She kissed his cheek, pressing her lips against his skin for longer than necessary, breathing in the faint vanilla scent. His arm went briefly round her waist, and Summer had to fight against the desire to stay there, to press herself as close to him as she could.
‘Goodnight, Mason,’ she said, pulling away.
‘Night, Summer,’ he murmured.
She could feel his eyes on her as she walked back to her boat, her heart thudding loudly in her chest.
Chapter 4
Summer had expected the anniversary of her mum’s death to be cloud-filled, grey and heavy. At the very least, she expected the humidity to be stifling. Instead, she was greeted with a perfect summer’s day, the water sparkling under the sun’s watchful eye, and a breeze licking through the boat. Summer had been out the day before and had bought the largest bunch of yellow roses she could find. They were her mum’s favourite flower, and she used them in the vases on all the tables, and along the counter at the front of the café. With the remaining few, she climbed up to the roof of her boat and scattered them about. This, she told herself, was her own way of dealing with the day, and the best thing she could do in her mum’s memory was keep the café busy and bustling all day.
She opened up, and within minutes she had people at the hatch asking for coffee and bacon rolls. She got to it, frothing the milk for cappuccinos, beckoning people inside with a wide smile when they hovered at the bow deck, wondering whether to take a chance on the inside tables. As lunchtime approached, and with Summer happily busy, a familiar figure appeared in the doorway, and walked slowly towards the counter. Summer’s heart did an unhelpful little skip, and she found herself smoothing her apron down automatically.
‘Hey,’ Mason said.
‘Hi,’ she breathed. ‘Did you find your eagle?’
Mason grinned, his face lighting up. He’d taken The Sandpiper down the river in a hurry the day after his birthday, as a white-tailed sea eagle had been spotted travelling through Suffolk and up towards Norfolk. Mason was determined to face the wrath of Norfolk Broads boatsmen by taking his narrowboat into Norfolk waters in order to get a glimpse of the rare bird. Summer knew all this because he’d called her the evening after his party, explaining why he’d left so suddenly. He hadn’t mentioned their moment on the boat that night, though the unspoken reason for the call was that he didn’t want her to think that he’d been running away from it. They’d ended up talking for over an hour, Summer curled up on the sofa with Latte at her side, and the hoot of an owl from one of the riverside trees punctuating their conversation.
‘So you did,’ she said, his grin infectious.
‘It was magnificent.’ He rested his elbows on the counter. ‘Its wingspan is huge, soaring on the high air currents. I wish you’d been there.’
‘You do?’ She automatically turned to the coffee machine and started making an espresso.
Mason nodded. The time he’d spent at the helm of his boat was evident by the darkness of his skin, the spread of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He was wearing a white T-shirt, making his tan even more pronounced. ‘I’ve got photos – lots and lots of photos. Come and look at them.’
‘I’d love to,’ she said, ‘how about later today?’
Mason narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you sure you want to … today?’
She passed him an espresso cup on a miniature saucer. ‘I am.’ She was touched that he’d remembered, and would tell him so later, when there was no risk of her emotions bursting out of her in front of the customers.
He stood aside, sipping his coffee while she served tables and kept up with the steady stream of people at the hatch; then, realizing she was too busy to have a conversation, gave her arm a quick squeeze. ‘Come round whenever you’re ready. I’ll be there.’
Summer smiled and waved him goodbye, and then covered a hot chocolate with squirty cream and hundreds and thousands for a little girl who had come in with her grandfather. The girl gave a suitably impressed gasp as Summer put the drink on her table, and Summer felt a wash of contentment. This was what her mum had lived for. This was how she could honour her memory.
Trade began to die down at about five, as people drifted in the direction of the pub or back gardens, for barbecues and bottles of beer. Summer’s feet ached and her shoulders were tired, but happily so. She’d earned the aches and pains, running her mum’s café – her café – all by herself, keeping her emotions in check, being professional and friendly. And now, she could reward herself with a perfect evening. Looking at photos with Mason, on board his beautiful boat. She didn’t care that she’d invited herself so soon; she wasn’t bothered about how it might look to him. She wanted to do it, and, thinking back to Harry’s plight, she knew that her friend wasn’t the only one who needed to focus on being more confident and determined.
She cleared the tables, taking plates and cups out to the galley, filling the dishwasher. When she emerged back into the café to find a figure standing in the doorway, she thought she must be dreaming. He was tall, dressed in black trousers and a pale blue shirt, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His hair was heading towards red more than Summer’s own strawberry blonde, but his eyes were the same as hers.
‘B-blaze,’ she said, ‘what on earth?’
Irritation flashed across his face at the mention of his birth-name, the one that Maddy had given him, and which he’d replaced with Ben as soon as he was able to. He brushed it aside and smiled at Summer as he moved down the central aisle of the café towards her. ‘Summer. God, you look wrecked.’
‘Lovely to see you too! I’m fine. The café’s busy, it’s summer and it’s hot and it’s … what are you doing here?’ But she knew, already, and it made little wings of panic flap inside her.
‘It was Valerie’s idea,’ he said.
Summer came out from behind the counter, and she let her brother give her his usual, stiff embrace. ‘What was?’
‘This memorial, for Mum. By the river, here – Willowbeck.’ He looked at her, his mouth gaping as if she was mad, or a complete stranger rather than his little sister. ‘Sum?’
‘I-I don’t know – Valerie didn’t mention it.’ Summer turned in a slow circle, as if somehow she’d find the answer – a note on the counter, a message written on the blackboard, but Blaze – Ben – was nodding.
‘She said not to mention it to you. I thought it was because you’d be sensitive about it, before the day, but she’s taken it a step further, hasn’t she? She hasn’t told you at all.’
Summer blinked, shook her head, and untied her apron. ‘No,’ she said.
‘Because you wouldn’t have wanted this.’ Ben dropped his voice. ‘You want to brush today under the carpet.’
‘Yes please, if I could that would be great.’ She knew her voice had become small and high, almost childlike, and hated herself for it.
‘Come on, Sum, Dad’s here. Your friend Harry, too. We’re all here for you – for Mum, of course, but for you too.’ He put his arm around her. ‘It’ll be good to do this.’
‘Will it?’ Summer said, thinking that it had been a while since she’d even spoken to her dad, let alone seen him.
‘Show me what you’ve done with the boat,’ Ben said. ‘If it’s anything like the café then I’ll be suitably impressed.’
‘What,’ Summer forced out a laugh. ‘My brother being impressed at something I’ve done? Not a chance.’
‘A very small chance,’ he said.
Summer showed him her cabin, and Ben made all the right noises, though she hardly heard him. Her brother and her dad, here, in Willowbeck on the anniversary of her mum’s death. She should have expected it – should have expected something was going on when there’d been no contact from them in the lead up to the date. Summer couldn’t expect everyone to want to mark it alone, like she had done. Ben told her they were waiting at the pub, and Summer said she’d get changed and join them.
Wearing a short purple dress with white flowers on it, and with her hair tied b
ack from her face, Summer climbed up the grass in front of The Black Swan. Valerie and Harry were at a table with their backs to her. Opposite were her brother and her dad, the latter’s greying hair receding, his dark eyes sharp and, Summer had always thought, a little bit unforgiving. But he smiled as she approached, and his hug engulfed her as if she was long-lost which, in a way, she supposed she was.
‘Summer, you’re looking well. I’ve been hearing nothing but good things about your work down here, and how well you’re applying yourself to running Madeleine’s café.’
‘It’s Summer’s café now,’ Harry said brightly.
‘Both of theirs, perhaps,’ Valerie said tremulously. Summer knew today would be equally hard for her mum’s best friend, and that maybe she’d been selfish in hiding away, refusing to acknowledge the significance of the date.
Ben poured her a glass of wine from the bottle sitting in an ice-bucket on the table, and they all clinked glasses.
‘So,’ Summer said, ‘what’s the plan? If there is a plan. I hadn’t realized that … this was happening. Not that it isn’t lovely to see you all, of course.’
She smiled, sipped her drink, looked at her family, again aware how out of place it all felt without her mum to complete the square. She had felt a mild jolt of surprise when Ben had mentioned her dad had come too, but while he and Madeleine had been divorced for seven years before Maddy died, they had remained on speaking terms, and she was sure her dad also partly thought it was the right thing to do for her and Ben.
‘We thought we’d just go down to the river and say a few words,’ Harry said. ‘Wasn’t that your idea, Valerie?’
The older woman nodded, looking hesitantly at Summer. ‘I’m sorry, Summer. I wasn’t sure how you would feel.’
‘You could have asked me,’ Summer said, but she kept her tone calm. She felt blindsided, but not angry. It was good to see her dad, even better to see Ben, but she was entirely unprepared.
‘I know,’ Valerie said, ‘and I know I should have. I don’t know what I was thinking, really. That if you didn’t have time to talk yourself out of it, that maybe it would be better, that you could just …’ She looked helplessly at Ben and he took over.
‘I didn’t realize Valerie hadn’t even mentioned it, but it makes sense. It took you a long time to come back here in the first place, after Mum died.’
‘I’m happy now, though.’
‘So if she’d suggested this to you, you would have been up for it?’ He gave her a kind smile, and folded his arms along the wooden table.
Summer shrugged. ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘No. Probably not, I … I don’t know. Why bring it up? Why take time out to remember the day we lost her?’ She could feel a thickness form in her throat, and knew this was exactly the reason she hadn’t wanted to do this. She didn’t want to fall apart now.
‘Because we all loved her,’ Valerie said, her thin fingers gripping Summer’s, ‘and it’s important to remember that. Come on.’
Summer followed her dad and brother down towards the water. Harry looped her arm through hers and gave her a squeeze, but Summer found herself glancing in the direction of The Sandpiper. Could she go and get Mason? He’d met her mum – he’d told her that – but had he known her well enough? They turned away from the boats, towards the small brick bridge that marked the edge of the narrower part of the river. It was quieter here, out of sight of the boats and the pub’s picnic tables. The towpath wasn’t empty, but it seemed more peaceful.
Summer saw that Ben had a bunch of roses too, red and yellow, their blooms full to bursting with colour and scent and life. He untied the bouquet, and began handing the roses out to each member of the party. Summer took hers and stared at the river, at the surface breaking into ripples, concentric circles where waterboatmen or fish were disturbing it, a few green leaves following the current, lying on their backs as if they were sunbathing.
She remembered a day the previous year, not long before it happened, when it had been as hot as this. She and her mum had closed up the café, they’d ordered two pints of lager from the pub, and they’d sat on the edge of the towpath, their feet and ankles in the water. Summer hadn’t known, yet, about her mum and Dennis, but her suspicions had been starting to grow, and there had been a slow tension building between mother and daughter for the previous few weeks. She couldn’t remember what they’d said, but that evening, under an electric blue sky and a burning sun, and with the bubbles of beer inside her, Summer had laughed more than she’d done for weeks before – and like she hadn’t done since.
Her mum wasn’t innocent, but she was her mum, she was the person Summer looked up to, and at that moment, she realized that she missed her more than anything.
‘Right,’ Ben said, clearing his throat and turning to face the water. ‘Just to say that … that we miss you, Mum – Madeleine – all of us do, and that we think of you always. Here goes.’ He thrust his arm forward, projecting a red rose, and then a yellow, into the river, as far out as he could manage. ‘There.’ He nodded, decisive, but Summer could hear the telltale roughness in his voice. He looked strange, too smart and stiff to be standing alongside the river and throwing flowers into it, but she knew her brother’s words were heartfelt.
‘Goodbye, my darling Maddy. Thank you for always shining down on us, and keeping us safe. Not a day goes by when we don’t think of you, or laugh at the warmth of your memory. You’re in our hearts.’ Valerie stepped forwards and threw her own flowers in. Harry did the same, and then Summer’s dad. Summer wondered, for a moment, if he’d say anything, but he didn’t, just stepped forwards and crouched, his body slow and stiff, laying his roses on the surface of the water, as if they were made of crystal.
Summer inhaled, and took a step towards the water’s edge. She closed her eyes and pictured herself and her mum sitting side by side, their feet in the cold water, then her mum behind her counter in the café, the gingham apron on and smudges of chocolate cake on her cheeks as she laughed at something a customer had said, and then the last image – the one that Summer could never banish – of her mum’s eyes wide with shock and hurt, her calling Summer’s name and Summer storming through the café and flinging the door open and then shut behind her. The last sight she had of her mum, before the hospital.
‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ she said, kneeling on the towpath, embracing the tears as they fell down her cheeks. ‘I’m so, so sorry about what I said. I never meant to hurt you. You’re my hero.’ She threw her red rose into the water and it drifted downstream, following the path of the others, its petals trailing in the water. ‘I love you, and I hope I’m making you proud.’ She threw the yellow rose in, watching its progress through her tears, wondering if Valerie was right, that Maddy was looking down on them, watching this awkward ceremony. At that moment, she hoped she was, and that her mum could see how sorry she was, and how much she missed her.
Latte’s nose nudged against her hand, and Summer lifted the little dog up and buried her head in the white, soft fur. Latte licked her cheek, and the tears that were still falling. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and knew that it was her brother’s.
‘Come on, sis. You did good.’ He held out his hand and Summer took it, let herself be pulled upright, and followed the small party back to the pub.
‘I’ll get a bottle of wine,’ Ben said. ‘I think we could all do with a drink.’
Summer’s eyes went again to The Sandpiper, and she thought of her plans with Mason. She wasn’t late yet, but she soon would be, and while she desperately wanted to spend time with Mason, she knew she couldn’t abandon her family. Her brother had come all the way from Edinburgh, and she hadn’t seen her dad for months. Besides, at that moment, she would be the least fun company ever, and might end up putting Mason off her for good. She pulled her phone out, and sent him a message: I’m so sorry, something’s come up. Can we take a rain check? I’m free tomorrow. xx
The reply was almost instant. No problem. Tomorrow’s good. Hope you’re OK? M.
Summer sighed, the simple question making her brain hurt, unsure whether to answer with a breezy ‘fine’ or say something close to the truth. In the end she left it, putting her phone back in her bag and giving full attention to her family, choosing chips and gravy from the menu when they ordered food.
She sat next to her dad, and asked him how he was, listened to the bland stories about his college, where he was a teacher, too professional to reveal any interesting tales about fellow teachers or students. He was close to retirement, and Summer got a strong sense that he was dreading it, and the lack of purpose he’d be faced with.
‘Are you going to write that book you’ve always thought about?’ she asked. ‘You could now, you know.’
He gave a quick chuckle. ‘I’m not sure I’m cut out for it, Summer. Fenland history isn’t on most people’s reading lists these days. It’s all thrillers and sporting biographies and those YouTube superstars.’
‘I’m sure lots of people who live here would be fascinated,’ Summer said. ‘And if you don’t try, you won’t know, will you?’
‘Speaking from experience,’ he said, giving her a solid stare, an almost smile. ‘I think I could learn a lot from you, Summer. What you’ve achieved over the last few months. The courage it’s taken.’
Summer was shocked by the words, the pride he was conveying, his knowledge of the effort it had taken to come back to her mum’s boat, and her chip hovered in mid-air, halfway to her mouth. ‘Dad,’ she managed.
‘I’d like to hear more about it. Not today maybe, not right now. But why not come and stay for a few days, when business is a bit quieter.’
‘I’d love to. Thank you.’ He clinked his glass against hers, and Summer sat in shocked silence for a while, thinking that he had never reached out to her before, that it had always been her making the effort, arranging visits, calling him. Was it the fact that she’d stopped doing that over the last few months that had forced him into action? Had he realized that he was missing out on his daughter’s life?
The Canal Boat Cafe 3 - Cabin Fever Page 6