‘We didn’t exactly get on,’ Summer said, thinking of Jenny’s last rant.
‘So you moved away?’
‘I thought I could do with a change of scenery,’ Summer clarified. ‘It doesn’t mean I’m not going back. I have friends there, but this is the beauty of living on a boat, and Mum and I used to travel up and down a bit. I don’t think we ever moored here for too long. I don’t remember the town square.’
‘Foxburn,’ Claire said, shaking her head, ‘pretty as a picture.’
‘But you only arrived a couple of days ago – you don’t stay here?’
‘Oh no, I move around with the others. There’s a little clutch of us, traders on boats, me with my music shop, there’s an antique boat and a sandwich boat and a barbecue boat, and we do a good bit of business sticking together, turning wherever we moor up into a kind of market. You fit right in, you know.’
‘The sandwich boat doesn’t mind?’
‘Ralph doesn’t do cakes,’ Claire said, ‘more’s the pity. But think of any sandwich filling – almost any – and he can do it for you. If not that day, then he’ll source it for the next. Oyster and gooseberry, not saying that would be your favourite, mind, but if you fancied it, he’d take twenty-four hours and do it for you. And he’ll tell you himself, offering that kind of service he’s got no time for cakes as well. That’s why I was so excited.’ Claire smoothed down the front of her shirt and gave Summer a warm smile. ‘If you really offered what you said, then I would be in heaven.’
‘Macarons?’
‘All cakes. I’m a cake fiend, and if you can branch out a bit, offer the same service with cakes that Ralph has built his reputation on with sandwiches, then we’d be unstoppable. Music, food, old bits of tat – what else do you look for in a market?’ Claire spread her arms wide, and Summer laughed.
‘I’m not sure I can grow my repertoire that much. My friend, Harry, used to bring me cakes to sell a couple of times a week. Orange and cinnamon, strawberry and banana, this amazing almond-and-toffee flapjack that I—’
‘Oh God, stop. Stop. Where is this Harry? Is he single?’
‘Harry’s female,’ Summer said, ‘and it used to be such a short drive for her when I was at Willowbeck, so I don’t know …’
‘Get her back on side,’ Claire said, urgency in her voice, ‘or get her to send you all her recipes.’
‘What?’
‘I’m serious. That’s what I’m talking about. The brownies? Delicious. But after a few days of brownies, I’m going to be craving something else. And so will the other river-folk. Boat owners and towpath trawlers like their variety, in case you hadn’t realized. Get cracking.’ Claire finished her latte, licked each of her fingers in turn and beamed at Summer. ‘I think we’re going to get on famously. What are you up to this evening?’
Summer opened her mouth, glanced behind her at the cabin, and shrugged.
‘Well then,’ Claire said. ‘That’s settled. I’ll introduce you to some of the others.’
Summer watched her go, the red silk shirt shimmering like water as Claire sashayed to the door. She was larger than life, both in size and presence, and Summer felt like she’d been torn through by a tornado – albeit a very good-natured one.
‘Did I agree to anything?’ she asked Latte, who was sitting on a chair, her face angled on one side, looking up at Summer. ‘Did I agree to trying out different cakes, or to going out with her this evening or … or anything?’ Latte continued to look at her. ‘No, I didn’t think so. But why do I get the feeling I don’t really have a choice?’
Summer’s first day trading in Foxburn was busier than she could have imagined, and she enjoyed the steady stream of customers and the almost carnival atmosphere as random music was blasted out from Claire’s boat. Classical, opera – Summer recognized ‘Three Little Maids’ from The Mikado – some Kylie, Rolling Stones, the Goo Goo Dolls. Claire certainly wasn’t imposing her taste on Foxburn, unless her taste was ‘all music’. Summer could imagine that – already she admired Claire’s desire to soak up everything, to not narrow her perspective. Summer was looking forward to spending time with her instead of finding another nineties film to watch on her iPad.
At first, her customers seemed happy with the range of treats Summer was supplying and continuing to bake throughout the day. She’d picked up the ingredients from the mini-supermarket in Foxburn square; as well as scones and brownies, there were cupcakes with vanilla icing, a lemon tray bake and an apple cake. It was a juggling act, serving and making sure the cakes didn’t burn, but she’d researched and practised some of the recipes while she’d been waiting for her licence to come through, and had got the timings down to perfection. But then visitors started asking for more obscure things: Viennese fingers, oatmeal cookies, cheesecake, custard tarts. Summer had her suspicions, and so she began asking questions herself.
‘Have you had a good day? Bought any music?’ and ‘You didn’t happen to pop aboard Water Music, did you?’ or ‘I can’t believe they were playing Marilyn Manson, did you go and talk to the owner?’ Most of them confessed that, yes, they had visited her café after seeing Claire. A few tried to deny it, their eyes averted.
Less than a day into trading, and Summer was the focus of a stealth campaign from someone she’d just met. Well, two could play at that game, but Summer wanted a bit more time before she launched her counter-attack on Claire’s musical preferences. As the customers asked for their ‘favourite ever cake’, Summer made a list of them. After all, if she couldn’t call on Harry’s expertise as easily, why shouldn’t she listen to someone who would spend more money on her boat if she could branch out a bit? As the stream of customers slowed down, and the day grew colder, Summer vowed that she would spend time looking up some more exotic recipes.
At five, she locked up the café and moved through to the cabin, Latte bounding on to the sofa, bagsying her place. ‘Not tonight, Latte,’ Summer said, ‘we’re going out! Get your glad rags on.’ Latte barked, her tail wagging, her paws slipping slowly towards the front of the sofa. Summer lifted her up and held her close, allowing the little dog to lick her cheek. ‘Are you feeling happier?’ she asked. ‘Because I am.’
Her phone beeped, and Latte jumped out of her arms. Summer picked it up, and saw that it was Mason: Are you about?
Smiling, Summer replied: What does that mean? About where? I’m on the boat. What’s wrong?
Nothing, was the reply, and then a moment later her phone started ringing.
Mason would like FaceTime, it read on the screen. Summer panicked, wondering what she looked like after a day of rushing about and frothing milk, but realized she didn’t have time to mind. She hit accept, and a grainy image of Mason filled her iPhone screen.
Summer gave a sharp intake of breath. There he was, smiling back at her, his dark hair unruly round his face. His eyes didn’t have the same intensity as they did in real life, but seeing him still sent a flood of warmth through her.
‘Hi,’ she said, smiling nervously. ‘What’s this?’
‘This,’ Mason said, ‘is an ambush.’
‘What do you mean?’ Summer sank on to the sofa, keeping the phone up in front of her, so her face stayed in the tiny screen in the corner.
‘Oh, Summer,’ said another voice, and Summer watched as Mason edged to the side of the picture and Valerie appeared, her eyes squinting at the screen. ‘Oh look, there you are! Are you live?’
‘Valerie!’ It came out as a squeak.
‘Summer, where are you? What are you doing? You have to come back!’
‘I – I didn’t think you wanted to talk to me.’
‘I didn’t. I was furious for the first couple of days, and then I came to my senses.’
Summer sighed, relief washing over her. ‘You did?’
‘You would never think that about me, Summer. Of course you wouldn’t. For someone who is usually open to so many channels, I got completely the wrong end of the stick.’ Valerie shook her head, and the silve
r splodge of her earrings jiggled against her neck.
‘Maybe someone tricked you?’ Summer said, not wanting to mention Jenny, but curious to see if Valerie would.
‘No, I misunderstood, or I heard it wrong. I’d had a bad reading, an unhappy customer and then – well, I must have taken it out of context. It’s not your fault, but now I’ve sent you away.’
‘I had to go,’ Summer said quietly. ‘Not just because of what happened between us, there were other things too.’
‘OK,’ Mason said, his voice even, ‘but now you can come back.’
‘I – I don’t know. I think trying out new places is good for me – good for my confidence.’ She puffed her chest out, hoping self-assuredness radiated out of the screen at them.
‘Come back, love,’ Valerie said. ‘There’s a big hollow space where your boat was, and every day more and more geese are coming and filling it, and squawking, and antagonizing walkers and pooing lots of green poo. We’d much rather have your boat.’
‘I’ll second that,’ Mason said, and Summer watched him, frustrated that the screen kept freezing and pixelating, and she couldn’t get a good image of him. She wondered if it would be weird if she asked him to email her a photo – maybe he took selfies as readily as he took other photos – but dismissed the idea instantly. ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘you owe me a walk. I haven’t forgotten.’
‘Nor have I.’
‘Where are you, anyway?’ Valerie asked.
Summer glanced behind her, as if there might be a big sign outside the window that said Foxburn. ‘Not far,’ she said, ‘but I’ve made a new friend.’
‘Oh?’ Valerie sounded disappointed.
Summer sagged back against the sofa, and Latte jumped on to her lap and stuck her nose up to the screen.
‘Oh, Latte,’ Valerie said, her voice wavering, ‘Oh, look at your beautiful little dog.’
‘Archie’s pining for her,’ Mason said, edging a bit further into view. ‘And when he’s unhappy, he gets even more badly behaved – if you can believe that. Maybe you should come back for their sakes.’
Summer chewed her lip. Even now that Valerie had made the effort to connect with her, clearly seeking out Mason and his advanced technology to do more than just phone her, Summer wasn’t about to turn her boat around. While she’d begun to settle into life at Willowbeck, the tension with Jenny at the pub had become too much, to the point where Summer had felt she needed fresh air, new sights, a different outlook. Willowbeck had become claustrophobic, and Summer needed space to breathe. Suddenly, the sight of Valerie and Mason jostling for space on her tiny iPhone screen, their images distorted, seemed like the most ridiculous thing in the world. She started laughing.
‘What’s so funny?’ Mason asked.
Summer shrugged, trying to speak through her giggles.
‘You, it’s just … I don’t know. Like you’re technologically inexperienced relatives trying to have this really earnest conversation and it …’ She shook her head, giving up.
‘Hey,’ Mason said, sounding affronted, ‘I’m very good with technology. What I don’t know about Photoshop isn’t worth knowing.’
‘I know, I know. It’s just so weird.’ Summer smiled. ‘I wish I could see your faces properly.’
‘So come back,’ Valerie urged.
Summer nodded. ‘Soon,’ she said, and then, thinking of Jenny, ‘I’ll think about it, at least. But we should do this again.’
‘What,’ Mason said, ‘so you can laugh at us some more?’ She could just about make out a frown. She wanted to reach into the screen and pull him out, so that he was sitting beside her on the sofa.
‘Why else?’ Summer asked. They all fell silent, and she shifted angle. ‘Valerie, I’m so glad you’ve got in touch. It’s lovely to talk to you, and I really didn’t mean to upset you. After everything you’ve done for me, I owe you so much.’
Valerie shook her head. ‘It wasn’t you, Summer. We miss you. It’s like we’ve just got you back, and you’ve gone again.’
‘I know, but I – I have to do this. It feels right.’
‘Don’t be away too long.’
They said their goodbyes, and Mason ended the call. Summer stroked Latte absent-mindedly, and wondered for the fiftieth time if she should go back. It was tempting, with the safety and security of Willowbeck and Valerie, and the intrigue, the pull of Mason, which was only getting stronger the more time they spent apart. But Foxburn had the potential to be interesting, Claire was going to introduce her to her friends, and Summer was keen to find out more about their lifestyle cruising the waterways. Besides, her friendship with Mason didn’t have to end just because she was no longer in Willowbeck.
As if reading her thoughts, her phone beeped with a message from him: Where are you? I promise I won’t hunt you down and drag you back to Willowbeck.
Summer grinned. Foxburn, she typed. I’m not that far away, and I’m fine.
You are! was his reply. Weird seeing you in pixels, but better than nothing. M.
She moved through her berth to the tiny bathroom, realizing she had no idea what time Claire was expecting her. But she felt a sense of adventure, of hope and of new landscapes. She hadn’t burnt her bridges in Willowbeck, but she was already building new ones here. Maybe she could have the best of both worlds. Feeling happier than she had since she untied her ropes from the mooring in Willowbeck, Summer Freeman got ready to dip her toe in new waters.
Chapter 2
Summer strolled down the towpath, Latte on a short lead at her feet. So far, her dog had shown no interest in wanting to chase the ducks and geese that were an inevitable part of life on the river, but Summer wasn’t taking any chances, and she hadn’t yet tested whether Latte could swim. The boats she now knew were part of Claire’s group of roving traders were moored up close to hers, and Water Music was sandwiched, appropriately, between The Sandwich Shack and Doug’s Antique Barge. Claire’s boat was traditionally painted in red and green, with a castles-and-roses design that was adapted to include musical notes, base and treble clefs, all dancing around the words Water Music, painted in pale, shimmering blue. It had two large speakers fixed to the outside, allowing Claire to delight or distress anyone within a fifty-foot radius.
Summer stepped on to the deck and knocked on the door. Claire opened it and waved her inside as she fumbled with an earring.
‘Can Latte come aboard?’ Summer asked.
‘Course.’
Summer walked through the cabin, realizing that Claire’s boat was similar to her own, with a large section at the bow end set aside for her trade, and the living space squashed towards the back. Claire’s cabin was a riot of colour, the sofa bright blue, a tiny kitchen with red cupboards and a black, granite-effect worktop. It was smart and sassy and individual, and it suited her perfectly.
‘Can I see the shop?’ Summer asked.
‘How long have I been here, and my music hasn’t enticed you in yet?’ Claire flashed her a grin and ushered her through. Summer stepped into the music shop, and gawped.
Her first thought was that the boat must be close to sinking, with so much stuff on board. It was a treasure trove of music, vinyls cramming the small space, in boxes on the floor and on shelves built into the walls. Summer could make out only one window, and that was so surrounded by vinyls that she barely noticed the gleam of the street lamp outside. There was a tiny counter with a cash register in roughly the same place as the one on The Canal Boat Café, and a faint smell of dust mixed with another aroma Summer couldn’t quite place.
‘Wow.’
‘Yeah, I know. Not exactly sharp and modern, and I do try, I promise you.’ Claire ran her finger along the top of a row of LPs, and came away with a smudge of dust. ‘Every spring and autumn I take myself off somewhere quiet along the river and I have a sort-out, try and neaten the place up a bit, but I always think, what if I get rid of this album or sell it on eBay, and then someone comes in looking for it the next day?’
Summ
er pulled out one of the LPs and looked at the cover. ‘Even Paradise Theatre by Styx?’
‘That has a laser etching on the vinyl. It’s a classic.’
‘Hhhmmm.’ Summer wrinkled her nose and slid it back into place. ‘I bet you get some really interesting customers in here,’ she said. ‘Do some people stay for hours?’
‘Yup.’ Claire folded her arms. ‘And what would really help them spend more money in my shop is if there was the most amazing selection of cakes a couple of boats away, to fuel them with the energy to keep searching until they find their Holy Grail.’
‘I do have amazing cakes. I think you said almost exactly that about my brownies. Latte,’ Summer said, watching as her dog extended the lead as far as it would stretch and tried to climb into one of the bigger boxes, ‘not in there.’
‘We should get going anyway.’
‘Where are we meeting the others?’ Summer asked, feeling a prickle of nerves.
‘Ah,’ Claire said, flashing her a grin that was pure mischief, ‘now that would be telling.’
They didn’t have to go far, but Summer’s heart skipped a beat when Claire stopped outside the narrowboat moored in the last berth, on the edge of where quaint Foxburn dissolved into thick, leafy countryside. It was The Wanderer’s Rest, navy and silver, somehow subtle and ostentatious all at the same time.
Summer turned to Claire with wide eyes. ‘Here?’
‘Here. I bloody knew you would have noticed it. Everyone does.’
‘The colours are unusual. My friend, Valerie, has a purple boat moored up in Willowbeck. She does readings – fortune-telling, astrology, that kind of thing.’
‘Ah, well, you’ll find a lot of magic aboard this boat too,’ Claire said, and stepped aboard.
‘Right.’ Summer’s anticipation grew, and she lifted Latte over the threshold and followed Claire on to the deck.
Claire knocked once on the door and pushed it open, and they walked into a fug of warmth, of low murmuring and an aroma of tantalizing spices. Summer blinked, her eyes adjusting to the space lit only by a couple of strategically placed lamps and a woodburner. Latte wriggled in her arms and yelped, and several pairs of eyes turned in their direction.
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