Chapter Three
When Summer woke on Thursday morning, their penultimate day in Little Venice, Mason wasn’t beside her. And then, as she began to emerge from the fug of slumber, she heard banging. Her stomach knotted with a familiar tension, one that came from nearly two years of being a liveaboard, her senses – and worry – tuned to all the things that could go wrong on the boat, especially in the cold.
She thought of Norman and Valerie in Willowbeck, and hoped that Jenny and Dennis were on hand to help them should they need it. Sliding out of bed and pulling a hoody over her pyjamas, she followed the bangs and thumps, past the tiny bathroom to where the engine was housed, in front of the stern deck. She found her boyfriend, clad in only his boxer shorts, peering at parts of the engine Summer didn’t entirely understand.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, and Mason jumped, cracking his head against the engine casing.
‘Fuck,’ he muttered, rubbing his temple.
Summer winced and squeezed his shoulder. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Is everything OK?’
He turned, his smile a half-grimace. ‘It’s making a funny noise. Stating the obvious, I know, but I’m worried that one of the pipes is blocked somewhere. Have you seen the weather this morning?’
Summer shook her head, anxiety prickling down her spine. ‘Frozen?’
‘Not the river, but – it’s getting colder, and I think we need to be prepared.’ There was an uncharacteristic wariness in his voice, and Summer knew that he was worried. ‘The last thing we want is for the pipes to freeze and then crack, or for the heating to break down. Mick’s given me a few tips, so I’m checking it over. Go back to bed for a bit.’
‘Why don’t you have any clothes on? Never mind the river being frozen, your extremities will fall off!’
Mason laughed. ‘I’m safe, don’t worry. To give her credit, Madeleine’s heating is efficient, and the fact that she’s still cosy this morning means the worst hasn’t happened – yet. But I’m not happy with this banging.’
‘Maybe it’s a ghost,’ Summer said, widening her eyes dramatically.
‘That,’ Mason said, turning to the toolbox on the floor, ‘would be a harder problem to solve. I’ll be a while, get back under the duvet.’ He put a screwdriver between his teeth and turned back to the engine.
Summer ignored his suggestion and went to make tea. She returned with a steaming mug, one of his tattier jumpers – not that she ever minded staring at his body, but she didn’t want to add any more drama to their trip by failing to prevent him from catching hypothermia – and two very curious dogs, who would no doubt hinder rather than help him.
Realizing that hovering behind him would be about as helpful as Archie and Latte’s contributions, she left him to it, checking the kitchen appliances and the café, ensuring everything was working, and also that the doors and windows hadn’t frozen solid. She’d been getting more liveaboard-savvy since she’d been in her café, but that didn’t mean she could diagnose every unusual sound her houseboat made, and she was grateful that Mason was prepared to take on that role, however un-feminist that sentiment was.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the extent of the frost was revealed, its sharpness diluting the colours of Little Venice as everything was given a white, shimmering coat. The hot drinks machine would be working hard today, and she was glad she had extra bacon.
Once Mason appeared, declaring everything seemed to be without issue, rubbing his forehead either because of the perplexing sounds that he hadn’t diagnosed, or because he was still smarting from knocking his head, she showered and started her fifth full day in the café. She winced at the cold air that sliced at her when she opened the hatch, and knew she would have to balance being welcoming at the takeaway counter with keeping the café’s interior snug enough for people to want to sit inside.
Mason took control behind the counter, serving customers with a charm that made Summer feel both proud and lustful. She’d never imagined that ‘hot café owner’ would be on her list of romantic fantasies – the fact that he was a nature photographer, that he was talented and caring in equal measure was more than attractive enough for her – but as she looked at him, a white apron with red trim over his scruffy blue jumper, a dusting of icing sugar on his cheek and his hair as badly behaved as usual, she felt overcome with love.
Once they made it back to Willowbeck she wouldn’t have long to organize her proposal, and there was no way she could start working on the sign she wanted to secure to the bridge when they were both living on the same boat, so she would have to fit it in between Christmas and New Year. Perhaps she could keep it in a back room in the pub if Jenny and Dennis would let her, and then find a way of disappearing intermittently to paint it so Mason didn’t get suspicious. Maybe the reserve would have a sudden influx of a rare breed of winter goose that would keep him occupied?
As she was musing on this, wondering which god she needed to pray to to make it a reality, dress-down Santa Claus came into the café.
‘So I see he hasn’t been stolen away, then?’ he asked, his round face breaking into a grin.
‘Sorry?’ she asked, trying to recall their previous encounter.
‘Your man – you’ve survived London so far. He hasn’t been whisked away by another fawning customer.’
Summer couldn’t help smiling in return. ‘Not quite,’ she said dryly, her mind unhelpfully replaying the moment Tania had walked towards them in the pub.
‘And has it been eventful, like I said it would be?’
‘No wild swimmers so far – the plummeting temperatures have probably seen to that – but it’s definitely had its moments.’
‘The weather’s supposed to get worse over the next few days. There’s talk of it failing to get much above freezing until after the weekend.’
‘Really?’ Mason joined their conversation, sending a couple of older women away clutching chocolate twists, their footing cautious as they navigated the gritted towpath.
‘Yes, young man,’ Santa Claus said. ‘I’ve heard rumours the river could freeze. It might be a repeat of 1963, when the Thames last froze over, or the frost fairs of the nineteenth century. You could have an ice rink outside your door any day now. Are you good at skating?’ He looked to Mason and then her, and Summer got a funny feeling in her chest.
Was he another Valerie? Did he somehow know about their visit to Winter Wonderland? Were the rumours he’d heard actually premonitions? She wondered if Mason was as unnerved as she was by his pertinent question, but he seemed unconcerned.
‘Funny you should mention that,’ he said. ‘We went to Winter Wonderland the night before last, and tried out the ice rink. I haven’t been for years, but—’
‘But he’s a natural,’ Summer finished. ‘He put all my wobbling to shame. I felt in very safe hands.’
‘Good you’ve got some practice in, then. Any mince pies today?’
‘Sure,’ Mason said. He pulled the plate out and asked the man how many he wanted, before putting them in a paper bag.
‘You thought they were OK, then?’ Summer asked, giving the closest table an extra, unnecessary wipe down.
‘The best mince pies in all of London, and I’ve been around a bit, believe me.’ Dress-down Santa tapped the side of his nose, and Summer tried not to laugh hysterically. She found herself checking to see if there was a sleigh on the towpath, reindeer stomping their hooves impatiently, or a pair of red braces peeking out from beneath his tan-coloured jacket.
Once he’d left clutching his treats, Summer shook her head. ‘Is it just me, or was that a bit weird?’
‘What’s that?’ Mason asked. He was rearranging the remaining mince pies into a more attractive pattern on the plate.
‘Him. The whole – y’know, mentioning ice skating when we were only doing it two days ago, saying he’d been around a bit when it came to mince pies. How he looked …’ Her words trailed off as Mason stared at her. She could see he was trying hard not to laugh.<
br />
‘Summer …’
‘Don’t you think it’s a bit strange? All a bit—’
‘Miracle on 34th Street?’
‘Perhaps.’
He walked over and planted a kiss on her head. ‘He’s a slightly large, jolly man with white hair, who likes mince pies. And it’s not unusual to go ice skating in December.’
‘What if his predictions about the weather are right?’ she asked, almost pleading. Mason was making perfect sense, but she couldn’t quite let it go.
‘It’s bloody freezing,’ he said. ‘Either it’s going to warm up, or it’s going to get colder. He has a fifty per cent chance of being right.’
‘It could stay consistently at this temperature,’ she argued, her protestations getting weaker.
‘It has to change eventually, and that’s what we’ll remember. Let’s keep our fingers crossed that he isn’t Father Christmas, doesn’t know about the weather in advance and we’re not going to end up getting stuck in Little Venice. I’m having a great time, but I can only stand so many late nights out followed by early mornings in the café. I’m starting to feel old.’ He stretched his arms up to the ceiling, his shoulder making a cracking noise as if to prove his point, and twisted his neck from side to side.
‘Mason Causey, you are the least old person I know. I mean, obviously there’s Tommy, and—’
‘And you,’ he said, amusement dancing in his eyes. ‘You’re younger than me.’
‘You know what I mean. You’re full of energy.’
‘And Archie and Latte,’ Mason continued. ‘Pretty sure if either of them were thirty-six years old we’d be entering them into the Guinness Book of World Records.’
She hit him with a tea towel. ‘You know what I mean! I was being figurative, not literal.’
‘About the age thing, or about Father Christmas making a visit to Madeleine? Maybe I should write about the magic of Christmas instead, because I’ve encountered bugger all wildlife so far.’ He sighed, running his hand over his jaw.
Summer heard the door open behind her. ‘Why don’t we visit London Zoo before we go back to Willowbeck? That would add some spice to your Nature Today article, especially if you didn’t mention where exactly it was you encountered the gorillas and meerkats.’
Mason stood in the middle of the café, shaking his head slowly. Laughing, Summer went to tell the young couple that had just come in about the daily specials.
Summer and Mason reunited with the other roving traders that evening, after Summer had triple-checked with Mason that he didn’t want to stay at home in his slippers and curl up in front of Netflix. She wondered if he regretted the decision as Ryder announced he was taking them to a ‘special little bar he knew’ about a ten-minute walk from the canal. When they arrived, they discovered the exterior brickwork had been painted black, the bar’s name, Rose Garden, glowing in red neon lettering above the door.
‘Rose Garden?’ Mason whispered to Summer. ‘It looks like a strip club.’
She giggled. ‘This is Ryder, remember. He’d never bring us to a straightforward pub. When I was roving it was always wooded glades and abandoned bandstands. If it’s his choice, it’s never ordinary.’
Mason gave an unimpressed grunt as he held the door open for her. They stepped into a foyer that was so low-lit Summer thought the bar must be closed, but as the room opened up she could see that there were already people occupying booths. Ryder’s chosen watering hole was a compact square space, the décor and furnishings black with sharp streaks of colour – geometric prints on the walls spotlit from below, a neon yellow strip above the bar, white glowing cats’ eyes around a polished wooden square that Summer assumed was a dance floor, though she couldn’t imagine more than ten moving bodies fitting on it at the same time. It was achingly modern, not Ryder’s usual style at all. She wondered if they’d be served their drinks out of teapots.
Mason scanned the menu, his eyebrows rising. ‘All hopes of a pint are out of the window, then.’
‘This, you wonderful people, is my treat,’ Ryder said, flinging his arms wide. ‘I was sourcing some cocktail mixers for a client several aeons ago, and they introduced me to this sumptuous little cavern. They do the most spectacular cocktails. My good friend Nate will be mixing up a storm for us.’ He led them to a large booth with a reserved sign on the polished black table, and went to sort out their drinks.
‘Have you been here before?’ Summer asked Claire and Jas. They both nodded, their smiles echoing Summer’s earlier comment that this was typical Ryder. Doug and Ralph seemed relaxed enough, going through the cocktail menu as if they knew it intimately. Ralph was wearing a midnight-blue velvet jacket, and Summer, in a grey wool dress over black leggings and sparkly ballet pumps, felt distinctly underdressed. Even Mason, wearing a smart black shirt and dark Levis, looked more suited to the London bar.
‘Temperatures are meant to dip tonight,’ Jas said, looking at his phone and nodding. ‘Wood burners working extra hard for the rest of the week, ladies and gentlemen. Keep those fires burning!’
Summer saluted, and pushed away a niggle about the banging noises in her engine.
Ryder returned with three jugs of cocktails adorned with umbrellas. One jug looked like it was full of Coke, the liquid in another was a peach colour, and the third was lurid blue, reminding Summer of the alco-pops she used to drink in her late teens.
‘Long Island Iced Tea, Sex on the Beach and, just for us, a concoction Nate has dreamt up called Canal Boat Christmas. Take your pick.’
Mason and Summer both threw caution to the wind and tried the ice-blue Canal Boat Christmas, Ryder adding straws to their full glasses with a flourish.
‘Cheers,’ Claire said, raising her Sex on the Beach, and they clinked glasses.
Summer took a sip and winced. It was strong, and tasted of aniseed and lemon juice. ‘Sambuca?’ she asked Ryder, but he gave her an innocent shrug, his eyes flashing. Summer put her glass down, knowing she should take it slowly. If Ryder was in charge, then there was no guessing what was in it – it could be full of absinthe for all she knew.
She began to settle into her surroundings, adjusting to the gloom, the bar busy but not packed, the music not too loud that they couldn’t hear each other.
A figure appeared in the doorway. Summer squinted, waiting for recognition to hit her. When it did, she sighed inwardly.
Tania approached the table. She was wearing skintight black trousers, a sequined rose-pink top and towering, nude heels. ‘Room for a little one?’ she asked.
‘Of course, the more the merrier.’ Ryder steered her to his side of the table, and started to introduce her to the cocktails as if they were friends of his. Summer and Mason exchanged a glance, his smile reassuring.
Summer vowed not to feel insecure. She turned to Claire. ‘Where will you be for Christmas? Where are you off to after London?’
‘I’m heading back to Wales,’ Claire said, crunching one of her ice cubes. ‘I’ve not been back for a couple of years, so it’s about time. I’ll leave the boat moored up and get the train. It’ll be weird travelling by railway instead of waterway.’
‘I bet your family will be pleased to see you.’
Claire made a noncommittal noise. ‘We’ll see. How about you? Back in Willowbeck I assume, getting ready for the big question.’ She whispered the words, checking that Mason was engrossed in his conversation with Jas.
‘I won’t have much time when we get back to sort it out,’ Summer said. ‘And I have to get the tone right. Mason’s not showy, but he doesn’t mind a bit of fuss, and I’m sure he’d like it if I included the other residents of Willowbeck. It feels like such a close community now; we’re all friends. I was thinking a New Year’s party could work, though it’ll be a damp squib for everyone if he turns me down just before the fireworks.’
‘Oh hush,’ Claire said, ‘he’s potty about you. If he says no I’ll eat my new Lorde LP.’ Summer laughed, and lowered her voice further. ‘Tania popped by the c
afé the other day. She changes temperature depending on whether she’s talking to me or Mason.’
Claire shook her head, her eyes sliding in Tania’s direction. ‘You’re imagining it, Sum. The air is cleared, the past has been put to bed. I hope you don’t mind that she’s come this evening, she said she wanted to spend time with us while we were still here. Maybe I should have mentioned it.’
‘No, it’s fine. Mason said she might be making another appearance before we left.’
‘Then why are you gripping the table so tightly?’ Claire asked gently. ‘You have to get over it, Summer. I know it’s not easy, and God knows I’ve only contributed to the stress of the whole situation, but you and Mason are as solid as Madeleine’s hull. He’s not going anywhere, and if you can’t do it before then, make sure that when you put a ring on it on New Year’s Eve, you stop this nonsense and look towards the future.’ She poured herself more cocktail, her eyes widening. ‘Ooh, I know, tomorrow evening let’s go into the city, just you and me, and we can look for a few things to make the proposal more special. Are you planning on getting him a ring?’
‘I was, but I have no idea where to start.’
‘We’ll do it together. Mason won’t mind being abandoned for a bit of shopping, will he?’
‘He’ll probably relish the quiet,’ Summer admitted.
As the evening wore on and the cocktails kept coming, Summer felt everything grow hazy. People swapped seats, Tania slid in next to Mason, blocking him in, and Summer tried extra hard to be casual, smiling nonchalantly when he gave her an apologetic look and leaning into Ralph as they discussed their respective Christmas plans. Jas got his camera out and blinded everyone with the flash, apologized and then did it again, no doubt taking photos for his blog. Tania turned her head away, her usually calm features creased into a frown until Jas put the camera back in his smart satchel.
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