After that, they’d cruised on to Tivesham, and had been there nearly a month. It was bigger than anywhere Summer had been so far, and with several different moorings, had allowed them to stay in the area more than fourteen days while Claire and the others investigated the potential for their festival.
They were enjoying steady custom, with footfall along the towpath and cruisers taking advantage of the plentiful berths to stop and soak up what was turning into a warm and sunny spring. The storytelling and folk music nights had continued in the derelict bandstand, Ryder patiently stringing up the fairy lights each time they went, the atmosphere just as electric and, Summer thought, slightly less scary for not being in the middle of a forest.
Claire had an acoustic guitar to accompany her singing, Jas played the tin whistle and Ralph produced something that looked to Summer like an accordion but which, he informed her, was called a melodeon. Not to be left out, Ryder and Summer took makeshift drums along with them, and Summer had discovered that her best brownie tray made a satisfying noise when played with an acrylic spoon.
She’d got the measure of Ryder as they’d spent more time together, and while she could see why Claire was attracted to him, there was something about him that she found unsettling. His trade turned out to be sourcing anything that people wanted but couldn’t get hold of. He seemed to have a network of contacts who he could call on at a moment’s notice to find a cheap engine part or a particular brand of trainers. He was a typical dodgy market trader, only with a hipster vibe that perhaps made him seem more legitimate to his customers. Summer had vowed never to buy anything off him, and wanted to tell Claire that he was a bad boy, he was the one to be wary of, and that Mason didn’t even come close. They were becoming close friends, but even so, she wasn’t sure Claire would appreciate that observation.
She’d got into a routine at the café, opening every day and baking in the evenings, so that she could focus on serving customers while she was open. She hadn’t been to the studio for weeks, and while she was in touch with Harry almost every day, Harry had yet to make a decision about her proposition. In the meantime, Summer was selling bacon rolls, inferior with supermarket bacon, and trying to build her cake repertoire with Claire’s guidance and recipes from the internet.
Valerie had bought herself a tablet since Summer had moved away, and they often exchanged emails and phone calls, Valerie updating her on Harvey’s latest feline escapades, or the plight of a boat that had been tied to the towpath opposite the residential moorings while the owner tried to patch up a leak. It seems to be getting lower and lower in the water, Valerie had written, and I wanted to tell the couple I’d done a chart and that it’ll all work out, but I wasn’t sure they’d be keen. If only you were here with your café, I’m sure they would have spent a fortune on muffins.
One thing that was guaranteed with Valerie’s communications was a plea that Summer come back to Willowbeck. Summer always told Valerie that she was thinking about it, and in truth she was. She couldn’t deny that travelling with Claire, spending time with the other boat owners, was giving her a new lease of life, but she also believed her time at Willowbeck wasn’t over, that in some ways – although she was reluctant to think of it like this – it was calling to her.
One evening after Summer had finished baking, and with her limbs satisfyingly weary from a day of hard work, she took a glass of white wine and a notepad, and with Latte, climbed up to the roof of her boat. It was near the end of May, the light was only just beginning to dim and the early summer breeze was gentle and delicious. A robin sang loudly in a tree next to one of the towpath lights, believing he’d found a brand-new sun. Summer looked out over the expanse of park, its greens fading to shadows, and a couple of late dog walkers, a jogger in a luminous pink top running down the towpath. Latte stayed close at her side and Summer relaxed, comforted by the feel of the dog against her thigh and the soft glow of the other boats moored alongside her.
She scribbled the heading Willowbeck in her notebook, and started to list all the reasons to go back. Firstly there was Harry: if she was near to Cambridge and Harry’s cottage, then the cake-making partnership was a real possibility, which would help both the café and Harry’s family. Summer was rushed off her feet keeping the café and the boat going all on her own, and if Harry was working with her, she wouldn’t have the pressure to bake every evening as well.
She’d surprised herself with how she’d taken on the challenge of looking after the boat, getting the hang of seeking out the small leaks that were becoming more frequent now she was cruising more often, and patching them up with putty she’d bought at the nearby chandlery. She cleaned out the boiler regularly, had so far avoided diesel bug building up in the filters, and had, with Jas’s help, found and repaired an exhaust leak in the engine. She had convinced herself she could be a solo liveaboard, but that didn’t stop her missing her Willowbeck friends.
There was Valerie, who was the main reason she’d ended up back on the boat in the first place, and who she missed, despite her insistence that Maddy’s presence was watching over them all. And while she was enjoying being part of Claire’s troupe of floating traders, roving wasn’t the most settling way of living, and once they’d run out of time here, they would have to move on again. Summer felt like she was constantly running away from something, and hadn’t she done enough of that already? There was one person in particular she didn’t want to run away from. Since their aborted evening, Summer had been in touch with Mason by phone, but it didn’t feel right, and she wanted to clear the air in person.
It had been a relief when, a few days after Mason had left her boat so abruptly, he’d texted her: Sorry about the other night. I was caught off guard, and I said the wrong thing. I should never have asked you to come back. M. After that she’d phoned him, but it had gone straight to voicemail, and she hadn’t been able to find out what ‘caught off guard’ really meant, except that it was to do with seeing Claire.
After that he had sent her a photo of Archie with, she assumed, what had once been a bath towel torn to shreds in his mouth. He’d written: As you can see, all the work I’m doing on Archie’s behaviour is really paying off. She’d laughed out loud, and sent him a photo of Latte sitting on the café counter in response, telling him she was sad that her dog would rather be sold to a customer than stay with her.
Their relationship had slipped into an easy back-and-forth, always skimming the surface and never testing the deeper feelings that were developing. She knew that couldn’t happen until she saw him, and along with Harry’s plight, it was her strongest reason for wanting to go back to Willowbeck. She sipped her wine and looked up. The stars were beginning to show, their clarity in the dark sky breathtaking, their reach so endless that she could imagine gazing at them forever, watching for the glimmering streak of a shooting star.
Moments like this were the best thing about living on a boat. The water was quiet around her, she had companionship, knowing her new friends were only a few feet away, snug on their own boats, and she had an unsullied view of the stars winking down on her. She knew that Mason would appreciate the view, and she wished he was with her. She felt a surge of longing, an ache in her chest, and so, with the wine working its way into her tired mind, she returned to her messages.
Sitting on the roof looking at the stars, she typed. Wish you were here. Xx
She felt nervous – could she really say that when there was so much unresolved between them – but it was entirely true, and they couldn’t ignore what had almost happened in Foxburn. Maybe this was the first step towards talking about it.
It wasn’t until she’d climbed down and was beginning to give in to sleep that she got a reply. It’s a good night for it, Mason’s text said. Not the same place, but the same stars. M. PS. My roof is filthy.
That weekend was the late May bank holiday, and Summer was busier than ever, with a small fairground taking root in the park. The café was packed, and while Summer was elated at the custom, crack
s were beginning to show in her one-woman business.
She didn’t have time to clear the tables in between each sitting, which meant crockery was being moved to the side of the tables and she soon ran out of clean cups. But the cookies, muffins, brownies and scones she’d baked were popular, and she’d even attempted some rose and pistachio macarons. They didn’t look as beautifully uniform as the recipe she’d found, but they tasted delicious and had allowed her to write a new note on her A-frame: Stuff in a muffin, swoon at a macaroon, or try a gooey brownie with your coffee, juice or tea. Happy Bank Holiday!
She’d started to pick out a few familiar faces in the weeks she’d been in Tivesham, and she realized that was something else she missed about Willowbeck – the regular customers, the cheery hellos and knowing what drink to make as soon as someone appeared in the doorway. She kept hoping to see the old woman who’d told her about stag parties and her dog Ginny, but then she remembered she wasn’t in Foxburn any more, and that, if she wanted this new lifestyle, she would have to get used to a continual stream of new faces.
When she finally closed the café doors at six o’clock, she could barely feel her feet. She loaded the dishwasher, silently thanking her mum for kitting out the boat with all mod cons, and slumped on to her sofa. She could hear shouting from the fairground, and toyed with the idea of asking Claire if she wanted to go on the dodgems and get some candyfloss, but she felt too comfortable to move. She leaned her head back on the sofa, closed her eyes and then, just as sleep was calling her, was jolted awake by a loud knock on the door.
Claire was standing outside, a figure in darkness behind her on the deck. Summer squinted, but couldn’t make out who it was, her heart suddenly in her throat at the thought that it might be Mason. She opened the door and the figure moved into the light, and Summer’s heart sank.
‘I found this one wandering around on the towpath,’ Claire said, ‘told me he was looking for the café with the cute owner.’ She smirked, and then frowned when Summer didn’t smile back. ‘Are you all right? You look exhausted.’
‘I’m fine,’ Summer said, waving her away. ‘Just been rushed off my feet. I’m sure you have too. Ross, what are you doing here?’
‘Hey, Summer,’ Ross said. He was wearing a pale blue hoody, his face slightly tanned. ‘You’re looking great.’
Claire gave him a strange look and squeezed Summer’s arm. ‘Leave you to it?’
Summer nodded and stepped back, ushering Ross in. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer this evening, I’ve been so busy.’
‘I know,’ Ross said, ‘bank holiday. I’ve brought provisions.’ He held up a bottle of wine and a plastic bag, the scent of Chinese food wafting towards Summer and making her stomach rumble.
She gave him a weak smile, found plates and glasses and asked him to set up at a table in the café. Latte stayed close to her feet, whimpering occasionally, even once Summer had fed her a tin of her favourite dog food. ‘What is it, Latte?’ she asked, her tiredness and Ross’s unexpected presence making her irritable.
The little dog pawed at her leg, and Summer lifted her up, giving her a hug. ‘I know,’ she whispered, ‘I don’t want him here either, but how can I turn him away?’ The dog appraised her with her big, dark eyes. ‘You’re right, I should just tell him to go, but I can’t deal with an argument tonight.’
She washed her face and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She had dark circles under her eyes, but her cheeks had taken on a golden glow in the sunshine, her hair gaining natural highlights. She tried to imagine how she’d be feeling if it was Mason who’d just turned up at her door with dinner, and her stomach somersaulted. Silently cursing Ross, as well as her own weakness, she went to join him.
‘How did you find me?’ she asked, once they’d sat down and the food was served. Summer tried to keep her voice light. She didn’t want to sound accusing, but she wasn’t entirely comfortable either. As with Mason, Ross had stayed in touch with her via text, but she’d never given him her location.
‘It’s a funny thing,’ Ross said. ‘I was just messing about online, and now that I know someone who’s living on board a boat, I browse some of the narrowboat websites. I came across this blog written by a guy named Jas – I think his name is – and he mentioned The Canal Boat Café. It was a stroke of luck really. I knew you’d headed up the river, but this gave me the actual location. I thought you might be feeling a bit out on a limb.’
‘I’m not,’ Summer said, wondering whether to be worried or impressed at how he’d managed to track her down. ‘I’ve made some good friends – you met Claire – and it was my decision to leave Willowbeck in the first place, to try somewhere new.’
Ross shrugged and smiled, either not picking up on – or choosing to ignore – her discomfort. ‘Are you enjoying it?’
‘Yes,’ Summer said, ‘I am.’
‘It doesn’t seem a great area. I didn’t feel that safe walking from the car park. Aren’t boats pretty vulnerable? How good are your locks?’
‘Ross,’ Summer said, putting her fork down. ‘Why did you come? Because if you’re just here to undermine my decision—’
‘Hey, hey.’ Ross held his hands up. ‘Not at all. God, I’m sorry. I’m just – I haven’t seen you for a while, and I care about you – I’ve been worried. I’ve been down to Willowbeck too, Valerie really wants you back, and I’ve seen some of your friends from the co-op in my shop. They said you’ve not been there, you haven’t started any new projects, and the way you took off – it’s just not like you, Summer. I came to see if you’re OK.’
‘Shit, the co-op. I should get in touch with them.’ Summer rubbed her temples.
‘See, you’re not OK,’ Ross said, his voice softening. ‘I know I said you looked great, and you always do, but you look tired too, Summer. You’re taking on too much by yourself, and I think you really need this,’ he indicated the table. ‘Let someone else look after you for a change, rather than doing everything alone.’
‘I’m not alone,’ Summer said. ‘Claire’s only a couple of berths down.’
‘You know what I mean.’ Ross gave her a gentle smile. ‘It’s taking its toll on you, and you need someone to talk to.’
‘I just need a good night’s sleep. It’s bank holiday Monday tomorrow, so it’ll be busier than ever.’
‘I can help,’ Ross said, shrugging. ‘The shop’s closed tomorrow, so I can be here and clear tables, wash up, whatever you need.’
Summer chewed on her spring roll and looked at him. She was tempted by the offer. There was nothing she’d love more than someone to help her tomorrow, just to get her over the hump of bank holiday, to take some of the pressure off. But – other than the insinuation that he would want to stay in Tivesham rather than drive back to Cambridge – she knew that it would be a mistake. If she allowed him in this far, then things would get even more complicated.
She shook her head. ‘That’s so kind of you, Ross, but I’ll be fine. I need to prove to myself I can do this on my own.’
‘I wouldn’t get in the way, I wouldn’t even speak.’
‘I know, and it’s a generous offer, but I just need an early night and then I’ll feel as fresh as a daisy. This, though, is a real treat. Thank you.’ She smiled at him, and watched as his perma-grin faltered slightly.
‘I’ve not seen much of Mason at Willowbeck. You were friendly with him, weren’t you? I don’t know, but he might have moved on.’
Summer shrugged, not willing to be drawn in and knowing that, wherever he was, he had told her he was looking at the same stars as her.
‘How’s the shop?’ she asked. She listened to him update her on work, the gigs he’d been to recently, an art festival in Peterborough, his constant, cheerful chatter somehow reassuring, reminding her of the way he had helped her through the worst time of her life. Whatever was happening with Ross now, she had to remember how much he’d been there for her, unwaveringly, and that reminded her that it was almost a year since her mum
had died. The thought shocked her, and she choked on a mouthful, turning away to cough.
‘Are you all right?’ Ross asked, stopping mid-flow.
Summer nodded. ‘Just a bit of rice down the wrong way.’
Ross gave her such a penetrating gaze that Summer felt the urge to run away from him and the café and into her cabin.
‘I know it’s still hard,’ Ross said, ‘and I know that you’re desperate to show the world you can take this all on, but you have to give yourself a break. Why make it extra hard by moving away? This is nothing like Willowbeck. There were beer cans on the towpath, a bike wheel left chained to a lamppost after someone nicked the rest of the bike, and the fair in the park looks a bit dodgy to me. Claire – your friend – was telling me that she’d planned on hosting a music festival here, but has been really discouraged by the area.’
‘Really?’ Summer asked. She hadn’t caught up with Claire in days.
Ross nodded. ‘You’re on your own, Summer. And you’re exhausted.’
‘Which is why I need to go to bed,’ Summer said, trying to inject forcefulness into her voice. ‘I’m sorry, Ross, and thanks so much for coming, but I can’t stay up late.’
Ross pushed his plate away from him. ‘That’s fine. I just wanted you to see a friendly face. And if you decide, as late as tomorrow morning, that you need help, then I’ll be here. I’ll always be a car ride away.’
Summer stood and hovered, waiting for him to do the same. She insisted he take the rest of the wine back with him, pressing the bottle into his hands. At the door he turned and wrapped her in a hug that she hadn’t prepared for. She pressed her hands against his chest, trying gently to push him away, thinking how different it felt being inside Ross’s arms to the tentative hug she’d had with Mason. Even though they’d left on uncertain terms, that embrace had been charged with feeling that was, in this case, entirely lacking.
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