The Canal Boat Cafe 3 - Cabin Fever

by Cressida McLaughlin

  ‘Did you find Mum’s compass?’ Ben asked, pulling her away from her thoughts.

  Summer shook her head. ‘I’ve looked everywhere. Unless Mum had some secret panel somewhere to keep it safe – but wouldn’t she just have used the wall safe?’

  Ben looked angry. ‘Maybe I did throw it out? But I’m sure – I’m sure I didn’t. It was in my mind the whole time I was clearing out that boat. I’m so sorry, Sum.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ she said, ‘it’s just one of those things.’ But she felt the quiver in her bottom lip all the same.

  ‘It’s not lost,’ Valerie said.

  ‘It isn’t? How do you know?’

  Valerie leaned forward and put one hand over Summer’s, and one over Ben’s. ‘I just know. It’s not lost, and it will be found. It’s important.’

  ‘It was one of my favourite things of hers,’ Summer agreed. ‘It holds memories.’

  ‘No, I mean that finding it will be important. I can sense it – it’ll teach you something, Summer.’

  Summer stared at Valerie, trying to read her face, trying to understand her strange, mystical beliefs. How could she know that – where did the knowledge come from? She glanced at Ben and he gave her a shrug.

  ‘Well,’ he said, his voice unsure, ‘that’s all right then. Great to know it’s not gone for good.’ Summer could only nod in response.

  When they left, Harry driving Ben and their dad back to his house in Cambridge, it was close to nine o’clock. Summer felt exhausted and wrung-out, like she had nothing left inside her. She took Valerie’s arm and escorted her back to Moonshine.

  ‘Dennis should have been here,’ Valerie said, ‘he should have been part of it.’

  ‘I think that would have been hard, for him and for Jenny. I’m sure he’s thinking of her in his own way.’

  ‘We shouldn’t exclude him,’ Valerie said.

  ‘We don’t. We just need to strike a balance, that’s all.’ Summer gave Valerie a hug, waited until she’d made it on to her own boat and then strolled along the towpath, Latte at her heels. The outside lights of the pub reached down to the river, and there was a bold moon out, giving everything a surreal, whitish glow. Summer stepped on to the bow deck and hovered at the door, her key poised. She glanced again at her watch. Nine fifteen. It wasn’t unsociably late, and after wishing that she could hibernate all day, she’d been flung into the midst of friends and family. Now, the thought of going back to her boat and spending the rest of the evening with just Latte and her memories for company felt hideous.

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped back on to the towpath and made her way along to The Sandpiper. The lights were on inside, and she reached up and knocked before she could lose courage.

  She thought she heard a ‘Coming’, drift towards her from inside, and then the door opened.

  ‘Hi.’ Mason didn’t seem surprised. ‘Rough day?’ His dark eyes met hers easily, and his smile was so kind, and he looked so relaxed – in a navy T-shirt and his trademark jeans – that Summer had to resist the urge to step against him and lean her head on his chest.

  ‘It was good,’ she said. ‘Unexpected, but better than I thought. Can I – I’m sorry, it’s late and I’ve already stood you up tonight, so—’

  ‘Of course.’ He let her in, turned to the galley and got a glass out of a cupboard. ‘Actually,’ he said, pouring red wine into the new glass and topping up his own, ‘how about some fresh air?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He pointed up at the ceiling. ‘There’s a pretty spectacular moon out, probably a good star display.’

  Summer leaned against the counter and grinned. ‘The roof?’

  ‘Shall we?’

  ‘Lead the way.’

  Latte and Archie explored every corner of the roof of The Sandpiper, peering over the edges and sniffing the odd leaf or twig that had landed there and not yet been blown off by the breeze.

  ‘It’s clean up here,’ Summer murmured, sitting down with her back to the towpath, looking out at the dark water.

  Mason sat next to her, his body close, but not touching. ‘I cleaned it. After the last time, when you told me you were looking at the stars, when you were with Claire and the others, and I came up here, I pretty much ruined a T-shirt. I had to boil-wash it three times before all the muck came out. So there you go,’ he added.

  ‘There I go what?’ Summer glanced at him.

  ‘Not as immaculate as you thought.’

  ‘Nobody could have a go at you for a grubby roof,’ Summer said. ‘But it surprised me, how you spend most of your time wandering through fields or mud or across beaches, dog in tow, and then your boat is so beautiful and polished.’

  ‘It’s my home,’ he said. ‘And my life. Being a liveaboard means that it’s even more important, that I spend even more time there. Haven’t you found that?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When I was on land, living in a house, leading a normal-ish life, I wasn’t moving between just work and home. There were dinners out, drinks, galleries and exhibitions and parties. Home seemed like somewhere to eat and sleep and spend the occasional evening, but here, on the river …’ He shook his head. ‘Maybe it’s just that my life has changed. I’ve narrowed my field. Maybe it has nothing to do with living on a boat, maybe it would always have been like this, even if I’d bought another house.’

  Summer sat very still. This was the first time he’d spoken about his past, about life before The Sandpiper, and she didn’t want to say anything to interrupt his flow. ‘Were you a photographer then, too?’ she asked, carefully.

  He nodded. ‘Yes, but my focus wasn’t on wildlife. I was freelance, picking and choosing the best jobs, trying to build a reputation. But it’s so competitive, so difficult to get noticed.’ He took a sip of his wine. ‘In the end, you start chasing the money. You do any job that pays, telling yourself you’ll do that one to get by and find another one you really care about, but it’s hard to resist the money, and then it doesn’t matter what you’re capturing. I quickly began to lose pride in my work, and I was so focused on getting the jobs, I started missing out on everything else.’

  ‘Was that when you decided to change your life? Did you always want to photograph nature?’

  He moved his head slightly, Summer thought it was a shake, and then he turned, stretched his legs out and lay down along the boat. She put her wine down, and lay next to him. Latte trotted up and lay in the warm space between them, her short body elongated, her front paws stretched up towards their heads.

  ‘Honestly, I hadn’t thought about it,’ Mason continued. ‘We had bird feeders in the garden, and that’s as far as it went. But when I bought The Sandpiper, I knew I would still have to make money as a freelance, but that I’d always be on the move, not just in London. My first week on the boat, I was sitting on the deck with a beer – it was February, so it was freezing, but I didn’t care. I noticed a heron, partly hidden by bushes on the bank, waiting for his dinner. He was so close to me, so still, and I remember thinking he looked prehistoric. I went inside and got my camera, thinking the movement would disturb him and he’d be gone, but it didn’t. It was as if he wasn’t real, and yet, he was more real than anything I’d seen, and then when he moved, darting into the water, emerging with this huge fish, I couldn’t believe that I was able to watch it, to be so close.

  ‘I downloaded the photos and scrolled through them, and I just knew. I didn’t want to go back to fashion shoots and carefully arranged set pieces for magazines. I wanted to photograph wildlife. I wanted to capture life – and not posed, pre-prepared, polished-to-the-last-detail life – but real life.’

  ‘I get that,’ Summer whispered. ‘I get what the draw is, the excitement of seeing these creatures just going about doing their own thing. It’s like being in a different world, away from streets and towns and hubbub and televisions and shouting and cars and …’ She breathed out, focused on the cluster of stars above her. ‘It’s like being h
ere with you. It’s just you and me and the dogs, the river and the sky. No distractions.’

  ‘None,’ Mason said, and Summer heard a roughness in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

  ‘Do you mind, talking about your past?’ She thought back to his words after her break-in, how he’d spoken with such conviction and looked so upset when he’d seen the damage in her café.

  ‘I don’t speak about it very often,’ he said. ‘It feels strange. It almost doesn’t feel like it was mine – as if I’m talking about a distant relative, or a film I saw once. But a few things recently have brought some memories back.’

  ‘Does it make you sad?’ She turned her head towards him. He was staring up at the sky, his lips pressed together, his face white beneath the bold moon.

  ‘I have a lot of regrets,’ he said eventually. ‘Things I should have done but didn’t. I was too wrapped up in myself and then … it was too late.’

  ‘For what?’ She saw his Adam’s apple bob, and then he turned on his side so he was facing her too. He smiled, but to Summer it looked sad, full of memories and loss, a smile that wasn’t quite in the present. Summer knew how he felt.

  ‘For me to make amends,’ he said. ‘But it’s something I’m working through. I’m in a good place now. My work, the river, Archie, The Sandpiper, and for the last few months, being in Willowbeck. They all help.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ Summer said, wondering whether to push, deciding not to.

  ‘Tell me about today,’ he said. ‘What you did to remember your mum.’

  This time there was no hesitance, no ‘only if you want to’. He was challenging her, but in a way Summer knew she needed to be challenged. Mason, it seemed, knew it too. She told him about her brother and her dad turning up, how Valerie had organized their visit without telling her, which at first she thought was the worst idea possible but, actually, turned out to be a good thing.

  ‘It was hard,’ she said, ‘saying goodbye to Mum all over again. Actually saying the words, acknowledging it in front of other people. I love words. But they have power, either spoken or written down, whether they’re serious or silly.’

  ‘Your blackboard rhymes,’ Mason said.

  ‘They’re not too serious, are they? I could always make them a bit more lighthearted.’ Mason laughed, and Summer felt his breath on her face. ‘Ever since Mum died,’ she continued, ‘I’ve tried my best to keep everything inside – don’t speak about it, skirt around the issue. But then, of course, I did nothing but think about it, and the thoughts had nowhere to go except round and round. I still don’t like doing it, but I’m beginning to realize that speaking about it is better than not, that it helps to release emotions, and untangle things that get knotted up inside.’

  ‘Maybe you could write your thoughts down,’ Mason said.

  ‘What?’ Summer screwed her nose up. ‘Like a diary?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Mason sighed. ‘You said words had power written down too. Maybe it would give you the opportunity to put everything down, to get it out, but not in public. A middle ground. Maybe if you did that, then talking about her wouldn’t be so hard.’

  Mason’s idea had conjured up a picture of an immature teenage diary, with hearts on the cover and a tiny gold lock and key, but it wasn’t the worst idea she’d ever heard. It was, when she thought about it, a sensible – and thoughtful – idea.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘but I like talking to you. Maybe you could be like my diary, my sounding board.’

  ‘You really want to open up to me? Not Valerie, or Harry?’

  ‘Harry knows everything,’ Summer said. ‘I don’t know, maybe I wasn’t being serious, but I can talk to you. I like talking to you.’

  ‘That’s good. It would be a bit awkward if we were just lying here in stony silence.’

  ‘You’re not a stony silence kind of person,’ Summer said, stroking Latte as the little dog pawed at her face.

  ‘I’m not?’ Mason leant up on his elbow, spotted Archie lying down at the edge of the roof, peering down into the dark water and then, seemingly satisfied, lay back down again.

  ‘You’re a warm silence person.’

  ‘Like a portable heater?’

  Summer laughed. ‘They’re never quiet. I mean that you’re easy to be around, whether we’re talking or not. And I feel a bit bad.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘That we’ve not paid nearly enough attention to this.’ She pointed upwards, and Mason’s gaze followed her hand, up to where the stars winked down on them.

  ‘It’s not the best night after all,’ Mason said, ‘the moon’s being too overbearing.’

  ‘I bet that would be a good photo. You don’t have your camera,’ she said, suddenly noticing. ‘Why don’t you have your camera?’

  ‘I didn’t think to pick it up. Besides, I’d need to set it up properly to get a good photo of the moon. Slow shutter speed, tripod.’

  ‘Not an impulse photo, then?’

  Mason shook his head, his gaze still on the sky above them. Summer wriggled slightly, adjusting her position, and Latte, annoyed at the disturbance, got up and went to see what Archie was looking at. Mason glanced at her, then lifted his arm and beckoned Summer closer. Summer shuffled across the roof towards him, and rested her head on his chest. He wrapped his arm around her, his fingers grazing along her bare arm. She was still in the dress she’d worn to her mum’s goodbye, but despite the late hour, it wasn’t cold. She pressed her bare leg against Mason’s jean-clad one, and stared up at the stars.

  Neither of them spoke, but after the day’s emotions, the conflicting thoughts whirring around in her head, Summer felt that this was the perfect way to end it. She couldn’t say she felt calm – anything but – but her heart wasn’t thudding out of fear or anxiety. She turned her head, her ear against Mason’s chest, and found that his heartbeat was faster too.

  Chapter 5

  They watched the sky, the blinking, shimmering stars, and Summer found, as she always did, that the more she looked, the more she saw. Despite the moonlight, the stars fought their corner, and Summer could see some constellations she recognized – although she didn’t know their names – and smaller, paler clusters, almost blurring into clouds. Star clouds. She got used to the feel of Mason’s hand resting on her waist, his presence infinitely comforting.

  ‘This was a good idea,’ she murmured. ‘This is perfect.’

  ‘It was your idea, originally,’ Mason said, ‘I just stole it from you.’

  ‘Well done me, then,’ Summer said, smiling into his chest.

  ‘You’re full of good ideas. I haven’t bothered to celebrate my birthday properly in years, but what you did for me was just right. I had a lot of fun, and I know you put a lot of effort into it. It was good to meet your friends – Harry and Greg and Tommy.’

  ‘Sorry if they cornered you.’

  ‘They didn’t, and I got on with them. Tommy’s got a lot of character.’

  ‘He has – he’s very curious.’

  ‘I think he thought I was some kind of hunter. It took a while to explain to him that my only weapon was my camera.’

  ‘He’s just got into fishing. Greg’s a big fan, and he’s encouraged that Tommy’s as enthusiastic as he is.’

  ‘And Harry makes amazing cakes. That was definitely the best birthday cake I’ve had. I was disappointed that it was so popular – I could have lived off cake and ice cream for another week.’

  ‘I’ll get her to make you another one. I’m hoping she’ll do some more baking for the café, on a regular basis.’

  ‘You’re not happy with what you’re doing?’

  ‘I’m not the best baker. Harry’s a genius when it comes to cakes.’

  ‘Oh I don’t know about that,’ Mason said softly.

  Summer laughed. ‘You’ve just told me how wonderful her pistachio cake was. You don’t need to butter me up.’

  ‘Well, you definitely make the best bacon sandwiches. I can say that with absolute
, unbiased certainty.’

  ‘You’re very kind.’

  ‘And you’re the best company,’ he said.

  Summer heard the change in his voice, the shift to something more serious. Her heart skittered as his hand moved from her waist to her shoulder, and then he ran his fingers through her hair. She put her hand on his chest and looked up at him. The moonlight cast him in relief, his cheeks and forehead pale, his eyes in shadow, but she could feel him looking at her, the way it made her limbs tense in anticipation. She parted her lips, and Mason moved his head down, his own lips pressing against hers.

  Warmth rushed through her, chasing the shudder, and she felt her whole body come to life. She pressed against him, returning the kiss, tasting red wine. She closed her eyes so she could focus on the feel of him, his hand cradling her head, his lips soft, the slight brush of stubble as his jaw grazed her skin.

  She had wanted this, she realized, since the first moment she met him. She had wanted it, and now it was happening, it was as good as she’d hoped. The connection was there, it was real and it was exhilarating, and it made her want more. But her mind wouldn’t rest, and thoughts crowded in, trying to muscle in on the moment: Claire saying he was colder than ice cream and not as sweet; Mick calling him Lothario; her mum’s face as Summer had stormed out of the café, a year ago today. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to dispel them, and they came faster. Be cautious, Claire had said. But hadn’t Summer waited long enough, hadn’t she got to know Mason well enough?

  She pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss, found Mason’s eyes and looked hard into them. His breathing was elevated, his dark eyes as intense as flames, burning right through her. How could he be a womanizer? She had seen nothing but honesty and kindness from him.

  ‘What is it?’ Mason asked, his voice a barely-there whisper.