Casting Off

by Cressida McLaughlin

  Summer inhaled, but didn’t trust herself to speak.

  Mason glanced at her, his brows lowered, and then continued. ‘She came to see me the day you took off, in a panic. She told me what had happened, how she’d accused you of calling her a fraud – which of course I already knew about – and then said that wasn’t the only reason you might have left. I hope you don’t blame her for betraying your confidence, or for getting me involved, but she asked for my help and I think she wanted me to have the full picture.’

  ‘And you’ve always been keen to know the real story between me and Jenny.’ She couldn’t help it, the thought of Mason knowing, judging her, put her automatically on the defensive.

  Mason stopped and turned to face her. ‘That’s not it. I didn’t ask to know, Valerie volunteered the information. But, if I’m honest, I was worried too. After Valerie’s accusations, and knowing how hard it had been for you to come back in the first place, I wanted to find out where you’d gone, to talk to you.’

  ‘How much did Valerie tell you?’ Summer asked.

  ‘That Maddy and Dennis had an affair, and that Jenny found out shortly before your mum died.’ His tone was apologetic, his dark eyes locked on to hers.

  Summer swallowed and nodded. She wasn’t sure even Valerie was aware of all the events leading up to Maddy’s death, and Summer had only told the full story to Harry. ‘It wasn’t just Mum’s death that made it hard to come back to Willowbeck,’ she said quietly. ‘I always knew Jenny wouldn’t like me being there, but I didn’t realize quite how much she’d take against me.’

  ‘And in some ways I can see why she’s upset,’ Mason said, ‘but you weren’t a part of what your mum did, and I think that she should be able to see that you’ve gone through enough.’

  Summer glanced behind her at the cry of a bird, and looked up to see a skein of geese flying in a V overhead. ‘You don’t have to defend me. I can see it from Jenny’s point of view too.’

  ‘So you left because you felt guilty? Summer, you haven’t done anything wrong.’ He reached out and took her hand, the contact dulled by two pairs of gloves. Summer felt the urge to rip them off, to feel the human warmth of his fingers around hers.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s true,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t feel like I’m blameless.’

  ‘I don’t know the whole story, but I’m guessing it was a messy situation. All the lines get blurred, and sometimes you can feel guilty just because you weren’t able to fix something, or solve it, when it wasn’t ever possible for you to make a difference in the first place.’ There was something in Mason’s expression, a sadness that Summer didn’t think was pity, but unsettled her all the same.

  She turned and starting walking again, refusing to let go of his hand. ‘But that doesn’t make it any easier,’ she said.

  ‘No, of course it doesn’t. Letting go of guilt is one of the hardest things you can do.’

  ‘And what if you did do something, and it turned out to be the wrong thing?’

  ‘Were your intentions good?’

  ‘Yes,’ Summer said, her voice dropping to a whisper. ‘Or at least, I thought I was doing the right thing.’

  ‘And all of this has meant being in the same place as Jenny is too hard for you?’ Mason asked, slowing as they approached the lake.

  ‘It’s made it hard for me to be at Willowbeck at all, regardless of Jenny’s opinion.’

  Mason caught her eye. ‘I want you to be at Willowbeck,’ he said softly.

  ‘I – I don’t know if I … it doesn’t seem that easy.’

  ‘What, dealing with the past?’

  ‘Any of this,’ Summer said. ‘The whole liveaboard … the boat thing. When I was in my flat in Cambridge, working at the studio, it was easier. It was straightforward, and none of this – nothing about this – is.’

  ‘Straightforward isn’t always best,’ Mason said, and Summer thought back to the previous evening’s storytelling, to fairy lights in the trees and the homemade wine.

  ‘Maybe,’ she murmured.

  ‘Some things are worth struggling for. You belong in that café.’

  ‘I don’t know …’

  ‘And what about all of this, so close to your front door.’ His grip tightened and he led her to the side of the path, where the grass was longer. He shortened Archie’s lead even further, moved a few feet into the grass and crouched, pulling Summer down with him.

  Summer laughed. ‘Aren’t there hides for this sort of thing?’

  ‘Not here,’ he said, ‘and this is the best spot. Look.’ He leaned his face in close to hers, so their viewpoints were almost identical, and pointed out the different species on the lake. He showed her redshanks and little grebes and the common tern he’d mentioned earlier. A blue heron stood, as still as a statue on one of the central islands, serene and powerful, the ducks and geese fussing around it. Mason pointed out a little egret, small and snow-white, hiding amongst the reeds at the edge of the lake, and they listened to the different calls, Summer laughing at the chirp of the sedge warbler that sounded like a musical toy gone wrong.

  She began to feel overwhelmed. She was sure she would never remember the names or identifying features of the birds, and wondered if Mason would think less of her. But at the same time she loved listening to him talk, could feel the enthusiasm bubbling under the surface, admired the way he tempered it, so that his voice had a calm, even cadence when he pointed out the different birds to her. He was so close, she could almost feel his words vibrating in her chest. And his camera kept flashing up in front of him, darting as quickly as the birds he was capturing.

  It soon became no longer about the wildlife, but just that she was here with him, and he cared enough to take the time to show her. The sun moved overhead, the temperature started to drop and Summer felt herself freezing, losing the feeling in her feet. She didn’t dare move, she didn’t want to shatter the moment.

  And then there was a sound she recognized, high-pitched, almost lost on the air currents. She thought she’d been mistaken, but she looked at Mason, and he smiled.

  ‘Kingfisher,’ she murmured. They turned back towards the lake, and a glimmer of orange and emerald blue skimmed low across the surface of the water, landing on a depth marker in front of them. ‘I love kingfishers,’ she whispered, and saw Mason nodding out of the corner of her eye.

  ‘Single birds all have their own territory, and move closer together the nearer it gets to the breeding season.’

  ‘Not mates for life, then?’

  Mason shook his head. ‘They often only get one year – they don’t live very long. And lots of the young die quite quickly. Their feathers get waterlogged when they’re learning to dive, or the parents drive them out before they know how to fish. Lots of them drown.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Summer whispered, ‘that’s so sad, Mason. Why did you tell me that?’

  ‘Because it proves how miraculous it is when you get to see one, like this, right in front of you. A rare thing,’ he said, and Summer could hear the awe in his voice.

  ‘I’d never thought of it like that,’ she said, ‘about it being a privilege to see one.’ Either the kingfishers were there or they weren’t, and she enjoyed watching them when they were. But with just a few facts, Mason had given her a different perspective. It was tragic, but it also showed her what a miraculous thing nature was, how things survived against so many odds.

  Summer took the opportunity to edge closer to him, on the pretence of seeing what he saw, and pointed at a row of large black birds sitting on a fallen tree that was protruding from the water. ‘Tell me about them,’ she said. ‘Are they cormorants?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘similar to – but not to be confused with – the shag.’

  ‘Oh.’ Summer felt her cheeks flush. ‘No, we definitely shouldn’t confuse them.’ She risked a glance at Mason, and saw that he was smiling, his eyes bright in the slowly descending sun. He turned properly to face her, their noses almost touching, and she could feel the wa
rmth of his breath against her face.

  ‘Shags are north, and coastal, and wouldn’t be found here.’

  ‘Right,’ Summer murmured.

  ‘And they’re usually alone, whereas cormorants stay in groups.’

  ‘Ironic, really,’ Summer said, unable to take her eyes from his.

  ‘Great divers,’ Mason added, all hints of a smile gone. He was searching her eyes too, and Summer felt warmth spread through her, fighting against the cold that had lodged itself in her bones.

  ‘They are?’

  Mason nodded, his breath hitching in his throat, and Summer felt herself go still, in anticipation of what would happen next.

  ‘Excuse me,’ a loud voice said, ‘but is that your dog? The one currently embroiled in an argument with the signpost?’

  ‘What?’ Mason stood abruptly. ‘Oh, shit. Sorry – thank you.’

  The man who interrupted them, who was tall and very thin, with a telescope almost as big as he was, gave Mason a withering look and strode away from them down the path.

  Archie had managed to wind his lead around the base of a signpost in such a way that his head was stuck against the wood, which he’d been trying – unsuccessfully – to chew through as a means of escape. Latte was sitting next to him, and only yelped when Mason and Summer approached.

  ‘We’re only over here, why didn’t you tell us?’ Summer asked Latte, crouching to stroke her. ‘I thought Archie’s lead was as short as possible,’ she said to Mason.

  ‘It’s an old lead, and I think the retractable mechanism is broken. I need to get a new one.’

  ‘You do,’ Summer said, watching as Mason tried to untie Archie, while the Border terrier made the task nearly impossible by moving the moment he had an inch of wriggle room. The more Mason worked, the harder Archie struggled, and when Mason finally untied a section and Archie bolted free, Mason fell forward, almost landing on his nose on the gravel walkway.

  ‘Shit.’

  Summer rushed forward, struggling not to laugh. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘It’s not me I’m worried about,’ Mason said, sitting back on his haunches and checking his camera and binoculars. ‘That was nearly a very costly fall.’ He dusted gravel off his palms. ‘Grit in the lens would not make for magazine-worthy photos.’

  Summer held her hand out and he took it, and she pulled him up to standing. ‘Thanks,’ he said, giving her an embarrassed smile.

  ‘You and that dog are hopeless.’ She grinned back.

  ‘Yeah well, we’ll get there one day.’ Mason tied the lead around and around his hand, so that Archie was only able to move about a foot from him. ‘Heading back?’

  Summer nodded, though her stomach twisted with disappointment. ‘Are you going back to Willowbeck tonight?’

  Mason glanced up. The sun was fading, the sky on the horizon a glowing yellow, the midnight blue of night far above them, with the turquoise of dusk in between. The brightest stars were beginning to appear, winking like beacons in the expanse of blue. There was a flurry in the trees as birds began to find roosting posts for the night.

  ‘I’m not so keen on night cruising,’ he said, ‘so I think I’ll stay until tomorrow.’

  Summer’s heart leapt. ‘Evening plans?’

  He turned to look at her. ‘I hadn’t thought that far ahead. You?’

  ‘Just me and Latte. Now that you’ve come all this way to show me this beautiful place, the least I can do is cook you dinner. You and Archie.’

  ‘Bacon sandwich?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Oh, I think I can do better than that,’ she said. ‘If we’re quick, the deli might still be open.’

  With bags from the deli, Summer and Mason walked along the towpath in the dusk, the dogs worn out and subdued at their feet. ‘Where’s The Sandpiper?’ Summer asked.

  ‘In the last visitor mooring, beyond that Blue Heron boat.’

  ‘Your friend was telling me that it’s a stag party,’ Summer said. ‘Apparently that’s quite a common thing on the rivers.’

  ‘Yup,’ Mason said, ‘and results in a lot of unintentional swimming.’

  ‘Have you had to rescue anyone, then?’ Summer asked, putting her key in the lock.

  Mason ran his hand through his hair. ‘A couple, though not on my own. I like a drink as much as the next man, but it’s risky to take it too far close to the water. People think that falling in is a laugh, but it’s often much colder than you think, and it’s the shock that’ll cause more problems than anything. And believe me, trying to haul a full-grown man who’s drunk a keg of beer to the side of the river, and then get him out, isn’t easy.’

  ‘It sounds like a nightmare. Let’s keep our fingers crossed our services aren’t called on tonight, though at least you have experience of rescuing people. I’d be hopeless – I’d probably make the situation worse.’

  She laughed, but Mason was staring into the water, as if he were mesmerized by the ripples on the surface.

  ‘Mason?’ She touched him lightly on the arm and he looked up, startled. ‘Come in,’ she said gently. ‘Make yourself at home.’

  He blinked and nodded, then followed her inside.

  She led the way through the café and into the kitchen. The dogs scampered ahead into the living space, and Summer dumped the bags on the counter and took off her coat and hat. ‘Put your coat on the sofa. Can I get you a drink? I’ve got wine.’ Summer checked in the cupboards, and opened a bottle of red. She unpacked the shopping, got out a bag of small potatoes and two thick rump steaks, and began cutting up tomatoes. She looked up, and saw that Mason was leaning on the doorframe, watching her. He’d taken off his coat and scarf, and his binoculars.

  She smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I’ll just let the wine breathe a bit,’ she said. ‘You can put some music on, if you want.’

  ‘Can I help?’ Mason asked.

  Summer shook her head. ‘There’s not much to do. Water on for potatoes, grill on for the steaks. It’s a one-person job.’

  ‘It looks delicious. Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do?’

  ‘You could go and see if the dogs are behaving themselves.’

  ‘You mean Archie?’ Mason raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I mean together,’ Summer said, grinning. ‘Archie’s a bad influence on my puppy.’

  ‘Archie’s a bad influence on me,’ Mason said, reaching forward and taking an olive from a pot on the counter. ‘I’ll go and see what they’re up to.’

  Summer busied herself with preparing dinner, and found that, despite the long day, and the long walk, she was full of energy. The boat was much warmer than the April evening outside, and her cheeks were flushed even before the wine. She felt giddy, her mind replaying moments out on their walk, Mason’s face so close to hers, his concentration as he pointed out the different types of geese, his awe at nature’s miracles and the rareness of a kingfisher. Things survive against the odds, and maybe that was what Summer and The Canal Boat Café were doing. Maybe she was stronger than she’d imagined she could be.

  ‘They’re both wiped out,’ Mason said. ‘Shall I?’ He poured the wine and handed her a glass. Summer turned and leaned on the counter, and they clinked.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ she said. ‘I’ve not been lonely here, but I have had a really lovely afternoon with you.’

  ‘So have I. I’m just sorry I can’t stay longer. Work calls.’

  ‘Is your reserve very different from where we were this afternoon?’

  ‘Not so much,’ he said. ‘It’s more cultivated than where I took you – we wouldn’t be able to take the dogs on to a reserve – but as you can see, the wildlife in open countryside is often just as impressive. Where I’m working is more marshland than meadows, and it’s got a couple of trails through the woods, so the habitat’s a bit more diverse. They’ve been expanding, and they’re keen to maximize publicity. They’re hopeful of getting common cranes to stay on the reserve. They’ve been successful introducing so
me pairs into Norfolk, so it’s not impossible.’

  ‘Cranes,’ Summer said, frowning, ‘they’re like herons, aren’t they?’

  ‘Not too dissimilar, though they’re bigger, and much rarer. I’ll show you some photos later, if you like.’

  ‘I would,’ Summer said. She sipped her wine, unwilling to turn back to her dinner preparations, wishing they could talk all night. Mason glanced at the floor, suddenly nervous, and then lifted his camera up, just as he’d done on the towpath in Willowbeck. Summer held her breath, waiting, wondering how having your photo taken could feel so intimate, especially as Mason spent so much of his time capturing things on his camera. She tried not to be self-conscious, but the thought of him looking at her, studying her through the tiny viewfinder made her stomach flutter.

  ‘Mason …’

  ‘Do you mind?’ he asked softly, looking at her over the top of his camera.

  ‘No. Though I thought you wanted to take photos of my dog.’ She laughed nervously.

  Mason took several photos, then lowered his camera and took a step towards her. ‘Latte’s a poser, she knows when the camera’s on her and makes the most of it. But you … Look.’ He turned, so he was leaning against the counter next to her, and began scrolling through the photos. ‘You’ll be able to see them better on the big screen, but even so.’

  Summer looked at the photo.

  It was her, wine in hand, leaning against the counter. She couldn’t see anything remarkable in it, though her face had a look of clear contentment, her eyes alive in a way she hadn’t noticed in the mirror recently. It had been a long time since she’d had any photos taken of her. The last few months hadn’t seen many occasions for happy snaps, and the camera roll on her phone was taken up with images of her work – first her signs in various states of completion, and then, more recently, the café, and photos of Latte. ‘It’s me,’ she said, unsure what else she could add.