Starboard Home Page 2

  ‘How did it go?’ she asked. ‘Are you all right?’

  His smile was tired. He reached his hand out and she held it, resting her arm on the table.

  ‘I’m OK,’ he said. ‘It hasn’t been the easiest evening, but I’m glad I spoke to her.’ He sipped his wine.

  ‘Did you tell her everything?’ Summer asked. ‘About Lisa, about becoming a liveaboard?’

  He nodded. ‘Claire paved the way when they ran into each other a few months ago, so she had some idea. But I wanted her to hear it from me, how I never meant to treat her badly and thought I was doing the opposite when I disappeared, believing it would be best for both of us. That’s how screwed up I was.’ He sighed. ‘I owed it to her to be honest about it all.’

  Summer nodded, holding back the question she most wanted to ask. ‘And how did she take it?’

  ‘Well. Better than I thought she would, though of course she’s had a while to think about it.’

  ‘She forgave you?’

  ‘She said it was water under the bridge.’ He laughed gently.

  ‘And how do you feel, now that you’ve cleared the air? Was it weird, seeing her again?’ She drummed her fingers on her knee under the table, hoping Mason wouldn’t see how nervous she was.

  ‘Very weird,’ he said. ‘Good. But … it’s been so long. And when we were together, I was numb, really. I did care about her, but … I’ve blocked a lot of it out, or my mind has simply refused to let me remember the details. So it felt unbalanced, somehow. As if she’d held a lot more store in our relationship than I had. And tonight, she wanted to hear how things were now, what I’d been up to. She told me about living in Little Venice too, and asked about you, Claire and the other traders.’ He looked at the table, his brows knitting together. ‘I didn’t mean to be so long, but I didn’t feel like I could leave.’

  ‘Of course, Mason, it’s fine,’ Summer said. ‘Claire’s sorry it turned out this way – apparently Tania had planned to go away for the whole of December. She hadn’t expected her to be here.’

  Mason looked up at her. ‘Tania said she needed to change her plans, that she can’t go and see her family until closer to Christmas. She apologized for springing herself on me – on us, like this.’

  Summer nodded, wondering if she believed her. She wanted to, but there was something about Tania’s smooth smile, the way she had glided easily towards them through the pub, the look she had given Mason, that was putting her on edge. ‘Are you sure you’re OK with this?’ she asked. ‘Do you want to go back to Willowbeck? I’ll do whatever’s best for you.’

  ‘What’s best,’ he said, leaning across the table towards her, ‘is that we put this behind us now, and enjoy London. I’m not spending two weeks travelling all this way only to turn straight around. I need a few more days at least before we have to tackle all those locks again.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I’m sure, Summer. It’s you, me, Madeleine and the dogs against London’s Christmas revellers. I’ve been looking forward to it, and I’m not going to let this put us off course. It wasn’t how I’d pictured our first night here, but I’m fine. I’ve wanted to talk to Tania for a long time. It was a conversation I needed to have, and now it’s done. But –’ He held her gaze, his dark eyes clouded with concern. ‘Are you OK? You’ve been so supportive tonight, looking out for me, giving me time with Tania. But after hearing so much about her, about the history we have, it can’t have been easy for you, either.’

  Summer swallowed. ‘I’m fine,’ she said breezily. ‘Of course I am. I was worried – angry, on your behalf, but that’s all.’

  He sighed, let go of her hand and in a moment was round at her side of the table.

  ‘Budge up.’ He forced her to scoot along the banquette and sat next to her, his eyes fixing on hers. They had a spark in them, and it was as if he’d come back to life, as if he’d shut the best parts of himself away while he dealt with Tania, and was only now letting them out again. ‘Don’t worry about Tania,’ he said, stroking her hair away from her forehead. ‘We’ve said all that we needed to. We’ve put the past officially behind us, and if she’s there at any point this week – and she told me she might be, while Claire’s here – then we’ll just get on with it. But I don’t want you to worry, about me, or about me with Tania. She is part of my past, and you, Summer, are my future.’

  He kissed her. It was soft but passionate, and she pulled him closer, holding onto him tightly. She didn’t want to admit to herself – and definitely not to Mason – how much seeing Tania had scared her, how ungrounded she’d felt while the other woman had Mason’s full attention. His kiss and his touch were bringing her back to life, too.

  ‘Shall we go and see how Archie and Latte are getting on?’ she asked, once the kiss had ended, their faces close, the snug bar seeming to shrink around them. She had a lot of baking to do between now and opening time, but that seemed unimportant now that she’d got Mason back. She hadn’t lost him, not literally, but for a couple of hours her whole world had shifted, and she needed to right it again. Mason was the best way of doing that. Luckily, he seemed to agree with her.

  ‘Yes,’ he murmured. His fingers traced a line slowly and deliciously down her neck, making her tingle, then he scooted backwards, out of the booth, and held his hand out for her to take. ‘Let’s go home.’

  Chapter Two

  Summer dragged herself out of bed before dawn, her limbs stiff and weary after the previous day’s cold journey, followed by an afternoon working in the café. Mason was asleep, his curls in disarray on the pillow. She was reminded of Ryder’s dig at him, which she’d seen as a compliment. She was more than happy with his Byronic curls, could understand why he’d been propositioned at the hatch yesterday, and why someone like Tania would have been attracted to him. Who wouldn’t?

  Even their local boatbuilder in Willowbeck, a huge, burly man called Mick, had fuelled Summer’s doubts when she was first getting to know Mason by referring to him as Lothario. When she’d got the explanation out of him, it was because everyone – even unapologetically heterosexual men like Mick – could see he was a catch, not because he spent his nights taking scores of different women to bed.

  She left Mason sleeping, took the handful of clothes she’d left out the night before, and snuck out of the cabin. She couldn’t spend her day ogling her boyfriend; she had to put her focus into the café. It wouldn’t be long before the punters started banging on the door for coffee and bacon sandwiches.

  She dressed hurriedly, prepared breakfast for Archie and Latte, who were still blinking awake on the sofa, and boiled the kettle. With an instant coffee slowly waking her up, she got to work. She took some of Harry’s chocolate and mince pie twists out of the freezer, and prepared the mix for a batch of Christmas brownies with chunks of hazelnut and glacé cherries, and three trays of her festive-flavoured macarons. She’d bought a batch of floury baps from a bakery at their last stop before Little Venice, but would need to find a new supplier while they were here, so she could continue to make bacon rolls.

  She opened the door into the café, letting the luxurious smells waft inside, and switched on the coffee machine. The towpath lamps glowed, but the canal was dark. At this hour, even Claire’s boat had no lights on, no wintry soundtrack drifting out of the speakers.

  Summer stood, clutching her coffee mug, and soaked it all up. There was something mesmerizing about the early morning, the water a black nothing, lapping gently against the sides of the boat. She switched the Christmas tree lights on and they punctuated the dark with soft, rainbow colours. Latte and Archie, fed and watered, pattered into the café, exploring it, checking for any new smells that had appeared since the day before. Summer crouched and stroked her Bichon Frise, and Latte let out a squeak of delight.

  ‘This wasn’t a mistake, was it?’ she asked her dog. Tania, and the effect the encounter had had on both her and Mason, played on her mind. He had said that it wouldn’t ruin their trip, and it was up to he
r to put it aside, to make the most of being in Little Venice. But Tania was going to socialize with them, and she couldn’t imagine there wouldn’t be any lingering awkwardness.

  Latte looked up at her adoringly, and Summer smiled. ‘You’re right,’ she said, with more conviction than she felt. ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’

  She returned to the kitchen and checked on her bakes. She lined up the next lot of trays, cleared up and filled the dishwasher. Daylight made a slow, sleepy appearance, a streak of lighter sky showing above the buildings, the landscape of Little Venice being revealed as if from behind a theatre curtain. It was cold, the bow deck sparkling with a thick frost, and Summer was relieved to see the water wasn’t frozen, however much Mason had told her it would never happen. A man in an orange fluorescent work-suit was gritting the towpath, his breath clouding into the air like smoke.

  By the time Mason emerged, Summer had unlocked the hatch and written her menu of Christmas specials on the blackboard.

  ‘You should have woken me,’ he said, putting his arms around her. His hair was damp from the shower and water droplets landed on her shoulder.

  ‘You needed the sleep. Now, what do you think – bacon roll and a coffee or tea, three pounds. That’s still a bargain in London, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s a steal,’ Mason said. ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Cut open and butter the rolls. You could put the bacon on too, if you like.’

  Mason gave her a cheeky smile. ‘Have you had any breakfast? Shall we sample them first?’

  Summer narrowed her eyes. ‘There must be a monumental health risk to having bacon every day.’

  ‘I don’t have it every day,’ Mason protested. Summer stared at him, and his cheeks coloured. ‘I’ll get started.’ He rubbed his hands and disappeared into the kitchen.

  She could hear him singing softly to himself as he prepared the rolls, something by Frank Turner, and she felt a stab of guilt that she had been worrying about Tania. She had to remember that, while the circumstances hadn’t been ideal, talking to Tania and getting her forgiveness would have lifted a weight off his shoulders. There was nothing, now, stopping them focusing on their future. Summer’s heart skipped as she thought of New Year’s Eve, the ideas that were swirling around in her head, even more excited now that Claire was on board and was helping her firm them up.

  Mason’s voice was drowned out as the first chords of ‘Don’t You Worry’ by Lucy Rose drifted out of Claire’s speakers, the lights of Water Music flicking on. Mason’s singing immediately changed to match it, and he popped his head around the kitchen door.

  ‘Your favourite song,’ he said. ‘It’s almost as if Claire’s done it specially for you.’

  ‘It’s just coincidence. I don’t think she knows this is my favourite.’

  ‘But I do,’ Mason said. ‘I’ve heard it so often, I could probably recite the lyrics backwards. Don’t you worry, I’m staying here,’ he whispered, and Summer realized how apt the words were right at that moment. She started singing along to crush the lump in her throat, and Mason joined back in, although Lucy Rose’s voice was much too high for him, and they quickly descended into laughter. She stopped when she noticed two men in their forties, dressed in smart coats and suit trousers despite it being Sunday, walking towards them on the towpath.

  ‘Coffee and a bacon roll three pounds this morning, if you’re interested?’ she called. They were, and Summer waved them towards the hatch.

  Sunday in Little Venice was as busy as the Saturday afternoon had been, but Summer thought that everything was moving at a slightly slower pace. The trees that overhung the canal, almost as if they were eavesdropping on the conversations of the liveaboards, were skeletons, the thinnest branches shivering in a light breeze. But the winter scene could never look anything other than festive, because of the brightly coloured narrowboats. Even first thing, there was a couple wrapped in blankets having a loud conversation on their deck, their laughter drifting down the canal. A woman dressed in dark jeans, knee-high burgundy boots and a taupe, woollen coat that looked impossibly soft, walked two miniature schnauzers and a pug down the towpath, her strides long and purposeful, her pets scurrying to keep up.

  Behind the trees were large, cream houses, so big that Summer thought many must have been converted into flats, and then beyond them, in the distance, was the shining glass of towering office blocks, the skyline of a more familiar London. Summer could never imagine this towpath being deserted, like it often was in Willowbeck, but today there were strollers rather than rushers, and more laughter, despite the cold that made people stamp their feet in the queue for the hatch, and rub their hands in relief as they opened the bow doors and stepped into the café. Summer always made sure it was either heated or ventilated, depending on the weather.

  ‘Jeez, it’s freezing out there,’ said a man in a leather jacket with slicked-back hair, looking like he was straight out of a production of Grease. He was followed into the café by a woman wearing white jeans and a purple puffa jacket, and two small girls wrapped up like Christmas presents, their scarves and hats bright red against royal blue coats and wellington boots. ‘Can we sit at one of these, love?’ he asked, pointing at the tables.

  ‘Of course. Have a seat and I’ll be over in a moment to take your order.’ She watched the family choose a table on the canal side of the boat and dismantle their outdoor apparel, the girls mesmerized by the water and what they could see in it. ‘Duck,’ ‘leaf,’ ‘boat,’ they shouted, pointing things out in turn.

  ‘Now girls, what have I said about sound levels?’ the mum asked.

  ‘Ssshhhhh,’ said the younger girl, pressing her finger to her lips.

  ‘Exactly. When we’re out with other people, they don’t always want to hear our conversations.’

  ‘But what if they’re fun?’ asked the older girl.

  ‘They might be having their own fun conversations. Let’s have a look at the menu, see what cakes they do.’

  This seemed to placate them and Summer popped her head into the kitchen, where Mason was lining up more rolls, buttering them and laying them on a tray, his movements methodical. The crackle and smell of bacon was overwhelming, and Summer put her hand on her stomach.

  Mason looked up. ‘I told you to have one. Did you get any breakfast?’

  She shook her head. ‘We’ve got a family in the café now.’

  ‘You see to them, and I’ll prepare you a deluxe bacon sandwich. A Mason Causey speciality.’

  ‘What makes it so special?’

  He looked at her aghast, as if the answer was obvious. ‘I’m making it!’

  Laughing, she left him to it.

  The busyness continued, the café filled and emptied, filled and emptied, and by the end of the day the floor was a mass of muddy footprints, exacerbated by a short, sharp rain shower that had darkened the skies around three o’clock and acted as a precursor for nightfall. The crowds dispersed noticeably earlier than they had the day before, and Summer made the decision to close at four o’clock, allowing her time to replenish her stock before whatever evening activity Claire had organized for them all.

  She got a text confirming that plans were to go back to the Riverside Inn, and Summer was good to her word, getting the first round in. There was no sign of Tania, and for that she was thankful. The conversation was much more relaxed, and she sat between Mason and Jas on a long bench upholstered in maroon fabric, her back to the wall.

  There were no wooded copses with fairy lights – an unlikely find in London and far too cold at this time of year anyway – and Summer was comforted by how straightforward it felt. But then, halfway through the evening, the door burst open and all conversation was drowned out by a rendition of ‘We Three Kings’ as a group of men and women, dressed as elves in red and green costumes, and hats with bells on the end, bustled into the pub. They stood in the middle of the space, forcing the drinking customers to move back around the edges, and continued to sing their carol with gusto.
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  ‘Oh good Lord,’ Ralph said, leaning in closer so Summer could hear him. ‘What a way to ruin a quiet Sunday drink.’

  Summer laughed. ‘It’s Christmas! And I think they’re quite good, don’t you?’

  ‘Collecting for some charity no doubt,’ Doug added.

  Summer rolled her eyes. ‘What’s wrong with that? It’s the season of giving and goodwill, and that doesn’t just mean buying your friends and family expensive presents that they don’t really want. This,’ she said, gesturing towards the group, ‘is what Christmas is – or should be – all about.’

  She gave a triumphant smile which faded when she realized one of the elves had noticed her pointing, and was waggling her finger, beckoning her forwards, her cheeks rosy in the warmth of the pub and her fur-lined jacket.

  Summer shook her head and sipped her drink, but as the carol singers came to the end of their current song, the beckoning elf approached her. ‘Come and join us for a few,’ she said. ‘The more the merrier.’

  ‘Oh nooooo,’ Summer said, laughing nervously. ‘I can’t sing. You don’t want me.’

  ‘No discrimination here, not even for the vocally challenged. Come on, everyone knows the words to “Jingle Bells.”’

  The other elves were moving through the pub, trying to encourage other reluctant punters into the impromptu singsong. She saw the tall, bearded man behind the bar shrug his shoulders genially and lift the hatch.

  ‘Yeah, go on, Summer,’ Ryder said, giving her a wicked grin. ‘Join in.’

  ‘I’m not—’

  ‘What was that you were saying about it being the season of giving and goodwill?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You can’t be a spoilsport now.’

  ‘I can,’ she said, then realized how petulant that sounded. ‘Mason, tell them. Nobody wants to hear me sing.’

  Mason gave her a soft, quick kiss. ‘You’ll be wonderful,’ he said. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

  ‘Mason!’ she squeaked, watching as he tried not to descend into laughter. ‘You traitor.’