Canal Boat Cafe (4) - Land Ahoy

by Cressida McLaughlin

  ‘Lucky you didn’t have to, then.’ Harry sat down and slipped off her ballet pumps to rub the soles of her feet. ‘I’ve got enough cakes and pastries back at the cottage to keep you going for the next two days. I’ll bring them all tomorrow, and then of course I’ll be able to help out, but if Sunday’s anything like this, then you won’t manage on your own. Have you decided what you’ll do yet?’

  Summer looked out over the water and narrowed her eyes. The light had taken on the pink haze of a hot, early evening, and she could feel the sweat at the base of her spine. She wiped hair from her face. ‘Not exactly. I mean, I’ve thought about it, and about how hard it will be – and that was before today exploded around us – but I haven’t come up with a solution.’

  ‘Are you still open?’ a young guy asked from the towpath. He had his arm draped around a girl, and she had daisies in her long, curly hair.

  ‘Sorry, we’re closed now. The pub’s open though,’ Summer said pointlessly, pointing to the hubbub. ‘They do cakes as well – but we’ll be open again tomorrow, early.’

  ‘Cheers.’ They turned and loped up the grass.

  ‘You need someone else to serve,’ Harry said. ‘If I could get out of Sunday, I would, but it’s one of Greg’s closest friends and there’s just no way.’

  ‘I’d never ask you to miss a wedding to come and work your ass off for me all day,’ Summer said.

  ‘Is this perhaps …’ Harry started.

  ‘Perhaps what?’

  ‘Something that Ross might be able to help you with? I’m sure he’d be happy to.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Summer said, her insides churning as she thought of everything she’d discovered and he’d – finally – admitted to. ‘He would, but I wouldn’t. Something happened yesterday that I haven’t had the time to tell you about.’

  Harry’s mouth fell open. ‘What? What’s happened? Did you finally tell him to stay away?’

  ‘I did,’ Summer said, ‘but from what I know now, it turns out I should have listened to you in the first place and done it a long time ago.’

  Summer told Harry everything that had happened, her incredulity at all that Ross had been doing to try and get his own way with Summer, and her surprise and relief when Mason had replied to her text, late the previous night.

  ‘Summer, you have to report Ross to the police,’ Harry said urgently. ‘He can’t be allowed to get away with it. Who knows what could have happened? You could have been seriously hurt.’

  ‘I know, but …’ Summer chewed her lip, not sure she could live with herself if she turned him into the police.

  ‘But what? He broke into your boat. It was hostile – it was meant to frighten you. No way you can spin it round to helping, or supporting you, whatever he says.’

  Summer stared at her shoes. ‘I need more time to think. I don’t want to see him again – I’m not going to see him again – but I don’t know if I want to take it further. It would drag it back up, and I – I need more space after this,’ she flung her arms wide, encompassing the festival, ‘to decide what to do.’

  ‘OK,’ Harry said, rubbing her shoulder. ‘I’m here for you whatever you choose. And it’s good news, isn’t it, about Mason? If you’d texted sooner, maybe he would have replied sooner. He could be as confused as you are, thinking you’re still mad with him.’

  ‘How could I be?’ Summer asked, pressing her cool lemonade bottle against her forehead.

  ‘How would he know you’re not, if you left it so … so up in the air? The last time he saw you, you stormed off his boat and refused to open the door when he knocked.’

  Summer sighed and rested her head on her arms on the edge of the boat. ‘All this could be cleared up if he just came back.’

  ‘I’m sure he will,’ Harry said, squeezing her arm. ‘Especially now he’s been in touch. Do you fancy going over to catch some of the band? I’ve got half an hour before I need to get back to Greg and Tommy, and it might take your mind off things.’

  ‘Are they coming down tomorrow?’

  ‘Yup. We might even get Tommy to help out in the café, if we’re lucky.’

  ‘What will we have to pay him in?’

  ‘Ice cream should do it,’ Harry said.

  ‘That’s good, because I’ve got quite a lot of that left.’

  Saturday was even busier than Friday, with more people enjoying the festival as the weekend kicked in. Harry was good to her word and brought enough cakes to fill almost all of Summer’s cabin. Greg and Tommy spent the morning exploring the other traders and watching the acts on the stage, and then Harry sent Greg off for a pint in the pub while Tommy cleared tables in the café, his cheery face and cheeky chat drawing admiration from the customers.

  ‘How long have you been working here, young man?’ asked a woman who Summer thought must have been in her fifties, but whose hair was enviably long and auburn, and dotted with tiny plaits. From where she was standing behind the counter, Summer could see one leg in flared jeans and a red wedge sandal.

  Tommy glanced nervously at his mum, before turning back to the customer. ‘This is my first day,’ he said proudly. ‘It’s Summer’s café, and we’re helping because of the festival.’

  ‘You’re doing a great job,’ the woman said. ‘Any plans to open a café when you’re older?’

  Tommy shook his head. ‘I’m going to be a professional fisherman. Dad’s teaching me.’

  Harry and Summer exchanged a grin, and Summer took over at the hatch while Harry ran to the kitchen to get a fresh batch of macarons – mocha and passion-fruit flavoured – out of the oven. Summer heard Tommy tell the woman how he wouldn’t be able to be a fisherman in Willowbeck because there were definitely no fish in this river, and had to stifle her laughter.

  Half an hour later she saw Tommy standing in front of one of the tables outside, talking to a family of three generations, two small children sitting on their parents’ knees. He was gesturing wildly about something, miming running off down the towpath. The family were laughing, the granddad almost doubled over at the waist.

  ‘Are you sure Tommy wants to be a fisherman and not a performer,’ Summer said, pointing. ‘He’s a natural.’

  Harry stared adoringly at her son. ‘He’s kept me and Greg going,’ she said. ‘He’s been a bright light amongst all this gloom. Along with you and this café, of course,’ she added, leaning out of the hatch and handing a bag of brownie bites to two teenage girls. ‘Are you going to have a lunch break?’

  Summer shook her head. ‘It’s too busy.’

  Harry gave her a scornful look. ‘You gave me half an hour,’ she said. ‘Go and ask Tommy to get to the final act of whatever he’s performing on your way out, and I’ll be fine.’

  ‘I’ll take ten minutes.’

  ‘If I see you back here before two, then I’ll push you in the river. Go!’ Harry flapped her hands in a shooing gesture, and Summer gave her friend a grateful smile and hung her apron over the corner of the blackboard.

  Summer could barely move on the towpath, but she made it through the crowds to the picnic tables and wove through those to the stage area, where an acoustic singer was sitting on a stool and playing a large, ochre guitar, his voice carrying easily over the attentive crowd. Summer stood with her arms folded, watching him, enjoying a few moments of doing nothing but drinking in the atmosphere.

  ‘He’s good, isn’t he?’ said a male voice at her ear.

  Summer turned, her eyes narrowing in recognition at the man who greeted her. He was a bit older than she was, with green eyes and fair hair. ‘Yes,’ she said, trying to place him, ‘he really is.’

  ‘Taking a break?’ the man asked, nodding his head in the direction of the river.

  Summer glanced behind her. ‘Just half an hour,’ she said. He was a customer, that was it, though she couldn’t remember serving him.

  The man looked in the direction of the stage, then turned his green eyes back to Summer. ‘And did Mason come back?’ he asked softly.


  It hit her then. The businessman who’d asked for the same order Mason always had, espresso and bacon sandwich, the day she’d woken up to find The Sandpiper gone. Today he was suitless, looking much more relaxed in a loose-fitting white shirt and navy shorts.

  ‘Not yet,’ she said, her happy mood dipping.

  ‘But he will,’ the man said, angling his beer bottle in her direction. ‘And you think it too, or you wouldn’t have said yet.’

  ‘I’m hopeful,’ she said, trying to believe her own words.

  ‘Who couldn’t be hopeful on a day like this?’ He smiled at Summer, and it was such a genuine, warm smile that Summer felt instantly reassured. She opened her mouth to thank him, but the singer on the stage finished his song and spoke to his audience.

  ‘We’re coming to the end of my set,’ he said, ‘and I hope you’ve enjoyed it.’ The crowd whooped and cheered and Summer joined in. ‘Now, for my last song I’m going to need some help. I hope you’ve all whetted your whistles with beer from The Black Swan, because you’re all going to sing along. You up for it?’ He held his guitar up by the neck, his arm stretched towards the blue sky.

  Summer could stay for this song, and then go back to the café. ‘Yes!’ she called, joining in with everyone else. She turned to grin at the green-eyed man, and he held out his beer to her. Summer took a quick swig and thanked him, and they sang along together, both deciding that volume was more important than accuracy, sharing a few minutes of fun before Summer went back to work, the cheerful chorus playing in her head for the rest of the afternoon.

  Summer again closed at eight o’clock, knowing she needed to save stock – and some energy – for the next day, when she would be working entirely on her own. She toyed with the idea of asking Dennis if he could spare a staff member, and then decided she would play it by ear, only calling on help if things got desperate. She went with Harry, Greg, Tommy and Valerie to watch Herald’s set, dancing along to the songs with Tommy and Claire, despite her sore feet.

  ‘This,’ she said, breathlessly, raising her arms up to the star-filled sky and the fairy lights, the thrum of electric guitar and the crowd all around her, ‘is incredible. You’re so clever, Claire, I would never have imagined Willowbeck could host a festival.’

  ‘You need to let your imagination run wild,’ Claire said, ‘and believe anything is possible.’ She gave Summer a wide, slightly sweaty grin, and Summer bounced forward and hugged her.

  ‘I’m going to do just that,’ she said, ‘starting with tomorrow. I believe I can run the café single-handedly on the last day of the music festival.’

  ‘Or you could ask Norman to help,’ said Harry, joining them.

  ‘That might be stretching it a bit far,’ Summer admitted, and they all laughed.

  ‘We’ve all agreed to close up at six tomorrow,’ Claire said, ‘so we can enjoy the last evening of the festival and Swordfish. It’s going to be a cracking night; we’ll have done pretty good business and I think we could all do with an evening of festival fun by then.’

  ‘If I’m still alive,’ Summer said.

  ‘Hey,’ Claire said, ‘you’re going to be brilliant, remember?’

  ‘I can help,’ Tommy said.

  ‘No, we’re going to Steve and Sophie’s wedding.’ Harry smoothed down her son’s hair.

  Tommy screwed his face up. ‘But I have to wear a suit,’ he said. ‘If I’m in the café I can just wear shorts and T-shirt, and eat ice cream.’

  ‘Weddings are fun,’ Summer said, ‘and I’m sure there’ll be other guests your age.’

  ‘I want to come back here tomorrow,’ Tommy said, his petulance a telltale sign of tiredness.

  ‘You can come back whenever you want – after tomorrow,’ Summer confirmed.

  ‘But now,’ Harry said, ‘bed. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.’

  ‘It’s a shame you’ll miss the last night.’ Claire hugged Harry and Greg, and gave Tommy a shoulder squeeze.

  ‘I’ve had a blast,’ Harry said. ‘Who thought working in a café could be so much fun? I could teach my previous employer a thing or two.’

  ‘I’m glad you think that,’ Summer said, ‘and thank you so much – for everything. I’ll be in touch after the weekend.’ She would wait until things had calmed down to speak to Harry about working in the café with her.

  ‘Good luck tomorrow, and don’t forget about Norman if you get really stuck.’

  Summer laughed, and Claire looped her arm through hers as Harry and her family wove their way through the crowd.

  ‘Bed for me too, I think,’ Summer said.

  ‘Let me know if you really struggle tomorrow,’ Claire said. ‘I’m sure we can drag some help up from somewhere. What about Ryder?’

  Summer winced. ‘I think I’d rather take my chances with Norman.’

  For the last day of the festival, Summer wore a lilac dress that skimmed her knees. It was comfortable but pretty, and went with the red and blue gingham apron she put on whenever she was working. Latte sat on a chair in the café, watching the boats pass by while Summer made herself a coffee and arranged her cakes under the domes on the counter. Even with the craziness of the previous two days, she had enough varied stock to keep the customers happy, and with her cut-off time set at six o’clock, Summer was confident that she wouldn’t run out.

  At first she found it easy. She was methodical and organized, splitting her time between the queue forming at the hatch, and the people sitting at the tables. She cleared the used crockery quickly, set the dishwasher going as soon as it was half-full, and was proud that nobody was having to wait too long. But as the stage started up and lunchtime drew near, the crowds seemed to swell. The river was busy with passing narrowboats and the sun was even warmer than it had been the previous day. Summer got stuck for longer than usual at the hatch when a woman in her forties with bright pink lipstick and pearl earrings read out a long order written down on a piece of paper, and when she turned back to the café there were several displeased faces looking back at her.

  ‘I’m so sorry about that,’ she said, approaching a young couple at one of the tables, the woman with a toddler on her lap. ‘It’s so busy today.’

  ‘Your café’s beautiful,’ the woman said, flicking back her short blonde hair, ‘no wonder it’s packed. And you’re doing a brilliant job.’

  ‘Thank you, that means a lot. What can I get you?’

  When an older couple came in, Summer felt a flash of recognition. ‘Are you regulars?’ she asked, wiping down the table and stacking the previous occupants’ used cups and plates onto a tray as they sat down.

  ‘No,’ the woman said, ‘but we have been aboard – though it didn’t look anything like this.’

  Summer frowned.

  ‘You gave us a cup of tea on a bitterly cold day,’ the man added. ‘You were on the roof of the boat, I’m not sure you were even open.’

  Summer gasped as realization dawned, remembering the day she’d cruised away from Willowbeck, wondering whether she should try and make the café work or if she would be better off selling it.

  ‘I have to say,’ the woman said, in the face of Summer’s stunned silence, ‘it looks amazing now. You must be so pleased you decided to stay.’

  Summer nodded, snapping herself out of her reverie. ‘I am, and it’s so lovely to see you! I can’t believe you came back.’

  ‘When we heard about the Willowbeck festival, we couldn’t miss it. And look how incredible it is – I’ve found some old vinyl that I used to have as a boy.’ The man held up a carrier bag. ‘It’s such a good idea.’

  ‘I know Claire, the organizer, and she’s worked miracles in such a small amount of time.’ Summer grinned down at them, wishing she could chat all day, her mind whirring at how much had happened since the first time she’d met the friendly couple, on a freezing day back in February.

  ‘Excuse me,’ someone called, and Summer looked up to see the queue at the hatch snaking up the towpath, as far as the eye could see.
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  ‘Crap,’ she murmured. ‘I have to get on,’ she said to them, ‘but I’ll be back with your order in a second.’

  Summer realized the few minutes she’d spent talking had pushed her off track. She worked as fast as she could, but the queues and orders and questioning expressions seemed endless. Summer told herself she wouldn’t panic, and she kept her head down, frothing and pouring and plating up, serving and clearing, smiling and trying to breathe. She heard people exclaim at something on the water, the sound of another boat chugging slowly past, hoping to squeeze in along the towpath, but then she was back at the hatch, handing out paper bags full of ginger cookies.

  She made three espressos for a group of young men who looked like they were having a shot of caffeine before moving seamlessly onto beer, and gratefully accepted a bag of bacon from Adam, who had appeared at the counter.

  ‘Thought you could do with this,’ he said, handing it over. ‘We’ll sort out the money later.’

  ‘Thanks, Adam,’ she said, ‘you might just have saved my life.’

  ‘See you later, at the festival?’

  ‘I’m counting down to six o’clock,’ she said quietly, not wanting the customers to know she was wishing her time, and them, away.

  She turned back to the hatch, handed over four Magnums, and then heard someone putting crockery down on the counter, probably clearing an empty table themselves so they could sit down.

  ‘Just a sec,’ she said, turning back to the counter, and her breath left her in one swift exhale.

  Summer couldn’t do anything but stare. Mason was standing on the other side of the counter, looking at her. His skin was darker, the freckles across his cheeks more pronounced, and his hair was longer, the curls as dishevelled as ever. He was wearing a royal blue, V-necked T-shirt and his camera was around his neck, the silver glinting in the sunlight.

  Summer felt a flood of emotion, of desire and relief and elation, so that it was suddenly hard to swallow and she felt giddy. His dark eyes found hers, and though his lips weren’t smiling, the warmth in his gaze set fireworks off inside her.