‘Summer, what’s wrong?’ She barely heard him. She reached out and touched the compass, tracing the smooth round shape, the rose quartz cold against the tips of her fingers. She had seen this compass, held it so many times, and now, suddenly, after months of missing it, here it was.
Mason had reached her without her noticing, and she jumped as he touched her arm.
‘What’s this doing here?’ Her voice sounded strange, as if she was being strangled.
‘This – the compass?’
‘My mum’s compass.’ She looked up at him, and his eyes widened.
‘What?’ he whispered.
‘What’s my mum’s compass doing here, on your boat?’
Mason gawped, his lips moving but nothing coming out.
‘Did you take it? Did you see it on my boat and take it?’ Her heart was pounding, and so was her head, struggling to take things in, struggling to deal with Mason’s stunned reaction.
‘No, I – of course not. I—’
‘Did Archie steal it? You were both on the boat before I’d moved aboard. Archie got into the kitchen and stole the bacon, and then you followed me into the cabin. Did you think that you could just take it? Did you think I wouldn’t notice because, back then, I didn’t want to be there?’
‘Summer, no – of course I didn’t. I wouldn’t do something like that. Shit, Summer, I had no idea it belonged to your mum.’ He put his hands on her shoulders and she flinched backwards, her arm going out and hitting the glass of water, sending it flying across the floor. Both dogs yelped, and Summer stepped backwards, clutching the compass.
‘I-I have to go,’ she murmured. ‘Latte. Latte.’
‘Let me explain, Summer.’ Mason walked towards her, oblivious to the water and glass shards on the floor and his bare feet, his arm reaching out to her. ‘Just sit down for a minute and I can tell you everything.’
‘Everything? What, about why you couldn’t be honest with me about Tania, and about why Mick calls you Lothario, and why you have my mum’s compass in your kitchen? And why you found it so hard to deal with my café after the break-in, and why you can be so certain what fear is like? Are you going to tell me all of those things?’ She was close to shouting, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. Her breathing was fast, her hand gripping the compass tightly, its cold hardness slick in her sweaty palms.
‘Yes,’ Mason said simply. ‘Yes, I’ll tell you everything. Please, Summer, please come and sit down.’ She stared at him, at his dark curls and his eyes that were so direct, so intensely focused on her that she felt she was burning where she stood. He seemed suddenly calm, as if he was resigned to it – to what had to happen next. Archie and Latte were both looking up at him expectantly, sensing the atmosphere, knowing that all wasn’t well. Summer looked into Mason’s beautiful dark eyes, felt her mum’s compass in her hand, and felt the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes.
‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘I can’t … I can’t do this now.’
She turned, calling to Latte again.
‘Summer, wait!’
She rushed out of the door, the Bichon Frise at her heels, bounding along as if it was part of a game. The sunlight was still bright, and momentarily stung her eyes. She refused to stop, even when she thought she heard Mason following her, and raced along the towpath to her own boat. She flung the door open and locked it behind her, not stopping until she reached her berth. She sat on her bed, her knees up to her chest and her arms around them, as if she could hold herself together. Her phone chimed next to her and Latte sniffed it, but Summer ignored it. She heard banging on the door, could hear Mason calling her name, and she wondered, for a second, if she should let him in, let him explain everything.
She held the compass out on her palm, her eyes drinking in its beauty, feeling the connection to her mum, the way she would always make Summer navigate whenever they unmoored The Canal Boat Café and took it along the river. How could it have ended up on Mason’s boat? She wanted to know, she wanted him to tell her, but at that moment she couldn’t listen calmly.
He’d admitted that he’d treated Tania badly, and Summer felt nervous about what he would tell her, about the way it would make her feel about him. She needed to calm down, she needed space, and then, in the morning, she would go to him and she would ask him to explain. She had trusted Mason easily, almost immediately, but since then the doubts had started to seep in, crashing against her attraction to him and threatening to dislodge it.
He seemed prepared to tell her, to let her fully in, and if he did that, then Summer should tell him everything too. About Ross, what had happened between them, and about the night her mum had died. Summer crawled into bed, Latte on her feet, and though her head was still pounding, and her eyes stung with unshed tears, she felt a sense of relief, and of hope – the same hope that Mason had held for them. She would talk to him in the morning, they could tell each other everything, and start again with a clean slate – a clean blackboard on which to write new words.
She woke the next day, dressing hurriedly and leaving Latte eating breakfast on board The Canal Boat Café while she stepped on to the towpath and into the bright sunshine. But the mooring next to hers gaped emptily, the water that she shouldn’t have been able to see sparkling in the early morning light. The Sandpiper was gone, and with it, so was her hope. She had left it too late. Fumbling with her phone, her hands shaking, she dialled Mason’s number, squeezing her eyes closed as it went straight to voicemail.
With a lump forming in her throat, and her hands clenched tightly against the anger welling inside her, cursing her own stupidity, her ridiculous exit from Mason’s boat the night before, Summer almost missed the curved, wooden object nestled next to the door on her bow deck.
She crouched and picked it up. It was a sun. A fat, round sun, with wavy rays sculpted out from the centre, giving it a cartoonish air. It was beautiful and tactile, it felt comforting in her hand. Was it Mason? Had he gone, but left behind a ray of hope for them?
Summer drifted back on to her boat and went through the motions of opening up the café for the day. She placed the sun alongside the other wooden items: the heart, frog, rabbit, daffodil and jester’s hat. What did they mean? Were they talismans?
Summer knew she had made a huge mistake. She should have let Mason talk to her, instead of storming off his boat like a schoolgirl in a strop, thinking that her confusion, her suffering was more acute than his. But she had to believe that there was a glimmer of hope. She turned on the coffee machine, opened up the hatch to sunshine and the liquid trill of a robin. She could feel the weight of her mum’s compass in the pocket of her dress, and slipped her hand inside to clutch it for a moment.
Mason was gone. He may have left Willowbeck for good, but that possibility was too heartbreaking for Summer to consider. Over the course of the last twelve hours she had managed to convince herself that they would have an emotional reconciliation and fall into each other’s arms. She hadn’t bargained on him disappearing, too hurt by her anger, or by the memories that she was forcing him to drag up again, to stay around and work it out with her. She had also, during a mainly sleepless night, realized the strength of her feelings for him. She was sure there was a simple explanation for why he had her mum’s compass, and there was nothing he could tell her – short of a murder confession – that would dilute her affection for him, the weight of feeling that was growing into something she was too scared to give a name to.
Summer thought back to their night looking up at the stars, only a couple of days before, and how he’d told her to write her feelings down, to not keep them locked up inside. She picked up her red chalk marker and wrote, in large, bold words along the top of the blackboard above the counter: Come back, Mason. I’m sorry, and I believe there’s hope for us, too.
It didn’t rhyme. It wasn’t electrifying or witty or original, but it was the truth. Summer closed her eyes and hoped that, now the words were out in the open, written down for anyone to see, they woul
d have power. She had to believe that she could get in touch with Mason, or that he would come back to Willowbeck. She picked up the wooden sun and held it against her chest. She had to hold on to that ray of hope.
Desperate to find out what happens next at the Canal Boat Café?
Look out for the fourth and final part in the series, LAND AHOY!, coming soon
Click here to pre-order LAND AHOY! now 978-0-00-816428-7
And why not try Cressy’s Primrose Terrace series? A four part e-serialisation featuring Westies, Spaniels, Retrievers and Terriers, every dog will have its day!
Catherine ‘Cat’ Palmer realizes that bringing an adorable puppy into work is a bad idea when it gets her the sack. Deciding it’s the perfect opportunity to launch her dog-walking business, Cat enlists the help of flatmates Polly and Joe. After all Primrose Terrace, the street where they live, is full of home-alone hounds.
Getting to know the owners and their precious pooches isn’t all plain sailing, but soon Cat is making friends, particularly with sexy Mark and his Collie, Chips. With her talent for misadventure, Cat’s new life starts to show some cracks, and when one of the street’s loveable schnauzers gets ill, it looks like this Christmas could be turning into a dog’s dinner. But Cat has never given up on anything in her life – and this is one Christmas that’s definitely worth saving …
Click here to buy WELLIES AND WESTIES now 978-0-00-813520-1
Click here to buy SUNSHINE AND SPANIELS now 978-0-00-813521-8
Click here to buy RAINCOATS AND RETRIEVERS now 978-0-00-813522-5
Click here to buy TINSEL AND TERRIERS now 978-0-00-813523-2
And the full PRIMROSE TERRACE novel, titled A CHRISTMAS TAIL, is available to buy now!
Click here to buy now 978-0-00-813602-4
* A Christmas Tail was first published as a four-part serial set in Primrose Terrace*
About the Author
Cressy was born in South East London surrounded by books and with a cat named after Lawrence of Arabia. She studied English at the University of East Anglia and now lives in Norwich with her husband David. When she isn’t writing, Cressy spends her spare time reading, returning to London or exploring the beautiful Norfolk coastline. She is also the author of A Christmas Tail, an original four-part e-serialization, set in the fictional world of Primrose Terrace.
If you’d like to find out more about Cressy, visit her on Twitter and on Facebook. She’d love to hear from you!
/CressidaMcLaughlinAuthor
@CressMcLaughlin
Also by Cressida McLaughlin
Primrose Terrace series
Wellies & Westies
Sunshine & Spaniels
Raincoats & Retrievers
Tinsel & Terriers
A Christmas Tail – The Complete Primrose Terrace Story
About the Publisher
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