ‘Where was this taken?’

  ‘About a ten-minute walk down the towpath from here,’ he said. ‘This one’s recent.’

  ‘How long did you have to sit there to get the shot?’

  ‘A couple of minutes,’ he said. ‘Patience is important in my job, but on this occasion I didn’t need it.’

  Summer nodded. ‘Patience,’ she repeated quietly. Did his patience allow him to reel in his female catches too? Show them just enough care and attention, and then dump them unceremoniously afterwards, cruising off to a different part of the river to start again? Summer stared at the spider, thought of the flies that would fly head-first into its trap, and drummed her fingers on the table. She couldn’t keep wondering about him if she wanted to have any kind of a relationship with him – even friendship. This was ridiculous. She was being ridiculous.

  ‘Summer? Hey, are you in there?’ Mason tapped her forehead gently with his fist, and Summer jumped. ‘Are you OK? I asked if you wanted another beer.’

  ‘That would be lovely, thank you.’

  Mason put his hand on her arm, pushing the chair aside so he could slip past. Summer felt a jolt of electricity, a fizz of delight at his touch, her senses clearly ignoring the doubts in her brain. She had to end the ridiculousness right this moment. She followed him to the galley, pausing only to stroke Latte and Archie, who were engaged in a quiet doggy conversation on the floor in front of the sofa.

  ‘Mason?’ she said, and then stopped. She had no idea how to phrase her question; she just knew she had to ask it.

  He got two beers out of the fridge, handed one to her and leant against the counter. ‘Summer.’

  ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Shoot.’

  ‘Right.’

  His eyes were narrowed slightly, curious but on edge. Did he think she was going to ask about his old life? In a way she was. In a way, she was asking the worst thing possible.

  ‘Mason, have you had a lot of girlfriends?’

  The words left her mouth and drifted into the narrow, airy, space, and Summer saw Mason’s curiosity turn quickly into surprise. ‘What?’

  ‘I just wondered, and … and now I realize this question would have sounded a lot less weird if it was part of a wider, more general conversation. I’m sorry, it … it – I should never have asked.’

  ‘You can ask whatever you want,’ he said, but his voice had an edge to it that hadn’t been there before. ‘And I guess it depends what you call “a lot”.’

  Summer shrugged, realizing she had no idea what her parameters were.

  ‘What’s this about, Summer?’ Mason sighed and slipped past her, sitting on the sofa and patting the seat next to him. ‘Is this why you backed off after our kiss? Because you have this impression of me as some kind of Don Juan, getting through as many women as I can find along the waterways?’

  Summer fidgeted, staring past him and back at the spider on the computer screen.

  ‘Where has this come from?’ He ran a hand through his curls and turned sideways on the sofa, one leg, bent at the knee, resting on the cushion.

  Summer copied him, but stared at the sofa, at his bare, tanned leg and the dark hairs covering it. ‘It was something Claire said,’ she admitted, ‘when I was travelling up the river, after you’d come to see me and she’d seen you on my boat. She asked about us, and I – you were so different after you’d seen her, and then the next day she told me— ’

  ‘She told you what?’ Mason asked, his voice sharp.

  ‘About Tania.’ Summer winced, and forced herself to look up at him.

  She watched realization dawn on his face, his eyes widening with what looked like a mixture of sadness and understanding. ‘So she did tell you.’ His voice was quiet, but hard.

  Summer nodded. ‘Is that why you were suddenly so keen for me to come back to Willowbeck? So she wouldn’t have the chance.’

  Mason leaned forward, his elbow on his leg, a hand over his mouth. Latte chose that moment to jump on to Summer’s knee with a little squeak. She kissed her on the nose and then put her gently back on the floor. When she turned back to Mason, he was hiding his head in his hands.

  ‘That whole thing was such a mess,’ he murmured. ‘Tania, I …’ He gave an angry sigh. ‘I treated her so badly, I know that. It was unfor
givable, but at the time …’ He looked up, and Summer was shocked at the emotion in his eyes. ‘I wasn’t in a good place, and I got things really wrong. But Summer, that’s not what I do – I don’t wait for people to get close to me and then leave them. It happened once, but I never meant to hurt her.’

  Summer swallowed. ‘But you did try to persuade me to come back to Willowbeck, so that Claire wouldn’t be able to tell me what had happened.’

  Mason grimaced, his handsome face crumpling. ‘We didn’t know each other well then, but already – I thought if you had a bad impression of me so early on, then there was no hope. And I really wanted there to be hope.’

  ‘You did?’

  He nodded.

  Summer swallowed. ‘Can I get a glass of water?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll—’ He went to stand, but Summer put her hand on his shoulder.

  ‘I can get it.’ She went into the galley and found a glass, ran it under the cold tap. Her heart was pounding. He’d admitted what had happened with Tania, but he looked genuinely upset. Surely he was telling her the truth – he cared about her as early as Foxburn; already, he had wanted there to be a chance for them. But he had tried to hide his past by forcing her back to Willowbeck – shouldn’t he have just come clean then? She leaned on the counter and sipped her water.

  ‘Summer?’

  She looked at him on the sofa, suddenly so forlorn, so world-weary, like he had been in her trashed café after the break-in. She was sure it was connected – what happened with Tania, the way he talked about his past. There was something there, something that had shaped him, had perhaps even made him move on to the water.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she asked, ‘do you want some—’ she started, but her words got stuck and she froze, a cold chill shivering over her, making the hairs on her arms stand up.

  On the wall was a small photo in a wooden frame. It was of Mason standing in front of a narrowboat, but it looked as far from The Sandpiper as you could get, with faded green paintwork, small, old windows and patches of rust showing through. Mason looked different – his skin was paler and his hair much shorter, the curls cut into submission. His face was pensive, and he had a haunted look about him, as if nothing in life was certain. But it wasn’t the photo that had made Summer freeze. It was what was on the kitchen surface, below the photo.