Casting Off

by Cressida McLaughlin

  ‘Stay in touch, Summer,’ Ross said, bending to kiss her on the cheek.

  ‘Thanks for coming.’ Latte barked at him, and Summer wondered fleetingly whether it was a bark of goodbye or good riddance.

  Bank holiday Monday dawned to sunshine. Summer had slept well, and she had meant what she’d said to Ross – she wanted to prove that she could tackle the café’s busiest days on her own, just as her mother had done for years on the days Summer wasn’t with her. She had packets of bacon and rolls, extra cakes and scones, along with some more macarons waiting in the kitchen, and was confident they would last through the day. She showered, dressed in jeans, a black T-shirt with an owl on it and a pair of super-comfy Sketchers, and tied her hair in a ponytail. She was ready.

  She opened up the bow door and let the warm summer air snake through the café, then sighed as she noticed the litter that had blown on to her deck from the fairground. There were empty coffee cups, popcorn bags and beer bottles, a discarded cuddly monkey that someone must have won and then got bored with, and endless bits of newspaper. Summer found she was actually tutting, just as her mother used to, as she put on gloves and found a black sack, and started tidying the deck. She threw most of it away, and then decided that the cuddly monkey could go in the washing machine and then sit alongside the wooden objects – her other deck-found treasure – and the crocheted cakes on the counter.

  She crouched, leaning beneath the deck seating to get the last bits of rubbish, and then, turning to grab hold of a paper bag that was trying to blow into the river, noticed that the wood on the door below the lock had been scratched, the red paint missing. Summer frowned and ran her gloved hand over it, feeling a sudden chill. She glanced up at the park, but the fair seemed silent now, the marquees zipped up, stands boarded and shuttered until later that day.

  Trying to brush away her unease, she went back inside and opened up. Everything was clean and sparkling, all her crockery and cutlery within easy reach. She’d ordered more takeaway cups and had bought freesias to decorate the tables, which she combined with some handpicked forget-me-nots to make attractive displays. She made herself a coffee, drank it while it was still too hot, and with Latte at her feet, went to put out the blackboard.

  Come and rest your feet, allow yourself a treat, it’s nice to be afloat, in the café on a boat.

  It wasn’t her best, but it would do. People would, at the very least, chuckle at the childish rhymes – wasn’t that what Jenny had called them? She may well be right, but it hadn’t seemed to put people off so far.

  Ten minutes later, an incredibly tall man with a smile that stretched right across his face bent his frame inside the café, a girl of about four tottering along with her hand in his, her white-blonde hair in pigtails. ‘Hello,’ he said, ‘are you open?’

  ‘Of course,’ Summer said. ‘What can I get you?’

  The man appraised the menu above the counter, chose a selection of macarons, a coffee and an orange juice. As soon as Summer turned to the coffee machine to grind the beans, the door opened again to reveal an older couple, sunhats on even though it was only just after nine. Summer smiled and asked them what they wanted.

  It had begun.

  The day was as busy as she’d imagined, and despite all her preparations and foresight, she had almost run out of cakes by four o’clock. She was tired, but she’d spent most of the day smiling. She didn’t know if it was her involvement with Claire and the storytellers that had boosted her confidence, or if it was just that she was truly beginning to inhabit the role of café owner, but she was enjoying the interaction with the customers more with each passing day, and had found her own stories start to slip in to the conversation, no longer simply taking down orders and exchanging pleasantries.

  The custom dwindled as the music from the fairground got louder, and people began gravitating towards the games and rides, taking advantage of the sunny evening.

  ‘I’m not happy with their music choice,’ Claire said, pushing open the door just as Summer was tucking the blackboard back behind the counter.

  She looked as tired as Summer felt, her dark hair plastered to the sides of her face. ‘I thought you embraced all music,’ Summer said.

  ‘I do, but only when I’ve chosen it.’ Claire grinned. ‘My boat is like an oven. Do you have anything cold?’

  ‘Coke, lemonade, elderflower?’

  ‘That one,’ Claire said, flopping into a seat. ‘Jas and Ryder fancy going over to the fair later. I told them that they were mad, and that I wouldn’t be up for a helter skelter even if I hadn’t been working all day.’

  ‘I’m almost tempted,’ Summer said, bringing two bottles of elderflower to the table. ‘But I might fall asleep in the waltzers. Let those pretty young things enjoy themselves, and we can put our feet up in front of the iPad.’

  Claire laughed. ‘God. Are we old?’

  ‘No.’ Summer shook her head. ‘Just busy. Which is good, but … Ross mentioned you’re not sure about holding the music festival here any more?’

  Claire wrinkled her nose like a rabbit. ‘It’s got the space, as you can see, but I’m not sure it’s the idyllic venue I thought it was. It’s got no character, no little houses or fairy groves like Foxburn.’

  ‘But would residents really want a music festival so close?’

  ‘True,’ Claire sighed. ‘I just … I don’t feel that inspired by the place. It might be back to the drawing board.’

  ‘My deck was covered in litter today, and Ross said a bike had been stolen. And the music from the fair is a bit overwhelming – I keep thinking I can hear it even when the rides are closed.’

  ‘The fair’s moving on tomorrow,’ Claire said, pouring her drink into a glass and taking a long sip. ‘And litter’s going to happen with any kind of event or festival, but there should be someone responsible for clearing up. Why has Ross been feeding you tales?’

  ‘There wasn’t a bike wheel missing the rest of the bike?’

  ‘There may well have been, but that’s a common enough sight just about anywhere. Who is Ross anyway, just a friend?’

  Summer nodded. ‘Quite a persistent one,’ she said.

  Claire’s eyes widened, and she smirked. ‘Ah. I get you. Sorry if I made things awkward by bringing him to your boat last night.’

  Summer waved her away. ‘You weren’t to know. He’s been a good friend, but he won’t take a hint. He’s determined to be there for me, even when I tell him I’m fine.’

  ‘He’s not a patch on Mason, then?’

  Claire said the words so softly that at first Summer thought she’d misheard. She shook her head, looking down at the table.

  ‘I’m sorry about what I said,’ Claire said. ‘It wasn’t my place.’

  ‘You were only telling me what you know.’

  ‘You’re still in touch with him?’

  ‘A little bit.’

  ‘And I don’t need to ask if you still like him, because that’s obvious.’

  Summer sighed. ‘I’d like to get to know him better,’ she said. ‘Not that I’m ignoring what you told me, but I need to find out for myself. And whereas Ross’s help has at times seemed suffocating, it never feels like that with Mason.’

  ‘That tells you everything, then. I’m pleased for you, Summer.’

  ‘Pleased that I have a crush?’

  ‘Pleased that you’ve maybe found someone. That’s hard enough anywhere, let alone living on the river. I won’t give you any more lectures.’

  Summer looked at Claire, at her dark, messy hair, her expression never too far from cheeky. In the short time she’d known her, she’d found a good friend. ‘Lectures are always welcome, as long as you’re OK with me making up my own mind.’

  ‘I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.’

  ‘So can I say something to you, too?’

  Claire opened her arms wide. ‘Shoot for the moon.’

  ‘Ryder,’ Summer started tentatively, watching Claire stiffen. ‘He’s a bit … manipula
tive. Charming, undoubtedly but … in my opinion, he’s a classic bad boy.’

  ‘One hundred per cent,’ Claire nodded.

  ‘And you’re still interested?’

  ‘I’ve known him a lot longer than you, and I know there’s more to him. It’s just hard to crack the surface. And as long as I know what I’m getting into …’

  ‘Unlike Tania, you mean? Mason gave the impression of being serious about her, and then turned out to be the opposite.’

  ‘That’s the thing. As long as both of you go in with your eyes open, I don’t see any harm in it.’

  ‘What if you think your eyes are open, but then they turn out not to be?’ She thought of Mason again and how, according to Claire’s experience of him, she’d read him entirely wrong.

  Claire sighed. ‘That is a quandary I’m too tired to deal with right now.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Summer said, smiling and pushing thoughts of Mason to the back of her mind. ‘Now, let’s blow off this funfair business and watch a film. I know it’s a lovely evening, but after serving customers all day I’d be very happy to hibernate.’

  ‘Done,’ Claire said. ‘Give me five minutes to tell the boys we’re being the ultimate party-poopers, then I’ll be with you.’

  Chapter 6

  Summer said goodbye to Claire about midnight, and had almost forgotten her weariness in her friend’s company. Despite the awkwardness over Mason, Summer felt entirely comfortable with Claire. She was funny, confident and sometimes brash, and in no small way reminded Summer of her mum.

  She cleared up the wine glasses, snuck a bit of salami out of the fridge and gave some to Latte, then brushed her teeth and crawled into bed. The night was warm and she had the window open a crack, despite the fairground still going strong, the shouts and screams and waltzer music reaching her easily. Latte settled down in the crook of Summer’s arm, and she closed her eyes.

  She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but suddenly, Summer was wide-awake. It was pitch black in the cabin, and the sounds of the fairground had gone. Latte was standing on the bed, her small paws digging into Summer’s thigh, and Summer could tell that she was alert. Her heart missed a beat and she leant up on her elbows.

  ‘What is it, Latte?’ The dog whimpered, jumping when Summer reached out to touch her. She was shaking.

  Slowly, licking her lips, Summer reached for her phone. She pressed the button that illuminated the screen and saw that it was nearly three in the morning. The air coming in through the window was cool, licking around Summer’s neck and shoulders. She hesitated, and when she couldn’t hear anything, rested her head back against the pillow.

  ‘Settle down, Latte.’

  The dog didn’t listen, just pawed at her and continued to whimper. As her eyes got accustomed to the dark, she saw that Latte was looking towards the bow of the boat, in the direction of the kitchen and the café. The little dog couldn’t see beyond the cabin, but she was aware of something – something she was unhappy about. Goose pimples prickled on Summer’s arms.

  And then there was a loud bang and the sound of glass breaking, and Summer’s heart was no longer thrumming, but banging. She brought her legs up to her chest, dislodging Latte and making her bark.

  ‘Sssshhh, Latte,’ she whispered desperately. ‘Ssssshhhhhh.’

  The banging continued, and Summer recognized the sound of chair and table legs scraping across the floor of the café. She thought of the money from the till, which she removed and secured in the safe in the living area every night. She heard more glass smashing and a low, murmuring voice. She fumbled for her phone and, about to dial nine-nine-nine, she realized she had help closer at hand. Her fingers shaking and her palms sweaty, she dialled Claire’s number. The noises were unrelenting, seeming to get louder and closer all the time, competing with Latte’s unrelenting barking.

  Claire picked up on the fifth ring, her voice thick with sleep.

  ‘Summer?’

  ‘I think someone’s on my boat,’ she whispered. ‘In the café.’

  ‘Fuck,’ Claire said, suddenly alert. ‘Get out of there. We’re coming, and I’ll call nine-nine-nine on the way.’

  Her heart pulsing in her throat, making it difficult to swallow, Summer climbed out of bed and pulled jogging bottoms and a jumper on over her pyjamas, her hands moving clumsily, as if she was doing everything submerged in sand. She grabbed hold of Latte and slipped through the cabin, through the tiny bathroom and to the door that led to the engine and then the stern of her boat.

  The night air was cool, the water was a black, bottomless hole, and the stern deck felt rough against the soles of her feet. Summer was consumed by fear. She felt the chill and the heat of it rushing through her, the taste of it in her mouth, thick and immovable, but she tried to even her breathing, tried to think clearly through the panic.

  She crouched on the stern deck next to the tiller, afraid to step on to the towpath in case whoever was inside saw her and followed her out. Behind her, she heard another loud thump, the sound of metal clattering, and thought they must be in the kitchen, perhaps searching for the takings. Shivering, and with Latte whimpering against her, Summer squeezed her eyes closed. Should she be brave and confront them? She could barely stand, she was shaking so much.

  There was a shout from the bow end, a voice she recognized, Claire’s, and then Jas’s and Ryder’s, all calling out, loud and incoherent, making as much noise as possible. The light in the boat next to hers came on, and there were more noises from inside, the sound of someone moving quickly. For a horrifying second, Summer thought that they would try to get out past her, but then the commotion at the other end got louder, and she heard Claire shout ‘Come back here, you fucker!’ Footsteps echoed on the towpath, more than one pair, and then she heard her name.

  ‘Summer, Summer where are you? Are you OK? They’ve gone, Jas is after them.’

  Grabbing on to the tiller, Summer hauled herself up. She stepped shakily down on to the towpath, and Claire, wearing a grey polka-dot dressing gown, rushed forward and embraced her and Latte.

  ‘Oh God, are you all right? Fucking hell.’

  ‘I’m OK,’ Summer said, exhaling, her voice weak.

  ‘Shit,’ Claire murmured. ‘Shit.’

  Summer pressed her face into Claire’s shoulder. She could hear other people opening doors, coming off their boats to see what was happening, muttering, exclaiming, voices anxious or hazy with sleep. Summer pulled away from Claire when the sound of sirens cut through the air. Doug, Ryder and some of the other boat owners were clustered around them on the towpath, and Ryder put his hand on her shoulder. There were murmurings of reassurance and kind, apprehensive smiles, as everyone tried to offer her comfort without being sure what had really happened.

  The two PCs, both male and, Summer thought, probably younger than she was, were calm and confident. Claire explained what had happened, that Jas had gone after the intruder down the towpath, and one of the policemen followed, even though Summer thought they must be long gone by now. The other encouraged Claire to take Summer on to her boat and, once they were all seated, and with coffee Summer could tell was laced with something much stronger, asked Summer questions.

  She went over what had happened – waking up and hearing the intruder, calling Claire before making her way to the stern – but she didn’t have much to tell. She explained what was onboard, where the safe was and where the keys were, and after a while the policeman left to investigate Summer’s boat.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Claire asked, feeding Latte some cold cuts of beef from her fridge. ‘It must have been such a shock.’ Ryder hovered in the doorway. His swagger was gone, his expression one of genuine concern.

  Summer nodded and sipped her coffee. She was still shaking, despite the warm clothes she’d pulled on, her teeth chattering constantly. The adrenaline was fading, but it left behind a cold wedge of fear that had appeared the moment she’d realized there was an intruder on her boat. ‘I-it was scary,’ she sai
d. ‘I didn’t know what was going on, and then when I worked it out, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to be trapped onboard with them,’ she said, her voice wavering dangerously.

  ‘You weren’t, you weren’t,’ Claire said, her voice soothing. ‘You got out. You’re safe.’

  She poured more brandy into Summer’s mug, but added no more coffee. The knock on the door made Summer jump, and both policemen appeared, followed by Jas, wearing a T-shirt and shorts, his trainers undone on his feet. His forehead was shimmering with sweat, and he was panting. When he caught Summer’s eye, he shook his head.

  ‘Sorry, Summer, I didn’t get him.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ Summer said, but it didn’t feel like it was. She didn’t want the intruder to be out there now that he knew the lock was broken, that he could gain access to her boat any time he wanted.

  ‘We’ve looked over the boat,’ the fair-haired policeman said. ‘The lock’s been broken and a couple of windows have been smashed, but from the list you’ve given us, nothing has been taken. He didn’t get into the safe.’

  ‘There is a fair bit of superficial damage, though,’ the other policeman added.

  ‘We can deal with that,’ Claire said, with bravado. ‘No worries.’

  ‘We’ll dust for fingerprints, and we’ll board up the door and windows, so you won’t be able to go back to the boat tonight. We’ve got your statement, and Jas’s, and we’ll ask the other residents here if they heard or saw anything. The best thing you can do is try and get some sleep.’

  Summer nodded, but she couldn’t focus on what the policemen were saying to Claire, and watched in a daze as her friend showed them to the door. Claire, Jas and Ryder carried on talking, but she felt too exhausted to listen. She pulled her phone out of her pocket. It was nearly half four; nearly time for the sun to come up.

  ‘You can get in my bed,’ Claire said, after Ryder and Jas had gone back to their boats. ‘Do you want me to call anyone for you?’