The Canal Boat Café Christmas_Port Out

by Cressida McLaughlin

  ‘Have you eaten?’ She pressed her hands over his, her fingers steepled.

  He shook his head. ‘You?’

  ‘I had burger and chips at the pub, and a catch-up with Jenny.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘She’s good. Dennis is going to cover the lawn in sparkly Christmas animals.’

  ‘Oh God, seriously?’

  ‘It’ll look wonderful.’

  ‘It’ll look tacky.’

  ‘Don’t be a Grinch. There are going to be penguins. Penguins in Willowbeck, just imagine! They’ll give the crested grebes a run for their money.’

  ‘You are ridiculous, Summer, you know that?’ He was grinning.

  ‘Go and have a hot shower, and I’ll cook you something.’

  ‘You will?’

  ‘A pasta dish, with extra cheese. Now go, get warm. How will you be able to type groundbreaking articles if your fingers have fallen off?’

  He did as he was told, and Summer set to work, conjuring up a simple but delicious meal that, despite her huge dinner earlier, gave her pangs of food envy.

  When Mason emerged wearing jeans and a grey jumper, his curls dampened into shiny ringlets, she handed him the bowl, and he held it close to his face and inhaled. ‘Bacon?’

  ‘And tomatoes, broccoli and condensed mushroom soup. If this doesn’t warm you up then you’re beyond hope.’

  ‘You didn’t have to do this,’ he said, tucking in hungrily.

  ‘I wanted to.’ She left him to it, finishing the washing-up while he ate. He made short work of it, and then, as Summer went to take his empty bowl to the kitchen, Mason took hold of her wrist.

  ‘Come and sit down a moment.’

  ‘I’ll just wash this—’

  ‘I’ll do that. I wanted to say sorry, for how I reacted yesterday. It was so out of the blue, this plan of Claire’s, and I’d got set in my head how the run-up to Christmas would be. I was being selfish.’

  ‘I did spring it on you,’ Summer said. ‘It’s understandable that you wouldn’t be sure about it.’

  ‘I’ve had a chance to think, to talk to my editor about everything I need to submit by the twentieth of December. So …’ He drew the word out.

  ‘So?’ Summer’s heart thumped in her chest. Little Venice, at Christmas, with Mason. That was what she wanted.

  ‘When do we leave?’

  She waited a beat, waited while his face broke into one of his killer smiles, and then a flicker of confusion lowered his brows. ‘Summer?’

  ‘You’re coming?’

  ‘Yes, I’m coming. If you’ll still have me? You seem unsure.’

  ‘No. No no no. Not unsure, but – I thought you wouldn’t. I thought work would stop you, or … you’re coming?’

  ‘Yes, Summer,’ Mason laughed. ‘Though God knows what I’ve let myself in for. I’ve seen what you and Claire can be like when you get your heads together.’

  ‘So join in with us, embrace the madness! Oh, Mason, this is going to be amazing! Have you seen what Little Venice looks like? Imagine if it snowed.’

  ‘Summer,’ Mason said, ‘it is not going to snow in London at Christmas. The winters have been steadily warming up for the last—’

  ‘Sshhh.’ She put her finger over his lips. ‘Don’t spoil my fantasies with your nature buff knowledge. Just think of twinkling lights, roast chestnuts, carol singers serenading us from the little blue bridge.’ She couldn’t help it; she was elated. It was as if he had said yes to everything all at once. ‘We can make gingerbread lattes and mince pies, and wear Santa hats while we work …’

  ‘Fantastic,’ Mason said dryly. ‘Santa hats have been missing from my life since I don’t know when.’

  She flung her arms around him. ‘Thank you, Mason. For coming with me.’

  ‘As if I could leave you for five whole weeks,’ he said into her ear. ‘You beat this lady hands down.’ He tapped the arm of the sofa, and Summer blinked, taking a moment to realize what he meant.

  ‘Oh, The Sandpiper.’

  ‘I assume we can’t take both, I’m sure the moorings in Little Venice are limited, not to mention pricey. We’ll go on Madeleine, leave this girl to have a cosy Christmas in once we return.’ She thought she could detect a hint of sadness in his voice, which would be entirely understandable. She loved the minimalist luxury of The Sandpiper too, but the thought of the four of them, all living in Madeleine’s smaller quarters, snug in her tiny cabin, Mason helping her in the café, exploring the sights of London together, was thrilling. A proper adventure, with the person – and pets – that mattered most.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Summer said. ‘We can get Valerie, Dennis and Jenny to keep an eye on her, and make sure the heating’s on when we get back.’

  ‘I know,’ Mason said lightly.

  ‘I’m going to call Claire, give her the good news.’

  He nodded, taking his empty plate to the kitchen. As she brought up Claire’s number, Mason glanced at her, and Summer smiled. Her sense of relief was huge, almost eclipsing the excitement. She’d got her Christmas wish, now she just needed to keep that momentum going through to New Year’s Eve.

  ‘Claire, it’s Summer. Guess what?’

  Chapter Six

  The first thing Summer heard was the music, and it took her back to a time when she had felt very differently. Today everything was grey outside, but inside Summer was anything but, her life falling into place in a way she hadn’t imagined. Whereas that spring, when she’d first returned to Willowbeck and then made her escape up the river, the sun had shone while she struggled. Now, the soothing tones of London Grammar drifted towards her from upriver, and Summer knew that Claire and the others were on their way.

  The café had been surprisingly busy for a bleak November morning, but it was a Saturday, and she wondered if people were being galvanized into activity, knowing they should be starting Christmas shopping with just over a month to go. She served a couple who were walking a pair of poodles along the towpath, and who had taken up her special offer of a gingerbread latte and a chocolate twist, the perfect snack to eat while walking. Summer knew this, because she’d done it a bit too often since perfecting the recipe a couple of weeks ago.

  Her Christmas specials were all in place. She and Harry had worked in the quiet periods, browsing recipe books and online sites, injecting their own personalities into the recipes. As well as the chocolate twists, Harry had come up with a mince pie lattice, which was delicious and indulgent and sprinkled with icing sugar. Summer had developed some new macaron flavours – Christmas pudding, brandy butter and rich chocolate log. They’d created a cranberry jam to go in the bacon sandwiches, and Summer had even ordered some turkey from the butcher’s, to add an extra festive element. When they were on route, she’d defer to Ralph who owned The Sandwich Shack, though she was sure he wouldn’t mind her selling her bacon and turkey special.

  All that, along with her cinnamon and gingerbread lattes, a special chai tea, and a creamy hot chocolate with a dash of almond syrup, meant that Summer was fully in the festive spirit. Harry had been making batches of their new recipes for her to store in the freezer and take down to London, and the two of them had spent the previous day decorating the café, to bring Madeleine up to their Christmassy standards.

  Gone were the bats and ghosts hanging from the ceiling, which admittedly Summer had kept up for a bit too long, and now the bunting was made of pennants in silky green and red, interspersed with glittering gold and silver. She had a mini Christmas tree on the counter, its coloured lights fading in and out, and with a wooden star on the top that Norman had carved especially for her. It was five-pointed, hollow at the bottom so she could pop it on the top branch of the tree, and was of the same, beautiful quality as the rest of his whittling work. She could have painted it gold, but she loved the pale wood, the way the lights reflected off the matt surface. A sprig of mistletoe hung in front of the counter, ready to catch out unsuspecting customers.

  When they had arra
nged the date to set off for London, Summer had suggested that she and Mason could meet Claire and the others further west, where the River Nene met the Grand Union Canal, but Claire had said she’d come to them, that she knew the area like the back of her hand. Mason protested at first – he had been a rover for several years before finally settling in Willowbeck, and was confident navigating England’s waterways and locks – but Claire had insisted. They would do the journey together, united as one raggle-taggle band of traders, stopping to sell their wares along the way.

  Summer’s stomach was knotted with excitement and, as the café was momentarily empty, she rushed onto the bow deck, waiting until Water Music appeared under the bridge, then Doug’s Antiques Barge and The Sandwich Shack. Others followed, and then Ryder, in his beautiful navy and silver narrowboat, The Wanderer’s Rest, brought up the rear. Slowly, they manoeuvred into the visitor moorings on the opposite side of the river, Claire giving Summer a cheery wave once she’d secured her boat to the towpath.

  ‘Summer,’ she called. ‘We made it! How are you?’

  Summer waved back. ‘Good! Come across.’ She indicated the bridge, and Claire disappeared inside, her music volume lowered but not turned off. It had moved on to Crowded House now, reminding Summer that Water Music played anything and everything, her soundtrack able to drag long-forgotten memories and nostalgia out of anyone in its vicinity on a regular basis.

  She waited for Claire on the towpath, and let herself be scooped into a bear hug. Claire’s dark hair was longer than the last time she’d seen it, but other than that she was unchanged, her eyes alive with mischief, her snug-looking jumper in a bold, pumpkin shade.

  ‘Willowbeck’s looking grand,’ she said, ‘despite the miserable weather. One of the prettiest places we’ve visited, though you wait until you see Little Venice. You won’t want to come back.’

  ‘Not sure about that,’ Summer said, laughing. She thought of Valerie and Norman, Jenny and Dennis. Even Adam in the butcher’s and the river warden’s derelict but decorated hut would be hard to leave for good. There was too much here, even with the promise of excitement and bright lights ahead of them. ‘But I’m fully prepared for a Christmas adventure.’

  ‘I’ll ask you again in a few weeks,’ Claire said. ‘See if you’ve changed your mind. Everyone’s here.’ She pointed, and Ryder and Jas waved from the deck of The Wanderer’s Rest, where they were drinking tea out of tin mugs. Jas’s Irish wolfhound, Chester, had accompanied Jas to Ryder’s boat and was sitting next to him, docile as ever, while Latte bounded excitedly at her feet. Summer wondered if she remembered the larger dog, or it was just someone new to be interested in.

  ‘How are you and Ryder?’ Summer asked.

  Like Ryder himself, Summer had never been able to pin down the nature of her friend’s relationship with the wild man of the group. With his blond hair and effortless charisma, not to mention the kind of ambiguity surrounding everything he did – his business dealings, his boat, his stories – that made him a classic bad boy, Ryder flirted mercilessly, and never apologized for anything. He’d been interested in Summer when she’d temporarily joined their group, and Summer, while never being worried, had found his attention claustrophobic. But once she’d made it clear nothing was going to happen between them, Ryder had backed off, and become entertaining instead; his sporadic, seemingly opportunistic trading – buying and selling whatever he could get his hands on, often to order, always with an air of shadiness – raising a laugh or an eyebrow.

  Currently, his bow deck was adorned with about seven, three-foot-high fake Christmas trees that she was sure he was planning on flogging. She could see the fibre-optic stars on top, translucent without electricity to light them.

  ‘Same as ever,’ Claire said, refusing to give anything away. Summer was sure that Ryder was interested in Claire in a way that surpassed mere flirting.

  ‘Fantastic,’ Summer said dryly.

  Her friend rolled her eyes. ‘Give us a chance to turn the engines off before you go fishing for gossip. We thought we’d stop here for a couple of hours, then set off around lunchtime, so we can get a good chunk of travelling in before dark. OK for you?’

  ‘Sure, we’re ready to go.’

  ‘And where is the lovely Mason?’

  ‘Ah,’ Summer said, wondering how long she could stall.

  Claire narrowed her eyes. ‘Ah?’

  ‘Mason’s sort of disappeared. He left me a message saying he had to do something crucial, and he’s taken my car – though I’m surprised he got it to start. He’s not answering his phone, but that’s probably because he’s driving back. If we’re not going for a couple of hours, then it’s fine.’

  ‘Does he do this often, this disappearing act?’ Claire smiled, but it was a tight smile that Summer wasn’t used to. She knew Claire was thinking of a couple of years ago, and wanted to remind her that Mason wasn’t the only one who had left Willowbeck under an emotional black cloud. And before that, with Tania, had been entirely different.

  ‘Of course not. He’s just gone to pick something up for the journey. Is anything wrong?’

  Claire didn’t reply for a moment, and then she sighed. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not at all. I just need to make sure that we stick to our travelling schedule if we’re going to make the most of our moorings in Little Venice. To say it’s a popular spot is an understatement.’

  ‘I get that,’ Summer said. ‘And Mason’s looking forward to it as much as I am.’

  ‘But he took a bit of convincing, didn’t he?’ She said it gently, but Summer squirmed.

  Claire was a great friend, but she always spoke her mind, however uncomfortable it made things. Summer didn’t want to be reminded that Mason hadn’t originally been thrilled by the idea, even though his change of heart had been swift.

  ‘It was the short notice,’ she said, defending him. ‘I sprung it on him and he had to sort out a few things with work. Who wouldn’t be flustered, especially so close to Christmas? I’m asking him to uproot his whole life, leave his lovely boat behind, for over a month.’

  ‘God, Summer, I know all that. I’m sorry – I wasn’t thinking. I spend my life roving, I’m firmly in that mindset and sometimes I find it hard to believe other liveaboards don’t feel the same. And this opportunity, Sum, it’s so good. Little Venice, just before Christmas. It’s the kind of thing that doesn’t come around very often.’

  ‘I know – and we’re coming! We’re both excited, even if Mason has, as usual, left it to the last minute to get organized.’ She smiled, hoping to dispel the tension that had worked its way between them.

  To her relief, Claire laughed. ‘Good old Mason. Café still the same? How are your events going?’

  ‘They’re great,’ Summer said. ‘Come and see the wooden decorations Norman’s made for my tree.’

  ‘Ooooh, is he still doing that?’ Claire’s voice warmed instantly at the mention of Summer’s elderly neighbour.

  ‘I’ve convinced him to make some that I can sell for him in Little Venice. I’m sure they’ll be popular.’

  ‘Too right.’ Claire followed Summer inside Madeleine, and Summer was thankful that normality seemed to have been restored.

  Summer’s rusty old Polo screeched into Willowbeck’s car park forty-five minutes before they were due to leave, and Summer rushed out to meet Mason.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she asked, almost before he’d climbed out of the driver’s seat. It came out harsher than she’d intended, Claire’s comments putting her on edge.

  Mason grinned, his hands going up in submission. ‘It took longer than I thought, I’m sorry.’ He kissed her, and Summer’s irritation disintegrated.

  ‘What did?’ she asked softly.

  ‘This!’ He opened the boot triumphantly, and Summer took in the words and photo on the box that filled the cramped space: Jumbo Christmas lights. Five settings. Superior LED bulbs. ‘For Madeleine. To turn her into a Christmas cruiser.’

  Summer stared, first at th
e lights, then at Mason. ‘You don’t think they’re tacky?’

  ‘We’ve got four weeks of travelling ahead, and I thought we could be a leading light – as it were – of Christmas spirit on the waterways. Besides, we’ll need to stand out once we reach London. Are they here?’

  Summer swallowed, touched by Mason’s thoughtfulness. ‘Claire was wondering where you were.’

  ‘Now we can tell her. I may not have been part of the welcoming party, but I come bearing sparkly lights. She can’t be annoyed about that.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Summer said. ‘She can’t. Let’s go and give Madeleine her Christmas costume. Thank you for getting them, she’s going to look wonderful.’

  ‘The belle of the ball,’ Mason agreed.

  Claire came out of Valerie’s boat Cosmic while Mason was on Madeleine’s roof, securing the fairy lights to each corner.

  ‘So, the wanderer returns.’ Her smile was wide.

  ‘Claire.’ Mason climbed down and jumped onto the towpath, wiping his hands down his jeans. ‘Good to see you.’ They embraced, and Summer watched from inside the café. Did Claire still have reservations about Mason that Summer didn’t know about – was that why she had brought up his initial reluctance to come with them? Or was she reading too much into it, still worried that there was something more behind his uncharacteristic annoyance when she had first mentioned the trip?

  Feeling unsettled, Summer left them to chat, taking a fresh batch of scones out of the oven, Latte hovering at her feet as if warm, cheesy dough was her favourite treat.

  When it was time to set off, Ryder tooted his horn.

  Summer gave Valerie a hug on the towpath, the older woman squeezing her tightly as they said goodbye.

  ‘Be careful, Summer,’ she said. ‘And believe in the ones you love.’