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  Leaving a bemused Mason standing on the deck of her boat holding a cake, Summer hurried back to her car.

  Chapter 3

  When Summer turned the key in the lock of her flat, forty minutes later, her anger had gone. Latte treated her like a long-lost friend, yapping and walking on her feet as Summer fed her and made herself a cup of tea. She curled up on her bed, Latte’s small, warm body snuggled next to her, and called Ben.

  ‘I thought you’d be fine with it. It made sense.’

  ‘Why? I’m not fine with it, and it doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘She’s been dead eight months, Sum. You wouldn’t have wanted all her stuff to go mouldy.’

  ‘So where is it?’

  Ben sighed, long and hard. ‘I got rid of it – charity shops, mostly. Dad wasn’t that interested and you – well, you were a mess, an understandable mess,’ he said before she had time to retaliate, ‘so I just sorted it.’

  ‘You didn’t keep anything?’ Summer pulled Latte on to her lap, hugging her white, springy fur against her. She’d got the puppy not long after her mother died, and couldn’t imagine not having her at her side. If she went back to the boat, Latte would be going with her.

  ‘A few bits,’ Ben said. And then, his voice softening, ‘You’ve already got her compass though, right?’

  ‘The compass wasn’t there?’ Summer closed her eyes. She loved her mum’s compass, with its pearl and rose quartz inlay, its surface impossibly smooth and cool.

  ‘You didn’t take it, before?’

  Summer shook her head, added a ‘No.’

  ‘It wasn’t in her things, I swear. I searched, but then – I assumed you already had it.’

  ‘So it’s been thrown out with the rest of her belongings?’

  ‘I – I’m sure I didn’t,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t do that, not intentionally.’

  Summer buried her head in Latte’s fur. ‘I know,’ she muttered. ‘I know you wouldn’t.’

  ‘It could still be somewhere on the boat. Maybe fallen down behind the sofa, anything. Check everywhere.’

  ‘Sure,’ Summer said, suddenly feeling exhausted. ‘How are you, anyway?’

  She listened as her brother told her about his life in Edinburgh, about his job at a solicitor’s firm, his girlfriend, Vicky, who he’d recently moved in with. It felt so normal which, Summer guessed, her life had been up until that day.

  ‘Look, Sum,’ he said, ‘I honestly don’t think I chucked out Mum’s compass. Have another look will you? And if I get a chance, I’ll come down soon. See how you’re doing.’

  ‘You’re not a bad brother, Blaze,’ Summer said, managing a smile.

  ‘I’ll be a monster if you keep calling me that.’

  ‘Like the Incredible Hulk? Blaze turns you into some kind of super-hero baddie?’

  ‘Don’t push it, Sum.’

  ‘Blaze is actually a great super-hero name. I’m surprised you ditched it, think of all the girls you could have got.’

  ‘I’m hanging up now.’

  ‘Thank you for think—’ she started, then heard the click as her brother ended the call. She lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

  Her brother had never been the warmest person, and was much more formal and focused than Summer, his apple not falling far from his dad’s tree, but he had remembered about the compass. He could have told her sooner about emptying the boat – he could have asked her, in fact – but, if she thought about it rationally, it was a horrible, impossible task that she now didn’t have to go through.

  She had her mum’s boat, she was determined to find the compass, and she had all her memories. Now all she needed to do was pluck up the courage to access them, to move past the sadness that her mum was no longer there, and try and remember the good times. To do that, she knew she had to go back to Willowbeck.

  The next day, Sunday, was also Valentine’s Day. It was still cold, but the sun was making more of an effort, and Summer replenished her stock of rolls and bacon before making her way to the boat, Latte bouncing alongside her, delighted at the adventure. The narrowboat was dark and locked, Valerie not yet up and about, and Summer ferreted in her bag for the keys, wondering if her strop the previous day had been the last straw for her mum’s best friend, and Valerie had finally abandoned the café, leaving it to sink in Summer’s unwilling hands.

  Summer flipped on the lights, took the brownies and scones out of the fridge and put them on the counter, and turned on the coffee machine. The place felt too empty without either her mum or Valerie alongside her, and she was glad she’d brought her furry companion with her.

  She busied herself tidying up, wiping down the counters and putting some bacon on before starting a batch of cupcakes, while the Bichon Frise explored every corner of the boat. She selected a Bat for Lashes album on her phone, turned it up as loud as it would go and sang along as she mixed the ingredients. She could bake a few basic things, despite not having the flair or imagination her mum had when it came to cooking, and in her experience people were delighted to have even the option of a scone or flapjack when walking or cruising past.

  As the sun continued to rise, Willowbeck woke up around her. The willow trees bowed into the river, shivering as if in response to the icy water. Footsteps echoed as dog walkers and joggers used the towpath, the streetlights dimming as February sunlight took over.

  Three swans glided serenely past the boat, their motion smooth, necks stretched out, then two narrowboats, one after the other, chugged slowly down the river, one helmsman shouting to the other about where they were going to moor up later that day.

  At half past nine, Summer opened the hatch and flung open the door at the bow, where a fold-down plank acted as a bridge between the towpath and the café. The deck had a wooden bench that hugged the curve of the bow, and Summer’s eyes fell on something on the floor, partly hidden beneath the seating.

  Her immediate reaction was irritation, but this wasn’t another cake box. It was much smaller, and definitely inedible. Summer picked it up and, turning it over in her hands, she realized it was a heart. A carved, wooden heart. She glanced around her, but it could have been there for days, dropped or thrown from the towpath or another boat. She ran her finger over it, its surface rough and unpolished, the carving crude, but full of artistic beauty. She could tell it had been done by hand. Making a final, slow turn and spotting nobody, she took the heart back inside and put it on the counter, next to the snowdrops that were already beginning to wilt.

  Valerie appeared fifteen minutes later with a screech that shattered the quiet. ‘Summer! Oh my goodness, you’re back! I was worried someone had broken in.’ She was wearing a grey dress with a hint of silver shimmer. Summer had chosen a long, sky-blue jumper over leggings and fleece-lined boots for her second day on the water. She embraced Valerie, and then introduced her to Latte, who had hopped off her chair and was already pawing at the older woman’s feet.

  ‘Oh, what an adorable dog. How old is she?’

  ‘Six months,’ Summer said. ‘I got her after … as a bit of a companion.’

  ‘Animals do so much for our wellbeing,’ Valerie said, ‘and she’s perfect. Aren’t you?’ Valerie stroked Latte, and the little dog turned in circles, her tongue sticking out in delight.

  ‘She likes you,’ Summer said, smiling. ‘Valerie, about yesterday—’

  ‘I can’t tell you how happy I am that you came back,’ Valerie said, cutting her off.

  ‘I didn’t behave very well,’ Summer said. ‘I’m sorry I got so angry.’

  ‘You were upset,’ Valerie shook her head. ‘I’m surprised you coped as well as you did, your first day back. And here you are again!’

  ‘It’s just for today and then … who knows? I’m making some cupcakes, and I thought maybe heart-shaped cookies.’

  ‘Hearts?’

  ‘Valentine’s Day,’ Summer said quickly. ‘I mean, it’s all very Hallmark, but lots of people love it, and it might increase sales if we can add a bit of
a theme.’

  ‘I love your thinking,’ Valerie said. ‘I would never have come up with that.’

  ‘I might not have either, if it hadn’t been for this.’ She showed Valerie the heart, watching her face closely, but the older woman seemed as perplexed as she had been.

  ‘No local woodcarvers that you know of?’ Summer asked.

  Valerie shook her head. ‘It could be from the gift shop, maybe? Someone dropped it, and it somehow ended up here.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Summer admitted. ‘Whatever it is, it’s—’

  They were interrupted by the smoke alarm shrieking, followed by a thick waft of black smoke. Latte started barking, her small yaps drowned out by the alarm.

  ‘Oh shit, the bacon!’ Summer rushed into the kitchen, and found a smouldering frying pan of blackened remains. She took it off the heat and ran it straight under the tap, wondering whether the frying pan would be salvageable.

  ‘It’s all right!’ Summer stepped back into the café, where Valerie was wafting the now-silent smoke alarm with a tea towel, just as Mason appeared in the doorway. He was wearing jeans and a black shirt that was only half-done up, and he was frowning, his dark eyes creased from sleep. He seemed to take a deep breath before walking towards the counter.

  ‘Wow, you’re keen,’ Summer said, trying not to focus on the half-open shirt. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a bit for your sandwich – I burnt the bacon.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Mason said, giving her a quick smile. He seemed distracted, looking around him, his chest rising and falling as if he’d run from his boat to hers. ‘You’re OK?’ He looked first at Valerie and then Summer, his brows lowered.

  ‘Fine thanks,’ Summer said, but Mason was peering past her towards the kitchen. ‘Yeah, sorry about that. Did our alarm wake you?’

  Mason shook his head, as if trying to shake an unwanted thought from his mind. ‘It reminded me about the bacon – I said I was going to cook for you, remember?’

  ‘I’m doing it for the café anyway. I’m one frying pan down, but if you pull up a seat and give me five minutes, then I can honour your craving from yesterday.’

  Mason leant on the counter, his breathing back to normal. ‘Sounds great.’

  ‘What do you want to drink?’

  ‘An espresso please.’

  ‘Straight to the strong stuff.’ Summer turned to the coffee machine, but not before she noticed that Mason’s feet were bare. Latte had noticed too, and before she had time to warn him the dog was licking his feet.

  ‘Who’s this?’ Mason bent to stroke Latte, his face softening.

  ‘Latte. So far she’s not stolen any bacon.’

  ‘But she is trying to eat my toes.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry about that, she’s got a thing about feet. Weird dog. Stop it now, Latte. Come on.’ Latte looked up at her and then trotted to the front of the café, jumping on the farthest away chair and sitting with her back to them. ‘Oh no,’ Summer said, ‘now I’ve offended her.’

  Mason laughed. ‘Your dog’s a diva.’

  ‘That’s not fair.’

  ‘Did you not just witness that? She’s sulking.’

  ‘Are you trying to tell me Archie doesn’t sulk?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Mason sat on the windowsill next to the hatch, and noticed that his shirt was still half-open. Summer felt bad for not mentioning it earlier, but she hadn’t wanted to embarrass him, and besides, he was in good shape, from what little she could see. He caught her gaze as he did up his buttons, and she gave a little shrug.

  ‘I have to cook fresh bacon. Valerie?’

  ‘What can I do?’

  ‘No, do you want a sandwich?’

  ‘Oh, well, that sounds lovely. But let me help.’

  With the cupcakes and cookies in the large oven Madeleine had got specially installed when she bought the boat, and with bacon sandwiches made and coffee poured, Summer, Mason and Valerie settled at two of the tables, Summer opposite Mason. Latte agreed to sit in the final chair, though she took a bit of coaxing and a titbit of bacon to get over her sulk. Mason had returned to The Sandpiper to get his dog, and Archie was lying on the floor next to the table. Latte was peeping over the edge of her chair, her black eyes trained on Archie as if wondering whether he was friend or foe.

  The hatch was open, the blackboard on the towpath advertising the same deal as yesterday, with the addition of a red chalk heart and the words ‘Whether love, lust or nookie, feed your sweetheart a tasty cookie’. Summer and Valerie were taking it in turns to serve customers, though so far all had ordered through the hatch. Summer thought if they sat at a table, it would encourage people to follow their example.

  ‘I can’t believe you gave Archie bacon,’ Mason said, shaking his head.

  ‘I couldn’t give Latte some and leave him out.’

  ‘But he’ll think he’s won, that he’s been given the spoils of his crime. How am I supposed to get him to behave now?’

  ‘I’m not sure he was that well-behaved before,’ Valerie said, grinning.

  ‘Why did you come over this morning?’ Summer asked. She wanted to add ‘half-dressed’, but she was sure Mason had seen her noticing his state of attire. His dark hair was particularly untamed, a single curl falling over his forehead as he ate.

  ‘The alarm woke me, and I couldn’t just ignore it.’

  ‘It was very kind of you to check on us,’ Valerie said, adopting a gentler approach.

  ‘I was coming to ask you to turn it off.’ He grinned at them, and it was so disarming that Summer almost missed the tension in his shoulders. ‘Seriously though, one thing I’ve learnt, living on a boat, is that you have to look out for each other. Life is much better that way. Great cake, by the way.’

  ‘The red velvet cake? You ate that?’

  ‘Only a slice so far. What else was I supposed to do with it?’

  ‘It wasn’t poisoned then?’ Summer asked, giving him a rueful smile.

  ‘Poisoned? I thought it was a present from Jenny, and for some reason – maybe because you were so angry with the world last night – you didn’t want it, so you gave it to me.’

  Summer sighed. ‘Jenny is not the biggest fan of The Canal Boat Café.’

  ‘Why?’ Mason asked, sipping his coffee, ‘because it’s competition?’

  Valerie nodded furiously. ‘Yes, exactly that.’

  ‘You can’t exist alongside each other? Surely you can never have too much cake.’

  ‘We’d like to,’ Summer said, ‘but Jenny’s not so keen.’

  ‘So the cake wasn’t a peace offering?’ Mason ruffled the fur between Latte’s ears.

  ‘More a display of superiority. Next time though, it might well be poisoned.’

  ‘Isn’t that a bit melodramatic?’ Mason asked.

  ‘I wouldn’t put anything past that woman,’ Valerie said vehemently.

  ‘Tell me about your birds,’ Summer rushed.

  Mason frowned. ‘My birds? What has Valerie been telling you?’ He folded his arms.

  ‘Nothing!’ Valerie said, flustered.

  ‘I mean your work. Valerie said you were a nature buff.’

  ‘I’m a buff, am I?’

  ‘Like a buff naturist,’ Summer said, ‘but the other way around.’

  Mason raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Not that you aren’t buff,’ Summer continued, flustered, ‘I mean I haven’t really seen enough to pass judgement, but—’

  ‘Summer Freeman!’ Valerie squealed.

  Summer felt heat reach her cheeks, and hid her face behind her hands. ‘Crap.’

  ‘I’d forgotten about this,’ Valerie said, waving her hands at Summer. ‘This … foot-in-mouth disease. Who wants a refill?’ She didn’t wait for an answer, but collected the cups and went to the coffee machine.

  Summer looked at Mason. His chin was resting on his hand, his smile wide and unapologetic. Latte put her front paws on the table, desperate to be included.

  ‘That wasn’t how I intended th
at to come out,’ she said.

  ‘Well, I’m not a naturist,’ Mason said, ‘but I do spend a lot of time studying, taking photos of, and writing about nature. I guess nature buff is a good way of putting it, even if it could give some people the wrong impression.’

  ‘Maybe sticking to wildlife journalist is better,’ Summer said, pressing her hands against her cheeks.

  ‘Maybe,’ Mason said, shrugging.

  Valerie put fresh coffee on the table in front of them, and Mason lifted Latte on to his lap and away from the steaming drinks.

  ‘Ever since I’ve known her,’ Valerie said, ‘Summer’s had this wonderful ability to share her stream of consciousness with the world, without any modification or diplomacy, as if there are no walls up inside her brain.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s fair,’ Summer said.

  ‘It’s perfectly accurate,’ Valerie replied, ‘and I’m delighted.’

  ‘You are?’ Summer looked up at her.

  Valerie nodded, her eyes bright. ‘Yes. Because since I laid eyes on you yesterday you’ve been nothing but one big wall, until just now. It’s good to have you back.’ She patted Summer’s shoulder. ‘And you,’ she said, pointing at Mason.

  ‘Me, what?’ Mason gave her a quick grin, but Summer could see he was nervous.

  Valerie wagged her finger at him, and then, without saying anything, turned and disappeared into the kitchen.

  ‘I’d like to hear more about your job, and what you take photos of,’ Summer said to fill the awkward silence.

  ‘Everything,’ Mason said.

  Summer grinned. ‘A summary would be fine to begin with.’

  ‘No, I mean I take photos of anything and everything – I try and capture unique moments, things that strike me as beautiful or unusual. Can I come back and take photos of Latte?’