The Canal Boat Café Christmas

by Cressida McLaughlin

  ‘You don’t need to close when the sun goes down.’

  ‘So we’re opening late?’

  ‘Open whenever you want, for however long you want. But you can make a killing if you’ve got the stamina. Meet up later for drinks, yeah?’

  ‘Sure,’ Summer said, waving her goodbye. Mason switched on the coffee machine.

  ‘Right then,’ he said, wiping the blackboard clear and handing her a red chalk pen, ‘let’s introduce Madeleine to London town.’

  They stayed open until six o’clock, serving and chatting to a constant stream of customers. Christmas had most definitely arrived in London, and they saw groups of friends and work colleagues, some loaded up with bright shopping bags crammed with presents, others clearly on the way to an evening out, glittery dresses under their coats, a few with reindeer headbands or Santa hats. They admired Madeleine’s exterior designs of cakes and coffee cups, the sparkly lights trailed around its roof, and the Christmas bunting inside. Summer laid a small selection of Norman’s carvings on the counter, and they were soon snapped up. She would have to ration those throughout the week. Her supply of cakes and brownies was decimated, and she realized the stock she had set aside for the following day wasn’t going to be enough.

  Mason served customers at the hatch and cleared tables when there was a momentary lull, and they worked to a backdrop of Christmas carols and songs, ‘Fairytale of New York’, Wham and Slade, ‘Silent Night’ and ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’ from Water Music, the sound quieter than usual to meet Little Venice’s strict noise regulations, but still very festive. Summer put some of Harry’s mince pies in the oven, and the sweet, fruity smell wafted through the café, while she adorned gingerbread lattes and hot chocolates with a dusting of chocolate or cinnamon using her new, snowflake-shaped stencil.

  ‘This is new, isn’t it?’ asked a young, suited man as he approached the counter, an attractive blonde woman sliding into a chair at one of the tables.

  ‘New to Little Venice,’ Summer confirmed. ‘We’re only here for a week, part of a temporary Christmas market. You should check out the other boats – you can buy music, antiques, and some seriously impressive sandwiches – though not until you’ve had cake here.’ She grinned. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘A selection of macarons and two hot chocolates, please. Where are you off to after this?’

  ‘Back home. We come from a village near Ely. It’s similar to Little Venice in lots of ways, but nowhere near as busy.’

  ‘You’re in London, a few weeks before Christmas!’ He gave her an amused smile. ‘Hopefully you didn’t come here for a rest?’

  Summer laughed. ‘No, not at all. But however much you imagine something, it never lives up to the reality, does it?’

  ‘Very true.’

  ‘Go and take a seat, I’ll bring everything over once it’s ready.’

  He sat opposite the blonde woman, his hand landing on top of hers, but not before Summer had noticed the ring on her left hand, the diamond glinting like ice. She found that she was staring, only snapping out of her daydream when a burly man with a white beard, who looked like Father Christmas on dress-down day, waved a hand in front of her face.

  ‘So sorry,’ she said. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘How many mince pies do you have left?’

  Three pies remained on the plate under the glass dome. ‘I’ve got these, and a few more out the back.’

  ‘Can I have seven?’ he asked.

  She resisted the urge to check he didn’t need eight, one for each of the reindeer, and rushed into the kitchen. When she returned, Mason was loading hot drinks into a cardboard cup carrier for a woman in a scarlet woollen coat and white sparkly hat who was standing at the hatch. Mason’s customer seemed reluctant to leave once she’d got her order, and Summer couldn’t help noticing how glossy her hair was, and her perfect eye-makeup.

  ‘You’re a new face along the towpath.’ Her voice was low and silky, as if she had honed it in seductress classes.

  ‘We only arrived this afternoon,’ Mason said. ‘We’re here for a week.’

  ‘Oh. Shame. I’ve just started thinking about Christmas presents.’

  ‘We’re really only a café,’ he said, smiling patiently. ‘But I could do you a selection of macarons in one of our gift boxes? We’ve got some festive flavours.’

  ‘I was thinking about a present for me,’ the woman said slowly. ‘And I was hoping for more than a few macarons.’ She looked at Mason from beneath long eyelashes. ‘What are you doing this evening? I don’t mind getting my gift a few weeks early.’

  Mason stared at her, and Summer tried to hide her smile as she put dress-down Santa’s mince pies in a bag. This was a more brazen level of flirting than Mason was used to, and it was clear he’d been oblivious to the woman’s intentions until that moment. She felt the slimmest twinge of jealousy, but was more curious to see how Mason would respond.

  ‘That’s very flattering,’ he said, slowly. ‘But I’m busy tonight, and I hadn’t planned on ending up under someone’s tree in a bow. Well, not unless it’s Summer’s tree.’ He gestured towards her, and Summer received a steely look from Mason’s admirer. ‘I hope you enjoy your coffee.’ He gave the woman a kind smile.

  She returned it with a quick, defiant one, then disappeared into the crowd, her shoulders held high.

  Mason worried his hand through his hair. ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘I’m going to have to stay on my toes, aren’t I?’ Summer asked, elbowing him gently in the ribs.

  He looked mortified. ‘Summer, I didn’t encourage—’

  ‘I’m joking.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘She was quite forward, wasn’t she? Maybe Ryder’s right, and you need to be more aware of predatory women in highly populated areas.’

  Mason rolled his eyes. ‘It was one woman, and I’m sure if you’d been at the hatch all afternoon you would have been hit on by at least a dozen men.’

  Summer laughed, unsure what to say, and then realized dress-down Santa was still standing at the counter, grinning at them through his white beard.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said again. ‘Did I forget to give you your change?’

  ‘No no,’ he said amiably. ‘I’m enjoying the entertainment.’

  ‘Oh.’ She felt her cheeks flush.

  ‘We’ve only been here a few hours,’ Mason explained. ‘We’re not total country bumpkins, but it’s our first time with the café in London, so …’ he shrugged.

  ‘Oh, mark my words,’ the older man said, ‘women throwing themselves at you will be the least outlandish thing you have to deal with. Expect people sleeping on the deck of your boat, wild river swimmers—’

  ‘In December?’ Mason interrupted, incredulous.

  He kept going. ‘Singers, dancers, people using the boats as floating stages for dramatic re-enactments. You might even get an escaped animal. We’re quite close to London Zoo here, and the chimpanzees are notorious.’

  ‘OK, now I know you’re having us on.’ Mason folded his arms. ‘I have a few contacts in that area, and a chimpanzee has never escaped from London Zoo.’

  Dress-down Santa laughed, a big belly laugh that shook his beard. ‘Lion tamer, are you?’

  ‘He’s a nature journalist,’ Summer said proudly.

  ‘Be prepared for a lively time, that’s all I’m saying. And thanks for these, I’ll be back for more tomorrow if they’re up to scratch.’

  ‘They will be,’ Summer called to his retreating back, feeling a rush of affection for their new, amused customer.

  ‘People swimming?’ Mason said, turning to her. ‘In the canal, in December?’

  ‘That was the weirdest thing you took from that?’

  ‘I’m feeling naive all of a sudden. Take me back to Willowbeck and Valerie’s fortune-telling.’

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ Summer laughed. ‘You handled your admirer very well, and the idea of you wearing only a bow on Christmas morning isn’t one that entirely repulses me.’<
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  ‘Good,’ he said, raising an eyebrow in a way that made Summer’s legs tingly, ‘because I haven’t got you anything else for Christmas.’

  ‘I don’t want anything else,’ she whispered. ‘You in a bow, that’s me happy.’ She didn’t mention that that particular daydream also included him wearing a ring by the time the New Year rolled into view.

  Summer’s feet were throbbing by the time they closed the café doors, and while they’d tried to keep on top of the clearing up while they were working, it looked like a very hungry Tasmanian devil had been trapped inside all afternoon. Despite the chill outside, the café was toasty, and the moment Summer stopped she felt a wave of tiredness wash over her.

  ‘You have a shower,’ Mason said. ‘I’ll get this cleared up.’

  Summer shook her head. ‘You’ve been working as hard as me, and you did most of the steering today too. You go.’

  ‘Nope.’ He pushed her gently into the living space, where Latte and Archie were snoozing on the sofa, and started to close the door.

  ‘Mason, I—’

  ‘If I get finished in time I’ll join you.’

  ‘You don’t need to—’

  He closed the door, and Summer did as she was told.

  She fed the dogs while Mason was getting dressed after his shower, and heard a familiar knock at the bow deck.

  Claire waved at her, haloed in the light from the towpath lamps. They were more plentiful than in Willowbeck, with London’s nighttime brightness also helping to combat the dark. Summer opened the door.

  ‘You guys ready?’ she asked. Her voice was slightly breathless, as if she’d run over from Water Music.

  ‘Mason’s nearly there, give us a couple of minutes.’

  They locked up Madeleine, and the three of them stepped off the deck and onto the towpath. Couples and groups of friends strolled past on their way to restaurants, bars or the puppet theatre. The boats themselves were also busy, owners sitting on their decks with hot drinks, wrapped up in coats and blankets, soaking up the atmosphere. Many were adorned with fairy lights and Christmas decorations. One boat had a small, lit display of a reindeer and a donkey on its bow deck, and Summer imagined it was a smaller version of the decorations Jenny had told her about, that would, by now, be up outside the Black Swan.

  She and Mason followed Claire along the towpath, and up the steps to the road above. There was a pub on the corner, with old-fashioned lanterns fixed either side of the door, the sign in turquoise and gold stating they were about to enter the Riverside Inn. A couple of people stood outside smoking. Claire pushed open the door and they stepped into a warm fug scented with beer and frying chips, amiable chatter and the clink of glasses surrounding them. It was busy but not heaving, and Summer was relieved that they didn’t have to push past bodies to reach the bar or find a table. She had only just stopped feeling hot and bothered; she was ready for a calm, quiet evening with no fuss or stress.

  ‘What can I get you?’ Claire asked, leaning on the bar.

  Summer and Mason both asked for lager, and Claire ordered them, exchanging banter with the tall barman that suggested they knew each other.

  ‘So how did it go?’ she asked, while they were waiting. ‘Liking the look of Little Venice so far?’

  ‘It’s mad,’ Summer said, laughing. ‘We were busier this evening than on the hottest days in Willowbeck. Mason’s been hit on, I sold some mince pies to Santa Claus, and I’m going to have to do some extra baking before the sun comes up tomorrow if I don’t want to use up all of Harry’s supplies in one hit.’

  ‘So you’re loving it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Summer conceded. ‘It’s brilliant. As long as nobody minds if I stay in bed for a week once we’re back in Willowbeck.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Mason whispered in her ear, and she slapped him lightly on the shoulder.

  Claire rolled her eyes and handed them their drinks. ‘Do you guys want to get a room? Seriously, I’ve never seen any two people so completely—’ She glanced away, as if she couldn’t bear to watch them any longer, and then froze.

  Summer followed her friend’s gaze to a slender woman with milky skin and brunette hair that fell in effortless waves around her shoulders. Her eyes were brown beneath groomed dark brows, her white T-shirt was figure-hugging below a chocolate-coloured cardigan, and her dark jeans clung to long, slim legs. She approached them slowly, a hint of a smile on her full lips, her eyes bright with expectation.

  Summer frowned. She didn’t know this woman, didn’t understand why Claire was staring at her. And then she glanced at Mason, and everything clicked into place.

  She remembered the evening Mason had travelled up to Foxburn to see her, not long after she’d met Claire, and Claire had interrupted their dinner. Claire had been a blast from Mason’s past, and his shock at being dragged back to an unhappy time in his life had unsettled Summer, because Mason was usually so laid-back and unrufflable. But he hadn’t been then, and he wasn’t now.

  Summer took his pint glass and put it on the bar, because she was sure he was going to drop it. He barely noticed. He was staring at the glamorous woman as if she were a ghost, unreal and unwanted. His face was pale, his eyes wide, and he was frozen in place.

  ‘Mason?’ she asked softly, and when he didn’t answer she turned to Claire. ‘Who’s this, Claire?’ But Claire didn’t need to answer her either because she knew – of course she knew.

  The dark-haired woman stopped a couple of feet away from them, her hands at her sides. ‘Hi,’ she said, in a voice that, while quiet, was unwavering.

  ‘Hello.’ Summer reached her hand out, trying to take control of the situation, wanting to show that she was composed and reasonable and not the trembling puddle of uncertainty that she felt inside. ‘I’m Summer, are you one of Claire’s friends? Do you live in Little Venice?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, shaking Summer’s hand. Her long fingers were cool, her grip strong but not crushing. She glanced at Claire, looked away again when she was met with a stony expression.

  ‘I live in a houseboat a little further down the canal,’ the woman said. ‘Claire and I recently got back in touch. We were friends a while back.’ She gave Summer a tight smile and glanced at Mason.

  Summer fumbled for Mason’s hand. She squeezed it, and felt him move, stand up straight beside her. He cleared his throat and returned the squeeze. Relief rushed through her, his acknowledgement giving her confidence.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Summer said, trying to focus beyond the thumping of her pulse in her ears. ‘You’re Tania, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘I am. Hello, Mason, you’re looking great.’ Her voice lost some of its certainty as she addressed him directly.

  ‘Tania.’ His voice was gruff, and Summer’s heart ached for him. How could Claire have let this happen without warning them?

  ‘You weren’t supposed to be here,’ Claire said, finding her voice, looking to each of them in turn, her eyes wide with panic. ‘Tania was – you said you were going away for Christmas.’

  ‘Will you excuse me a moment?’ Mason dropped Summer’s hand and slipped past them, letting a blast of cold air break through the warmth of the pub as he disappeared outside, the door juddering closed behind him.

  ‘Shit.’ Claire pressed her hand to her forehead. ‘Sum, I’m so sorry. Tania, I thought you were going to Oxford for the whole of December?’

  Tania waved her hand airily at Claire. ‘My plans changed, and I didn’t think it would be a problem. I just wanted to see him,’ she said to Summer. ‘Ever since Claire told me about Lisa, about what he had to go through, I’ve wanted to make everything right between us. I want him to know it’s OK, and that I’ve never forgotten him.’

  Summer’s legs turned to jelly. Why was Tania telling her this? She didn’t need to know that Mason’s effortlessly glamorous, confident ex was still thinking about him, the reason he’d left her now neatly packaged away in a plausible – albeit tragic – explanation. The
way paved for her to forgive him, and for him to remember why he’d been drawn to her all those years ago.

  She nodded dumbly. ‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ she said, keeping her voice as steady as she could. ‘Hold onto our drinks, Claire? I think we’re going to need them.’

  She pushed open the door and stepped into the cold night air. People were hurrying or strolling along the pavements, stopping to look at menus in restaurant windows. She could sense the water close by, the canal a black inky hollow below them, the presence of the coloured narrowboats shifting it away from dangerous darkness, turning it into something much more welcoming. She scanned the roads for Mason, wondering what he would have done, whether he would have gone back to Madeleine and the comfort of Archie and Latte, or started walking, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting, unexpected emotion.

  Summer crossed the road and gripped the railings. She stared down at the canal and the twinkling lights of the boats, feeling a wave of anger towards Claire. Had she really not known Tania was going to be here? Shouldn’t she have warned them it was where she lived, that it might be a possibility? Her friend had looked as upset as she was, but still, she could have prepared them for the worst-case scenario. A short chat would have done it, giving them all the facts when she’d sold them the fairytale proposition of London, a few weeks before Christmas, the magic of Little Venice.

  ‘How about,’ she said out loud, trying to expel her fury with words, ‘“Oh and by the way, guys, there’s a chance this trip will also include Mason’s ex, who he abandoned because he was grieving for his dead wife, and has been feeling guilty about ever since. So as well as the fun and festivities of Christmas, you’re also going to make Mason relive the worst time of his life so, y’know, swings and roundabouts.”?’

  ‘When you put it like that, it sounds like a black comedy.’

  Summer jumped – she hadn’t heard Mason come up beside her, she’d been too intent on her anger and the water below. She flung her arms around him, then leaned back to appraise him. Some of the colour had returned to his cheeks.