Casting Off

by Cressida McLaughlin

  ‘She was young and beautiful,’ Summer said, ‘with porcelain skin and black hair, too precious for her father, a local estate owner, to bear. He thought by keeping her confined to their large estate, she would be safe from unwanted advances, but the gardener fell sick, and his son, Jack, took over. He saw Elizabeth walking through the gardens every day, and was captivated. When her father realized Jack’s attraction to his daughter, he sent him away. Elizabeth heard rumours from the maids that her father hadn’t just sacked Jack, but had killed him by drowning him in the river. And what her father didn’t know,’ Summer continued, pausing for dramatic effect, ‘was that Elizabeth had returned Jack’s affections, and that they’d been meeting in the apple orchard, away from the large windows of the main house. She was devastated.

  ‘One spring evening, she stole away from the estate and made it down to Willowbeck and the bridge over the river. It’s not a high bridge, but with stones in the pockets of her white dress, and with nothing inside her but a desire to join her love, Elizabeth threw herself into the water. She was discovered the next day, a look of serenity on her pale face. The saddest thing is that Jack hadn’t been killed, but had moved to the next village, desperate to work out a way of being with Elizabeth. To this day she haunts the bridge, her white dress flowing behind her, searching for Jack, though she’s destined never to find him below the surface of the water.’

  It had taken her a lot of time, frustrating online research going from site to site, but eventually she had found the story, a brief mention of the historical details. Valerie’s tale was that the woman had been jilted by her lover, but it seemed the truth was even more tragic than that – rumours had led to Elizabeth’s fateful decision, when in reality Jack was still out there, waiting for his chance to be with her. Of course, Summer had used her own imagination to embellish the story, but it was grounded in truth.

  When she’d finished, Una and Colin gave her wild, enthusiastic applause, and the more seasoned members of the group nodded approvingly. Doug held up his cup and gave her a beaming smile, and Summer felt the warm glow of acceptance.

  As they made their cautious, torch-lit way back to The Wanderer’s Rest, Ryder fell into step alongside her, and rested his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Impressive story,’ he said. ‘You held us in the palm of your hand.’

  ‘Even you?’ Summer asked, laughing.

  ‘Especially me,’ Ryder said, his low voice dropping even further, his hand squeezing her neck.

  ‘Oh,’ Summer murmured. She glanced behind her, looking for Claire.

  ‘You’re a real find, Summer. And I think we have a lot in common.’

  ‘I’m not a shell on the beach,’ Summer said, rolling her eyes. ‘You haven’t found me.’

  Ryder laughed, the sound echoing through the darkness. ‘Too right. Sorry. Very patronizing of me.’

  ‘What do we have in common, anyway?’ Summer asked.

  ‘We’re both children of hippies. I can see that in you a mile off, even if you’re fighting against it.’

  ‘I’m not fighting against anything,’ she said, ‘I’m just trying to do what’s right for me.’ Latte yipped at her feet, as if in agreement, and a moment later Chester loped up alongside her, closely followed by Jas. Summer gave a quiet sigh of relief.

  ‘Great story, Summer,’ he said.

  ‘I was just telling her how much I liked it,’ Ryder added.

  ‘Yeah, I bet you were. Summer, I want to hear more about your haunted bridge on the way back. I’m all over the ghosts on the waterway, and it would be a good story for my blog.’

  ‘You’re not taking us back to Foxburn?’ Ryder asked.

  ‘Not this time, buddy,’ Jas said, slapping him on the back. ‘A man should be the king of his own castle, and I reckon a bit more practice at night cruising wouldn’t do you any harm.’

  As they climbed on board the narrowboat, Summer gave Chester a long, grateful hug. She hoped Jas would see it for what it was, and the look they exchanged told her he did. He had rescued her, even if Ryder wasn’t a serious threat. Summer wasn’t in a position to accept anyone’s advances, and definitely not from someone Claire had expressed an interest in.

  As they walked back down the towpath, Claire linked her arm through Summer’s.

  ‘Good night?’ she asked.

  ‘Definitely. I never knew telling stories could be so exhilarating.’

  ‘They’re an eclectic bunch, but we make a great team. It would be nice having someone to even things out a bit,’ Claire said. ‘Maybe someone a bit more … feminine.’ She shot Summer a glance.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The visitor moorings only last for fourteen days, and you’ve got less time left than we have. What are you going to do after that?’

  Summer floundered. ‘I – I really don’t know.’

  ‘So come with us. You’ve got your roving trader licence now. We’re heading north, further up the river to a place called Tivesham. Not quite as busy as here, but it’s got its own feel. I’ve been looking for somewhere I can put on a music festival.’

  ‘What?’ Summer asked, her mind whirring at the invitation, unable to keep up with Claire’s stream of thoughts.

  ‘The boating community’s so friendly, everyone offering whatever they can when it’s needed – whether it’s sandwiches or their maintenance skills or just their time helping out. There are lots of these little villages with their pubs and their green spaces and wide towpaths – a festival would be perfect. We can have storytelling, dance, theatre, and of course it has to have a musical element. I know a few people in the business, and I’m keen to organize something this year. I’m scouting venues, and Tivesham seems like a good place to start.’

  ‘A proper music festival? With bands and crowds and glow-sticks?’

  ‘Nothing too big or fancy. Just a few bands, mainly local, some great food – including cakes.’ She jabbed Summer in the ribs. ‘We’d advertise it through word of mouth all along the river. You’ve seen that we can create an atmosphere. What could be better?’

  ‘Sounds great,’ Summer said, nodding, though her mind was almost entirely on what Claire had said before that. Go with them, become part of their troop of roving traders, and head further away from Willowbeck.

  ‘Hey,’ Claire said, as they stopped outside Water Music, ‘you don’t need to decide yet. We’ve got a few days. And I know you have a lot to think about.’

  Summer nodded, let Claire peck her on the cheek and then walked with Una and Colin back to their boats. The towpath lights created golden, wavering pools on the black surface of the water, the colours of the narrowboats muted in the darkness.

  Summer lay awake staring at the low ceiling of her cabin, Latte’s gentle snores comforting at the end of the bed. She focused on the rhythmic lull of the boat, the gentle clonking of the heating system, the tick of the boat’s shell moving and settling around her. The sounds were comforting, reassuring. She’d got used to them, they were part of the fabric of her new life, and she knew she’d miss them if they weren’t there.

  She’d only just moved away from Willowbeck, and she’d known the visitor moorings were much more time-limited, but to keep cruising off into the distance away from where her mother had been so happy, and away from Valerie and Norman, away from Mason? She closed her eyes.

  She’d heard nothing from him since their beautiful walk, and then the awkward dinner, the tension-fuelled ending. Was Claire right? Had Mason got so close and then manufactured the argument so he could detach himself from her? What would be the point? They hadn’t slept together, and she still couldn’t believe that was his only motivation for getting to know her. What Claire had said didn’t sit true with her. She enjoyed his company, she was sure he enjoyed hers, and the chemistry between them was undeniable. She liked him enough to want to find out more, but if she kept moving further and further away, would she be able to do that?

  When Harry arrived on Wednesday afternoon the sun was warmer,
hinting at things to come. Blackbirds pipped and sang as they burrowed for twigs and leaves in the undergrowth, industriously preparing their nests, and the river sparkled, glimmering with a new clarity under the blue sky, flashes of silver as shoals of minnows passed below the surface.

  Summer felt the heat on her cheeks, and took her friend to the market square. They went to the deli and picked up giant slices of homemade pizza covered with sun-ripened tomatoes, mushrooms, grilled chicken and artichokes, and sat on a bench to eat them.

  ‘This is beautiful,’ Harry said, gazing at the town hall and the fountain, occasionally drifting faint sprays of water in their direction in the breeze. ‘Why aren’t we on the boat?’

  Summer shrugged. ‘I fancied a change of scene – I’ve been working all day and I thought the fresh air would be welcome.’ She gave Latte a scrap of chicken. ‘And I’m sure this one was about to go stir-crazy.’

  Harry laughed. ‘Latte? She’s a cushion dog. Sofas and beds and comfort.’

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ Summer said. ‘Since becoming a liveaboard, leading a slightly more rugged lifestyle, and of course since getting to know Archie—’ She stopped, turning away on the pretence of sipping her tea.

  ‘Archie?’ Harry asked. ‘Isn’t that Mason’s dog? Is there a blossoming romance that I don’t know about?’

  ‘What?’ Summer jolted, spilling hot tea over her hand. ‘Shit,’ she whispered, wiping it off with a napkin.

  Harry was watching her, her long dark hair falling over the collar of her red jacket. ‘I was going to say between Archie and Latte, but now I’m wondering if I’ve hit on something else.’

  ‘That isn’t why I wanted to see you,’ Summer said.

  ‘It is,’ Harry said, ‘even if you tried to pretend it wasn’t.’

  Summer narrowed her eyes, trying to be annoyed.

  ‘So you and Mason, then?’ Harry asked. ‘It distresses me that I’ve only met him in passing.’ Summer had introduced them once in Willowbeck when Harry was on her way in with a fresh, delicious tray bake, and Mason was on his way out with a bacon sandwich. ‘So I need you to tell me in extreme detail.’

  ‘First I need to talk to you about something,’ Summer said.

  ‘Yes, this. Come on, Summer.’

  Summer knew it was futile to resist, so she told Harry everything. The FaceTime, the walk through the countryside – which had, in only a few days, taken on an ethereal quality in Summer’s mind, like it was part of a fairytale – and then the bump back down to earth with Mason asking her to come back to Willowbeck, and Claire’s revelation about the side to Mason that Summer hadn’t seen.

  Harry listened in silence, her expression barely changing as Summer confessed how close they’d got, and how charged it felt, how she couldn’t be mistaking the signals, and then Claire’s suggestion that he was a womanizer, that he disappeared each time he got a notch on his bedpost.

  ‘You don’t believe that, though?’

  Summer shook her head. She’d done so much talking her pizza had begun to wilt. She scoffed it down, listening as Harry gave her opinion.

  ‘Right, so he saw Claire and something about that relationship – or the memory of her – upset him. Could it just have been a bad time for him generally? What I don’t get is why seeing her made him pressure you about going back to Willowbeck with him.’

  ‘After promising he wouldn’t,’ Summer added, mumbling through a mouthful.

  ‘Right. So either he realized that afternoon that he couldn’t live without you, which is a possibility by the sounds of the chemistry—’

  ‘But why didn’t he say that?’

  Harry shrugged. ‘Because he’s scared? Because nothing’s really happened between you yet, and he didn’t want to commit himself? But you’re right, if he was asking you to go back with him, then he’s already committing to you. Or maybe he was worried that Claire was going to spill the beans about something, and he wanted you to move away from her.’

  ‘About him being a womanizer?’ Summer asked.

  ‘Possibly.’ Harry frowned. ‘But Claire only has Tania’s word to go on. It’s not like she’s experienced “Mason the bad boy” quite first-hand. Sure, she would know how her friend felt, but even so, Mason’s reaction to seeing her seems a bit extreme. If it was Tania, I could maybe understand it.’ She drummed her fingers against her lips. ‘Unless Claire’s not telling you the full picture, either to save your feelings or because she doesn’t think she knows you well enough.’

  ‘She’s asked me to become part of their band of roving traders.’

  ‘Right,’ Harry said, pointing at Summer. ‘So … I don’t know. It’s a pickle. He’s really not sent you so much as a text since it happened? Have you sent him one?’

  Summer shook her head. She knew what her friend was going to say, and so she jumped in with a change of subject that would hopefully prevent those words from being released into the spring air.

  ‘How would you feel about baking cakes?’

  ‘How is that going to solve the Mason thing?’

  ‘It’s not. It’s going to solve the problem that my cakes are … well, they’re OK, but they’re not that inspiring.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ Harry said. ‘But I’m sorry I haven’t brought you anything for the last couple of weeks – things at home have been manic. I have got an apricot and pecan Victoria sponge in my car though, I’ll get it for you on the way back.’

  ‘You have? Oh God, that sounds amazing. This is what I’m talking about. If I put your apricot and pecan cake next to my fruit scones – does it have apricot jam in the middle?’

  ‘And cream,’ Harry said.

  Summer rolled her eyes. ‘Wow. See, no competition. This is what I need. I need better variety, and I need quality. Just think how much more custom I’d get, how the reputation of the café would go up. Cakes by Harry Poole,’ Summer said, moving her hand out in front of her as if imagining the sign, ‘they’re bound to make you drool.’

  Harry laughed. ‘Oh, come on.’

  ‘The rhyme needs a bit more work, but isn’t it a great idea?’

  Harry’s smile faltered. ‘I – I don’t know,’ she said.

  ‘Why not? I know it’s a slightly longer journey, but I won’t always be in Foxburn, and we can sort out the logistics.’

  Harry rested her elbows on her knees. The bell in the local church started ringing, and pigeons scattered into the air from the trees in the churchyard.

  ‘I’ve got a part-time job,’ she said.

  ‘What?’ Summer asked. ‘Why? Where?’

  Harry hid her eyes behind her hands. ‘Greg’s job is … they’re losing work. The company’s struggling and there’s not enough to go around. He’s put himself forward for everything, tried to show he’s worth keeping – they took on every contract they could get, which was why he was working so much, but they’ve all been short term, and the regular business is being swallowed up by this new company that’s started up in the area. They’ve got more money, rates that Greg’s company can’t compete with, and they’re vicious, stealing all Greg’s existing clients without mercy. There’s not been talk of redundancies yet, but it’s looking likely.’

  ‘Oh, Harry,’ Summer said, putting her hand on her friend’s back. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘And of course I don’t mind working, I can fit in lots of hours when Tommy’s at school, but …’

  ‘Where are you working?’

  ‘A local café.’

  ‘The bastards, how dare they get your cakes?’ Harry looked up and Summer grinned at her.

  ‘I’m just a waitress,’ Harry said.

  Summer gawped. ‘No way. Do they know you bake?’

  ‘They were looking for a waitress.’ Harry shrugged, and Summer felt a lump in her throat. This was not like her confident, rational friend. Surely she would have told the café the benefits she could bring to them, and make the most of the opportunity.

  She gripped Harry’s hand. ‘So bake for
me instead. Not like you have been, once a week as a huge favour for your best friend in the world, but properly, as a business partner. I’ll pay you for everything, pay for your mileage to travel to wherever I’m based on the river. We can work out new recipes, the quantity we’ll need, all those things. Will you think about it?’

  ‘Wow,’ Harry whispered. There were tears glistening in her eyes. ‘I’ll think about it, Sum, it’s an amazing offer.’

  ‘I was going to ask you before I knew about Greg. It’s not a pity proposal, I thought you could help me and make some money doing something you’re so good at and – I think – something you love.’

  ‘I do, I do,’ Harry said. ‘I just … It’s all so confusing at the moment, and Greg is feeling really …’ Harry turned away, and Summer put her arms around her.

  ‘No pressure,’ Summer said. ‘I know we’d make a brilliant team, that’s all. Just think about it.’

  ‘Of course I will,’ Harry said, ‘and thank you.’

  Chapter 5

  Tivesham turned out to be a middle ground between Willowbeck and Foxburn. Without Willowbeck’s quaint beauty or Foxburn’s bustling vibrancy, it had several moorings, the most appealing with fields on one side of the river, and the towpath running alongside a park on the other. There were benches, a large expanse of grass and a derelict bandstand that Claire was intent on using in her music festival.

  Summer had agreed to try the life of a roving trader, and had cruised out of Foxburn the day after her meeting with Harry. While Claire and the other traders had time left at their visitor moorings, Summer’s time was running out, and Claire had managed to get the band of boats to move on earlier, so that Summer could accompany them.

  They’d ended up stopping at a smaller mooring en route, when a passing helmsman told them the local hotel was full of American tourists keen to soak up idyllic English river life and Claire thought they could be tempted by her music, Summer’s cakes and probably some expensive antiques too.