‘And no weirdness, with the celebratory terror crossover?’
‘None,’ Summer laughed. ‘And I bought you a present.’ She nodded towards the kitchen counter where she had put Mason’s wolf pumpkin, still flickering with electric light.
‘To remind me of my crap handiwork? Couldn’t you have brought Norman’s instead?’
‘I’m not having that monstrosity in a place of rest and relaxation. How’s the article?’
‘OK. I’ve been working on the photos to accompany it. Here – come and have a look. It’s for the run-up to Christmas, and everyone thinks that robins are cute on their Christmas cards, but not many people know a lot about them. I didn’t even need the zoom for these – that’s how tame it was.’
Summer followed him to the computer and he pulled her onto his lap, then scrolled through the photographs. They were spectacular, as his photos so often were, the feather detail, the beadiness of the bird’s eye, captured in perfect clarity. She felt a swell of love for him, for the way he got excited about the everyday wildlife surrounding them, his tenderness towards each creature, whether rare or mundane. She kissed the top of his head, inhaled the lemon scent of his shampoo, turned her attention away from proposals and her niggling worries, and gave it all to Mason and the festive robin redbreast on his computer.
The following morning, as they lay under the duvet in Mason’s cabin, she wondered if they’d reached the point where he could read her mind.
‘What do you want to do this Christmas?’ he asked. ‘It’s now officially November, so it’s not that far away.’ It was after midnight, all the souls of the dead would have hopefully been appeased, so it was time to start thinking about the next celebration.
I’m planning to propose to you, she thought; so stop trying to catch me out. ‘Oh God, you’re worse than the supermarkets. It’s still two months away, one-sixth of a year. As much as Sainsbury’s would have you believe, we don’t need to start our Christmas shopping now. The John Lewis advert hasn’t even aired yet, and you legitimately don’t need to worry about anything Christmas-related until that point.’
‘All right,’ he chuckled, stroking her hair. ‘Have I hit a sore spot? Do you want to leave everything until Christmas Eve this time? I remember you were uber-organized last year.’
‘That’s because it was my first Christmas as a liveaboard, and I was paranoid that the river would freeze over and we’d be completely stuck, so I wanted to be prepared.’
‘Even though your car was sitting in the car park, waiting to transport you to the nearest shopping centre if you so desired?’
‘Hey,’ she slapped him lightly on the chest, and he feigned hurt. ‘I was nervous. I hadn’t done it before, and with Dad and Ben coming for dinner on the boat … Everything needed to go right.’
‘And it did,’ he said softly. ‘So maybe it’s fine to leave things a little later this time round.’
‘You were the one who brought it up, said we needed to decide!’
‘I didn’t,’ he protested, laughing. ‘I just asked what you wanted to do. We don’t need to firm up the plan for ages, we can stay here, in bed, while it gets colder and grimmer outside the window, safe in our snug little cocoon …’ He rolled over, kissing her collarbone.
‘We will need to eat at some point,’ she murmured, ‘and I have to open the café.’
‘Right now?’
‘Not quite yet, but I’ll need to get started on …’ All her arguments drifted away at his touch, as they so often did. ‘Bacon sandwiches,’ she blustered, as his kisses went lower.
‘Do you know what?’ He looked up, his eyes bright with amusement. ‘That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.’ And he returned to the important business of kissing her.
Valerie Brogan intercepted Summer as she was rushing to open up the café, her watch displaying 8.05. Valerie’s long red hair was flowing out behind her, her dress a shimmering green, and her approach brought with it the usual cloud of sandalwood incense, despite the icy air.
‘Summer,’ Valerie said. ‘Happy All Saints’ Day. I trust you’re well?’
‘Very well thanks, Valerie,’ Summer replied, fumbling with her keys in her haste to open up the café. She had several regulars now: Toby, who detoured along the towpath for an Americano and bacon sandwich on his way to his bus stop; Charlotte and Sammy, who had a permanent mooring further down the river, but often passed through Willowbeck and always bought a generous portion of homemade brownies; and Mrs Ramsey, who brought her Cairn terrier Destiny for a walk every morning without fail, and would be even more in need of her usual cappuccino now the weather was turning colder.
Summer pushed open the door and raced inside, Valerie following, wafting incense, as she turned on the coffee machine.
‘Are you OK, Summer dear? You seem somewhat in a flap.’
‘I’m running a bit late this morning, that’s all.’ Summer pushed a strand of frizzy, strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. She’d had to leave it to dry naturally after the world’s quickest shower, and it was making the most of its freedom, being unruly and unhelpful. She dug in the pocket of her jeans and was disproportionately overjoyed to find a hairband nestling at the bottom. She scooped her hair up into a ponytail, checked the coffee machine was making all the right noises, and opened the hatch onto the towpath, letting in a rush of welcome cold air. How had she let herself get so flustered already?
‘Did your Halloween party go well last night? With that young couple?’
‘Yes thanks,’ Summer said, rushing into the kitchen to take yesterday’s remaining brownies out of the fridge, and the lavender and honey, fruit and cheese scones out of the purple storage tins she kept them in. She would have time to make more this morning, after the early rush which, she had to accept, would be only those few regulars and a couple of other passers-by. She had been worked off her feet throughout the summer, Harry had been a permanent help and, on several occasions, they’d even called on Mason to clear the outside tables she used in warmer weather. Now, she’d be lucky if, at any time during the day, she’d have visitors at all six of the tables inside the café.
Once the counter looked inviting with sweet and savoury offerings, the coffee machine was heating up, and bacon was sizzling on the hob, Summer swiftly removed all last night’s pumpkins from the tables and put them in her small living space. The bunting was still up, but Summer decided she liked it, and having ghosts and bats hanging from her ceiling a few days into November wouldn’t offend anyone, surely? In a couple of weeks, she realized with excitement, she could make and put up Christmas bunting.
‘Valerie, I’m so sorry. Can I get you a drink? Any breakfast? I’ve just put the bacon on.’
‘Thank you, my dear, a latte wouldn’t go amiss. Where is the little puffball, by the way?’
‘Mason’s looking after her. He’s going to take her and Archie for a long walk this morning, seeing as we ran out of time before work.’
‘Ah. So lovely of him. He’s a keeper, that man of yours.’
Yes, Summer thought. That’s what I’ve been thinking. ‘He’s not too bad,’ she said, smiling.
She started to make the hot drinks, and felt a surge of relief when there was a familiar rat-tat-tat at the hatch, and she turned to find Toby standing there, his usual grin on his face, a smart navy overcoat covering his business suit. She hadn’t missed him.
‘Toby! How are you? Any trick-or-treaters last night?’
He gave her a pleasantly exasperated look. ‘My wife took it upon herself to organize a Halloween party. Twelve over-excited seven-year-olds that we had to chaperone around the neighbourhood. I know fancy-dress outfits have improved a lot recently, but they were mini nightmares. I felt quite sorry for the people we passed on the street.’
Summer laughed, starting to make his Americano automatically. ‘Didn’t frighten any old ladies, did you?’
‘Ah, no. We have a strict rule to only visit the houses that have a pumpkin in the
window, inviting the madness upon themselves. Billy and Ella now have enough chocolate to last until the festive influx, though they’ll plague Sal and me to let them eat it all in one go. I can see you got in the spirit, too.’ He pointed at the bunting.
‘We had an event last night,’ Summer said, unable to keep the pride out of her voice. ‘Halloween engagement party, of all things! It went well.’
‘So there are more strings to your bow than making the best bacon sandwiches in Cambridgeshire?’
‘Speaking of which.’ She held up a finger and raced into the kitchen where her bacon, on a low heat, was sizzling and crisping up nicely round the edges. She sliced a flour-dusted bap in half and, knowing Toby was a brown-sauce fan, squeezed it liberally on the buttered bap, and then added rashers of bacon. She wrapped it in a couple of paper napkins and put it in a paper bag, expertly twisting the corners. She handed it to him, along with his Americano, with a flourish.
‘Thank you,’ he said, handing over the right amount of money. ‘You seem particularly sprightly this morning.’
‘Aren’t I always?’ Summer asked. And then, leaning forwards and tapping the side of her nose, said, ‘Plans are afoot.’
Toby gave her a curious smile, and then a single nod, as if he was a fellow MI5 agent and they were in the midst of a covert operation. ‘Say no more.’
He thanked her again, and continued on his way.
‘What plans are those?’ Valerie asked.
‘Oh, it’s nothing.’ Summer chewed her lip, debating whether or not to tell her. She loved Valerie – she had been the right mix of forthright, stubborn and supportive when Summer had been fighting an internal battle over whether to return to Willowbeck and take over her mum’s café – and the two were much closer since the events of the previous summer. But she hadn’t planned on telling anyone, and not only had she taken Harry into her confidence, given a ridiculous, pointless hint to one of her regulars, she now had Valerie asking questions. Why had she done that? How was she going to organize a romantic, unique proposal for Mason when she couldn’t even keep the fact that she was doing it a secret?
It was nerves, she decided. The lingering fear that he might say no, that what had happened to Lisa was still haunting him, too big an event in his past for him to fully move on with her. Of course he loved her, Summer didn’t doubt that for a second, but was this a step too far for him, too soon?
‘It’s something big,’ Valerie said, nodding decisively when Summer put their drinks on the table and sat down. ‘You’ve got grand ideas, Summer Freeman, that much is clear. Now, are you going to spill the beans?’
Summer stirred the froth on her cappuccino. ‘I don’t think I can yet,’ she said quietly. ‘If that’s OK? I mean, when I’m ready …’
Valerie patted her arm, her kind face breaking out into a reassuring smile. ‘Of course, Summer my dear. You tell all when it’s the right time, just know that I’m here for you, and I’ll always help if, and when, you need me.’
‘Thanks, Valerie, you’re amazing.’
‘And so are you, remember that. Whatever may have happened in the past, all anyone can do is look to the future.’
Summer smiled weakly, wondering not for the first time if Valerie somehow knew more than she should. She tried not to ask too many questions about her beliefs. She wasn’t sure what she’d discover, and Valerie’s insistence that her mum’s spirit was still around, that she could pass messages on from beyond the grave, had never sat comfortably with Summer. But sometimes, the older woman would say something that would send a chill running down her spine.
As she heard dogs barking further down the towpath, and Mason’s exasperated voice trying to call Archie to him, she realized that Harry’s suggestion was seeming more and more sensible. She needed to sound Mason out before she took the plunge. If he wasn’t ready to get married again, then she would rather not ask him. Better that they stay together, in an untroubled relationship, than she risk ruining it by asking him for the one thing that he wouldn’t be able to give her.
Chapter Three
‘We should go out on Friday,’ Summer said to Mason when she’d closed up for the evening, and had returned to The Sandpiper to find him in the midst of making a prawn stir-fry. The smells of Chinese spice filled the boat, making Summer’s mouth water.
Mason turned away from the hob, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he looked at her. He was wearing scruffy jeans and a thin black cotton jumper that clung to his torso, his feet bare.
‘What?’ she smiled, stepping forwards and placing her cold hands against his warm cheeks. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘You look beautiful,’ he said, the words indistinct as he tried to speak through the press of her hands.
‘Why, because my hair’s a frizzy mess and my nose is running from the cold?’
‘Is it? I hadn’t noticed. You look … glowing.’
‘I’m not pregnant,’ she rushed. ‘Did you think—’
‘No no,’ Mason replied, his words equally hurried. ‘No, I wasn’t suggesting …’ He ran his hand through his hair, sending it into disarray. ‘I just meant you look particularly happy, your eyes are shining and … I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m floundering here – rescue me?’
‘Maybe you’ve used up all your eloquence on your article.’ She wrapped her hands around his waist, and he kissed her forehead, turned so he could stir the vegetables. ‘I look happy because I am happy,’ she added. ‘And I think we should go somewhere on Friday. Just us.’
‘A restaurant, or a nightclub?’ He said the last word hesitantly, as if it was the last place on earth he wanted to go, but wouldn’t rule it out if she did.
‘No, I don’t mean on Friday night. Harry’s got the café covered, it’s my day off, and I thought we could find somewhere along the river, take Archie and Latte’ – both dogs pricked their ears up at their names – ‘and go for a mammoth walk, a nice lunch somewhere. The summer was so busy, and we’ve not done something like that for ages. You thought I wanted to go clubbing?’
‘There’s a first time for everything.’
‘I don’t even know where we’d go! It’s been such a long time since I had a night out like that. So what do you think? You’re not due at a reserve on Friday, are you?’
‘Nope, I’m all yours. And I’d love to.’
‘Great,’ Summer said, her stomach flipping. She could do this. She could be subtle, bring the conversation round to the future and what he thought of the holy institution of marriage. She wrinkled her nose. As long as she didn’t put it like that. ‘Can I help with dinner?’
‘You can pour out two glasses of wine, and then make yourself comfortable.’
‘That sounds like the best job.’
‘I saved it especially for you.’
As they ate Mason’s delicious prawn stir-fry – a recipe she’d taught him and which he’d now taken on as his own – she thought back to his earlier comment. Had he really thought she was pregnant? She tried to recall his expression at that exact moment, whether he would have seen that as good news or bad. Maybe that could help with her dilemma, because surely if he was happy at the thought she might be having their baby, then a marriage proposal couldn’t fail to be positive. She knew she was over-analysing everything, but she’d got herself stuck in that rut now. Friday would help. After then, she’d know for certain if she could give Operation Proposal the green light.
Friday greeted them with sunshine and an extra burst of crispness that stung Summer’s skin as she stepped outside. They would need lots of layers, on the boat and on their walk. Mason, used to rising early to find wildlife and get stunning dawn photos, chugged The Sandpiper out of Willowbeck while the rest of the village was still asleep. This was one of Summer’s favourite things, cruising up the waterways when there was nobody else about, and the prow cut through a glass-like river, its wake rippling out on either side. She stayed on the stern deck with Mason, sipping hot, milky coffee, the dogs alter
nately sitting with them, or racing inside to cause their own particular brand of havoc.
‘So, where are we going?’ Summer asked. Once Mason had agreed to their day out, she had let him decide where to go as his knowledge of the area was so much more extensive than hers.
‘Haddenham Country Park,’ he said. ‘It’s got some wonderful trails through the woods and across the parkland. It’s dog friendly, and the tracks are well maintained so it shouldn’t be too muddy, even now. The house is privately owned, but there’s a great pub on the estate, where I thought we could go for lunch.’
‘I knew I could leave it to you.’
They fell into an easy silence, absorbing the quiet of the morning, greeting the helmsmen and -women they passed. They reached the river warden’s hut, its solar lights muted but the colourful paintwork making it stand cheerfully out from the autumnal landscape beyond. Once they’d cruised past it, Summer was into less familiar waters. She had been further afield on several occasions, but not that often, and not recently. The river was constantly changing, the view from the boat never boring as they passed through wooded areas, open fields, small villages similar to Willowbeck. The colours were the ambers, browns and golds of autumn, instead of the lush green of spring and summer, but it was still beautiful, and very peaceful.
Two years ago, Summer Freeman had wanted to stay as far away as possible from Willowbeck and the river, and hadn’t pictured herself ever going back to the place her mum had died, but now she couldn’t imagine a different way of life. She felt Mason’s hand on her shoulder, and put her own on top of it, feeling a small hole in the finger of his glove. She’d have to add new gloves to the list of all the other things that came with surviving winter on board a canal boat. It was an idyllic existence in lots of respects, but it wasn’t always straightforward.
‘Here we are,’ Mason said, as they cruised round a wide bend in the river and open parkland and a few visitor mooring spots appeared on their right-hand side. The parkland sloped gently upwards, and on the top of the hill was a copse of evergreen trees. Summer wondered if the private house was nestled amongst them. She could see several dog walkers, their bright coats standing out against the grass, and Archie barked loudly at her feet. Mason steered The Sandpiper towards one of the moorings, and when he was close Summer jumped onto the towpath and secured the central rope, before going to the stern end, then the bow, tying the knots tightly. Mason clipped Archie and Latte’s leads on with surprising ease, and they set off.
The Canal Boat Café Christmas: Port Out (The Canal Boat Café Christmas, Book 1) Page 3
