The Canal Boat Café Christmas

by Cressida McLaughlin

  The park was beautiful, with large open spaces, trails leading to hidden areas, woods and rose gardens and a walk where, in early spring, Summer knew the rhododendrons would burst out in a riot of colour. They picked a wide, wooded trail, letting Archie and Latte off their leads, strolling gently behind them while blackbirds and robins trilled from the trees, the smell of rain and vegetation all around them. The November sun broke through in thin, dappling rays.

  ‘We don’t do this enough,’ Mason said.

  Summer nodded her agreement. ‘The café’s so busy in the summer, and now, with the events beginning to take off, at least the winter won’t be too empty. More consistency would be good, and I’m proud of how it’s going, but we don’t get much time to do things like this.’

  ‘We’ll have to make the most of your days off. But at least we can spend every evening together, you’re virtually living on The Sandpiper now, and I – no, Archie! Don’t do that.’ The Border terrier was pulling vigorously at a long trail of ivy that was wrapped around a large oak tree, as if it was the tail of a vicious monster. Mason rushed towards him, crouching and coaxing his dog away from his helpless victim, and then rewarding him with a treat as he turned his nose away and began trotting amiably alongside Latte.

  ‘That dog’s going to be the death of me,’ he said, slipping his hand into Summer’s. ‘Why is he so antagonistic?’

  ‘Because he’s a cheeky Border terrier, and you’re a pushover.’

  ‘A pushover?’

  ‘With him, I mean. I think you must have let him get away with too much as a puppy, so now your relationship is ingrained. He misbehaves, you can’t bring yourself to give him anything other than a gentle reprimand, and it starts all over again. You’re never going to be able to control him properly. But he’s not that badly behaved, and watching you struggle with him is adorable.’

  Mason didn’t respond immediately, and Summer glanced at his profile, his firm jawline, dark brows and unblinking eyes staring straight ahead. ‘So what you’re saying,’ he replied eventually, ‘is that you think I’m an adorable pushover? That’s not going on the CV any time soon.’

  Summer laughed, and nudged his shoulder affectionately. ‘I’d choose you. And why would that credential make you any less desirable in the eyes of wildlife professionals?’

  ‘“Pushover” might even endear me to them, come to think of it. At least when it comes to my employment rights.’

  ‘I didn’t mean you were a total pushover, just with Archie.’

  ‘And you,’ Mason said. ‘I’d never say no to you.’

  Really? Because if you knew what I was planning … Summer thought.

  ‘Wow, that’s good to know,’ she said instead. ‘So … what if I asked you, for our next day out, to take me to Paris?’

  ‘It would take some organizing, but I could do that – as long as you didn’t want to go next week. It’s much prettier in the spring.’

  ‘You could?’ Summer was teasing, speaking in hypotheticals, but the idea of Mason taking her to Paris filled her with excitement. ‘Great, OK! And what if I told you that I’d like to convert The Sandpiper into a party boat that I could use for my events, while we slept in my compact and bijou cabin on Madeleine. You know how popular it would be, the interior of The Sandpiper is stunning.’

  She bit her lip, holding in her laughter as Mason wrestled with the outlandish request. He loved his boat, and had put months and months of effort into designing it, working alongside the boatbuilders to turn it into the ultimate, luxury narrowboat. And she loved it too. It was both serene and welcoming, a sleek but cosy hug of a living space that she looked forward to going home to every evening.

  Mason sighed, his thumb rubbing her hand nervously. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I mean, we could, maybe …’

  ‘Oh God, I’m joking, I’m joking! I’d never ask you to do that, or want you to. The Sandpiper is perfect; I wouldn’t change a single thing. I’d convert Madeleine fully into a café if I was going to do anything, not the other way around.’ But she felt a flush of warmth that he was genuinely trying to come up with a way to avoid saying no to her. She flung her arms around him. ‘You’re the best. And not a pushover, see?’

  He narrowed his eyes, and she wondered if he was trying to work out what had got into her, whether it was more than just the freedom of spending a whole day together. Or maybe she was just projecting, sure that the secret she was keeping was as clear on her face as if she’d written it on her skin. Could he know? He had said, the other evening, how glowing she looked. She needed to lose her nervous energy, and the best way of doing that, she decided suddenly, was to run across the glorious open parkland, the dogs at their heels.

  ‘Are you up for expending some energy?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure,’ Mason said, as laid-back as ever. She couldn’t remember ever having seen him run, except for that one time … the time she didn’t want to think about, because it still gave her nightmares occasionally; the smoke, the threatening crackle, the horrendous wait to hear his voice, to know he was safe. And if it still did that to her, then it must be a hundred times worse for him. She shook the thought away. Mason wasn’t a runner. He kept himself trim with hours of walking, crouching, tromping for miles across rough terrain to find a perfect spot or elusive bird of prey. Now, though, she was going to force him to run. It might make his suspicions grow, but at this moment she didn’t care. She wanted lungfuls of the crisp, November air, and she was taking him with her.

  ‘Come on then.’ She grabbed his hand. ‘Let’s go!’

  They ran along the wide path, the trees either side, twigs cracking and breaking beneath their feet. Latte and Archie were whipped into a frenzy at the unexpected game, and yelped and raced alongside them, their tails wagging frenetically.

  ‘Summer,’ Mason said, his voice breathless with laughing and running, ‘why are we …’

  ‘Because it’s fun!’ she called back, slowing when Latte, her legs too short, started to lag behind. ‘Because I need to!’

  ‘We could buy you some trainers if you want?’ he panted.

  She shook her head and swerved left, through the trees and out onto the open parkland, the river below them to their left, the gold and red of The Sandpiper glinting in the distance. The grass was spongy beneath their feet, sprinkled with an overnight littering of orange and brown leaves, though their sparseness showed that they were picked up regularly, the park well maintained.

  Archie bounded towards a cluster of crows pecking in the grass, scaring them off, and Latte, not wanting to feel left out, also went on the attack. She pounced on a large oak leaf, and as she got it in her mouth it whipped away from her, dancing in the breeze. She chased it, barking furiously.

  Summer slowed her pace, laughter bubbling up as she felt a pang of tenderness for her ridiculous dog, and her attempt to impress Archie. She wished she could make her understand that it was OK now, that Mason and Archie weren’t going anywhere. She waited until Latte had let the leaf go and then crouched in the grass, pulling her dog’s warm, wriggling body against her, despite the mud on her paws.

  Mason stopped and bent double, his hands on his knees, his dark curls dangling towards the ground. ‘That,’ he said, pulling himself slowly upright, ‘was unexpected.’ His cheeks were tinged with pink, obscuring his light dusting of freckles, and his chest was rising and falling rapidly. ‘I am so unfit.’

  ‘What a load of rubbish,’ Summer said, trying to bring her own breathing back to normal. ‘You walk for hours.’

  ‘I’m not run-fit though, clearly. Maybe trainers aren’t a bad idea. We could do that couch to five K thing they keep going on about.’

  Summer had never considered taking up running, and it hadn’t been part of the plan to encourage Mason to, but if it was something else they could do together, then she wasn’t going to say no. She could certainly do with improving her fitness. ‘How about as a New Year’s resolution?’

  ‘I’d forgotten it’ll soon be time for a
ll that, but I’m game if you are.’ Mason reached for her hand and Summer took it, releasing Latte to her leaf-chasing. ‘There’s something I want to show you.’

  ‘Sure,’ Summer said, frowning slightly. ‘Lead the way.’

  He took her across the grass and through another copse of trees, the leaves above them amber and gold, the sun reaching through the canopy much more easily, giving everything a glowing, dreamlike quality.

  ‘This,’ he said, ‘is one of the park’s hidden treasures.’

  She could hear the excitement in his voice, the breathlessness that, this time, was nothing to do with a lack of fitness. They emerged onto a twisting path, flanked on either side by flower beds that would be bursting with the intricate leaves and heady scents of herbs in the spring, and then Mason stopped.

  Summer stared for a moment before the gasp came, because it took a few seconds for her brain to process what her eyes were seeing.

  They were standing on the edge of a large lake, its wide, calm expanse stretching away from them. It was surrounded by trees, some evergreen, some the burnished colours of autumn and others the bold, vibrant red of a post box. It was as if they had stepped through a door into New England, not a country park in Cambridgeshire. The water was slate, glassy, the smattering of clouds reflected in it as perfectly as if it were a second sky, the mirrored trees lining the edge. Beneath the clouded glass were fish. There were koi carp as orange as autumn leaves, some milky yellow with dark spots, other, smaller fish a fleeting flash of black or silver, almost invisible in the depths. They circled and turned, then flicked their tails and shot a few feet forwards, before doubling back on themselves.

  ‘Wow.’ She didn’t know what else to say. It was like a fantasy world tucked into the impressive, but mostly traditional, parkland. The whole thing was mesmerizing.

  ‘It’s special, isn’t it?’ Mason said. He sounded awestruck, despite having seen the sight before. ‘I knew you’d love it.’

  ‘Why is it so hidden?’

  She felt his shoulders shrug next to her. ‘It’s not. On maps of the parkland it’s there – Haddenham’s lake – I just don’t think they do a good job of advertising how spectacular it is, especially at this time of year.’

  ‘What are the red trees?’

  ‘They’re a mixture of Japanese and red maples, and red oak trees. Whoever crafted this lake, or designed the foliage around it – and it must have started centuries ago because some of the trees are so mature – knew what they were doing. You get heron, kingfishers in the more secluded areas of shoreline where the boughs overhang, because there are rich pickings.’ He indicated the fish, then cleared his throat. ‘I discovered this place when I first moved to Willowbeck, and I used to come here a lot. It’s a good place to be quiet. The trees look like they’re on fire, don’t they?’

  His voice had become strained, his hand in hers much more rigid, and she knew what he had been thinking about, as he stood or crouched or sat at the side of this lake, looking out over a view that was more like a Photoshopped desktop screensaver than reality.

  ‘You thought about Lisa?’ she asked softly.

  ‘It was years after she died,’ he said. ‘You know I only arrived in Willowbeck a few months before you came back, but by then I’d started to accept what had happened. Not get over it, exactly, but work out how to live with it. I started to remember my life with Lisa, before. This place became like a magnet, it seemed to accept me and my thoughts, as if its beauty and serenity somehow absorbed the pain, and I could focus on the positives.’ He turned fully towards her, taking both her hands in his. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t told you about it until now. At the beginning I didn’t want to share it, it was somewhere I could be with my thoughts of Lisa, but then after we got together, I wondered if you’d understand, if you’d worry I wasn’t wholly committed to you once you knew I spent time here.’

  ‘I would never think that,’ she said. ‘I know how important Lisa was – and always will be – to you. I’d never ask you to give up your memories, or hide them away from me.’

  His smile was soft, his eyes shining. ‘I know you wouldn’t. But now, I feel it’s the right time. I want to share everything with you, Summer. I wanted to share this, I didn’t want to hold onto it by myself any more.’

  Summer tried to swallow, the lump of emotion thick in her throat. She felt sad and elated and guilty all at once. The thought of Mason coming here alone, forcing himself to confront his loss, made her want to reach back through time and comfort him, and yet she knew what he was giving her today was more important than any object, than any token of his affection. This was precious; he was giving himself wholly up to her, banishing any secrets they might have still had between them.

  It wasn’t a torrid or harmful secret, it was simply the way he’d dealt with his grief, but it meant he was letting her in. She felt guilty that she had orchestrated this day partly so she could bring the subject round to Lisa, to find out if he was ready to move forward. And here he was, without any prompting, doing exactly that. She should have trusted him, believed in his love for her, and believed in herself, too.

  ‘It’s the most beautiful thing,’ she said, knowing she sounded choked up, no longer looking at the lake.

  He glanced at his feet, then back up at her. ‘Summer, I—’

  There was a loud, strangled yelp, and they both turned towards the sound. Archie was in the water, his front paws scrabbling desperately at the bank, his fur wet and spiky.

  ‘Shit.’ Mason let go of her hands and crouched at the river’s edge, taking hold of his dog under the front legs and hauling him out of the water. Archie thanked him by shaking himself thoroughly, spraying Mason and Summer in the process. ‘Archie!’

  ‘Where’s Latte?’ Summer’s voice was high with panic, but her white cloud of a dog came bounding through the foliage and stopped at their feet, eyeing the bedraggled Border terrier warily. ‘Oh, thank God. He must have jumped in further round and then swam to us when he realized the bank was too steep to climb out by himself. I hope he hasn’t eaten any fish.’

  Mason shook his head. ‘Not a chance. A fish with bones in would be too much like hard work. He’d be hand-fed prime cuts of pork while he lounged on a cushion if he had his way. He may have chased a few fish, but it’s all bluster.’ He sighed, looked up at her and grinned. ‘I think it’s time for the pub, don’t you?’

  Chapter Four

  The sunshine had been deceptively warm, and with all their exercise Summer felt quite toasty, so she wasn’t prepared for the wall of heat that hit her when they walked inside the Duck and Duckling pub. The dogs raced ahead and settled themselves on the rug in front of the crackling fire. Mason went to the bar, while Summer found a corner table close to where the dogs were stretched out, but far enough away that they wouldn’t melt. Even after all this time, she wasn’t sure how Mason felt about large, open fires, but she certainly wasn’t as happy near them as she once had been – the wood burner on her boat was as much as she could deal with.

  ‘Is this OK?’ she asked when Mason returned with two glasses of red wine and some menus.

  He glanced behind him, then turned to her and smiled. ‘It’s fine, honestly. I promise I’ll tell you if I ever feel uncomfortable.’

  ‘You will?’

  ‘Scout’s honour.’

  They turned their attention to the menu, and the wealth of winter warmer dishes it offered: sausage and mash, chicken casserole, hearty fish and chips, beef stew served in a giant Yorkshire pudding. Summer’s stomach rumbled as she read, and it took her a long time to narrow down her options, eventually deciding on the chicken casserole and dumplings.

  As Mason returned to the bar to order, a spatter of mud up the back of his jeans, Summer sipped her wine and wondered why she had been so worried. Asking someone to marry you was a huge thing, a show of eternal commitment not to be taken lightly – however much some people did these days. Summer wanted to spend the rest of her life with this man and she was
sure, now, that he felt the same way about her.

  She watched Archie and Latte lying next to each other on the rug, their bodies close, Archie’s fur drying after his dip in the lake, and realized she was happier than she’d ever been. Their future looked bright, full of possibility and hope, and she felt suddenly impatient, wanting – now she was sure – to pop the question immediately. But Christmas would no doubt come hurtling towards them, and she needed to be careful what she wished for.

  As she and Mason chatted over lunch, trying to scoop bits of food off each other’s plates without covering the table in gravy, Summer’s mind turned to her proposal. How was she going to do it? She had already decided on the day – Christmas Eve – but beyond that, she was at a loss. It had to be intimate, but also unique. She’d thought about decking out the café somehow, taking him on a personal tour up the river, and popping the question somewhere along the waterways that was beautiful or stand-out. She would have to do some research. Or she could hang a large banner from Willowbeck’s brick bridge, saying: Mason Causey, will you marry me? While that might lack a certain grandness, she loved its simplicity, and with her background as a sign writer she would be able to make the banner striking – better, at least, than a protest banner on a motorway bridge.

  ‘Hello, is anyone home?’ Mason tapped her temple, and Summer realized she was holding her fork aloft, chicken gravy dripping over the table as she imagined Mason saying yes and sweeping her into his arms, after putting on the ring. That was another thing. She needed to find him a ring. He didn’t wear much jewellery, he didn’t still wear his wedding ring, though Summer thought he must have it somewhere on board The Sandpiper. Was it too macabre to look for it, so she could get the right size without asking him?