Casting Off

by Cressida McLaughlin

  ‘I know,’ Mason said. ‘But …’ he sighed, ‘it’s hard to explain. Maybe I shouldn’t try to, maybe it only matters to me.’

  ‘What does?’ She turned to look at him, but he was staring at the photo on the screen. He was frowning slightly, as if he was searching for something he couldn’t put his finger on, and Summer felt herself being similarly captivated by him. His jacket discarded, he was wearing a thin black cotton jumper, a tiny gap between the hem and the waistband of his jeans, as if it had shrunk in the wash. She knew the staring was quickly becoming a compulsion to touch, and she didn’t know if she was ready for what that might lead to.

  A knock on the door forced her out of her reverie. Mason, too, seemed to start, and gave her an uncertain smile as she went to answer the door.

  ‘Claire!’ She bit back the disappointment, and invited her inside.

  ‘I popped by earlier, but you were out. Ryder’s keen to get you back on The Wanderer’s Rest, and I wondered if you fancied it tomorrow evening?’

  ‘It sounds great,’ she said, thinking that she would have to set time aside to prepare a story. ‘Do you want a drink?’

  Claire shook her head. She was wearing a turquoise wrap-around dress, her black hair impossibly glossy, and Summer felt a sudden twist of envy. She turned as Mason came into the café, following the sound of voices.

  He exhaled sharply when he saw Claire, and the two of them stared at each other. Summer knew that, at that moment, she was as good as invisible.

  ‘Mason,’ Claire said, the word steeped in curiosity, ‘I wondered if I might see you.’

  ‘Claire, hi.’ He tried to smile, but Summer could tell it was an effort. ‘How are you?’

  Summer glanced between them, and the envy solidified into something deeper.

  Chapter 4

  ‘You two know each other?’ Summer asked, trying to keep her voice light.

  ‘From a few years back,’ Claire said. ‘It’s good to see you, Mason. You’re keeping well?’

  Mason ran his hand over his face and glanced at Summer. He looked shocked, his gaze almost accusing, as if Summer had planned the encounter, knowing it would be unwelcome. ‘I’m fine, thanks. You?’

  Claire nodded, her smile suddenly weak. She seemed like a different person to the bubbly, bolshy woman of the previous day – or even a few moments ago. It was as if she’d had the confidence sucked out of her. ‘I’ll be off, Summer. Just came to ask you about tomorrow.’

  Summer nodded, incredulous. ‘OK,’ she said. Almost before she’d had time to say goodbye, Claire had turned and walked off the boat, leaving Summer and Mason standing in the dimmed café. ‘Let’s have dinner,’ she said, trying to inject enthusiasm into her voice.

  They ate at one of the tables in the café, rather than on their knees on the sofa, but even though the setting wasn’t as cosy as she would have hoped, Summer didn’t think it was responsible for the change in atmosphere. Mason had become quiet, closed off. He cut into his steak, moved his potatoes around his plate, and kept glancing up at Summer, though not holding her gaze.

  She talked about how busy the café had been, and he told her how Norman had almost bitten his head off for trying to take a photo of a pair of Egyptian geese that were sitting on the stern of Celeste, but in all the silences, and the hollow laughs, were unspoken words about what had just happened. Summer wanted to tell him about The Wanderer’s Rest, the glade where they’d sat and told each other folk tales. She wanted to know if Mason knew about it, if he’d been involved in anything similar while he was more nomadic, but she didn’t want to bring Claire up in case it sent him even further into his shell.

  Mason eventually broke the stalemate. He sighed, drained his wine, and while he was refilling both their glasses, asked her how she knew Claire.

  ‘She found me,’ Summer said, watching him carefully. ‘She came to introduce herself and told me how I should be offering a wider variety of cakes. She took me to meet some of the other roving traders last night. She seems nice.’

  Mason nodded gently. ‘She is. She said that she expected to see me?’

  ‘I mentioned you, how much of a friend you’ve been to me. Do you mind me asking how you know her?’

  Mason frowned, his fingers running up the stem of his glass. ‘We knew each other a few years ago. We were moored up alongside each other, and – as you know – she’s good at introducing herself. We were friends,’ he said, though he didn’t make it sound like that was a good thing.

  ‘And then you became more than that?’ Summer added, almost in a whisper.

  Mason shook his head. ‘No. It never … never turned into anything else. It wasn’t long after I’d moved on to my boat, and I …’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘It was never going to happen.’

  Summer leaned forward, trying to get him to look at her, but his eyes wouldn’t meet hers. ‘Are you OK?’

  He nodded and looked up. Summer was startled by how anxious he seemed. ‘I think you should come back to Willowbeck,’ he said. ‘Come back with me, tomorrow. Not just for my sake, but for Valerie’s.’

  Summer gawped. ‘What?’

  ‘I know I said I wouldn’t, but—’

  ‘Yeah, you did. You promised me you wouldn’t do this.’

  ‘I know,’ Mason said. ‘But after tomorrow, who knows when we’ll see each other again?’

  ‘I might come back, I don’t know yet, but Mason, I need to be able to make up my own mind. After all that’s happened, I need to see if I can do this, run this café away from Jenny and Ross and Willowbeck, and then … maybe I’ll feel confident enough to come back. But not yet.’

  ‘There’s nothing I can do to persuade you?’ He smiled, but it seemed hollow, as if he wasn’t all there.

  ‘Mason,’ Summer sighed, ‘why are you doing this? What’s wrong? What happened between you and Claire?’

  ‘Nothing. It was just a blast from the past that I hadn’t expected.’

  Summer swallowed back the lump in her throat. Their perfect afternoon was disintegrating. She wanted there to be trust between them, she wanted to get to know Mason, but this seemed like a step backwards. ‘You don’t have to tell me, of course you don’t—’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ he shot back, his eyes flashing with a sudden anger.

  Summer gasped and sat back in her chair.

  ‘Shit,’ Mason murmured, ‘shit, I’m sorry, Summer. I’m so sorry. Maybe I should go.’

  She nodded, even though it was the last thing she wanted. But whatever had spooked him, whatever seeing Claire had done to him, he wasn’t prepared to talk about it, and Summer didn’t think the evening could be saved. She knew she’d done the same with him, keeping the real reason for her friction with Jenny a secret, not wanting to be judged by him, and he had left it alone. She wanted to tell him there was nothing, nothing he could tell her that would make her dislike him. But she saw how weary he suddenly looked, and knew she had to let it go for the moment.

  ‘Thanks for dinner,’ he said, getting to his feet. She did the same, clearing the plates away while he extracted Archie from whichever cosy spot he’d found to curl up in. The dog trotted obediently to the door, and Mason hesitated, turning back to face Summer.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.

  ‘For coming to see me?’ She gave him a quick smile. ‘I’ve had a lovely time. I’ve missed you, Mason.’

  He raked a hand through his hair, then stepped closer. Summer moved towards him, and gave him a tentative hug, her breath hovering in her throat as she felt his warmth through his jumper. Mason put his hands on her back, his head almost on her shoulder, his hair tickling her cheek. It was as soft as she’d imagined, the feel of his arms round her as comforting, though she could sense the tension in his shoulders. She closed her eyes, breathing him in, indulging in the sensation of being so close to him.

  She wondered what it would have been like if Claire hadn’t knocked on the door, if the tension would have been fuelled by a different emotio
n. She wanted him to be here, with her, and until the interruption, everything had felt right. Now, it was strained, almost as if they’d gone back to being strangers.

  ‘I’ll see you soon?’ he said, stepping back to look at her.

  ‘Of course.’ She watched him go, and then, feeling a familiar knot in her stomach that for a few, blissful hours had been lifted completely, she gathered Latte into her arms and crawled into bed.

  When she woke the following morning and stepped out on to the towpath, The Sandpiper was already gone. Summer went back inside, and busied herself with her maintenance checks. She tested the oil and bilge levels, checked the bilge pumps were all working, and that the fuel tank filters were clear. When she went to turn on the coffee machine, Claire was waving at her from the bow deck. Summer beckoned her in and Latte went to greet Claire’s flip-flop-clad feet, snuffling around them as if they were bowls of high-quality dog food.

  ‘Get off, Latte,’ Summer chided.

  She made two cappuccinos and they sat at a table looking out on the river, which today was grey and swirling below heavy cloud cover.

  ‘Mason still here?’ Claire asked, staring resolutely at her coffee.

  ‘No, he’s gone back to Willowbeck. He seemed a bit shaken by your visit.’

  Claire looked at Summer, her eyes narrowed. ‘How much do you know about him?’

  ‘Not that much,’ she admitted. ‘But he’s been kind to me, and he’s made the effort to stay in touch since I came up here.’

  ‘You like him?’

  Summer chewed her lip, and watched as a grey and pink narrowboat called The Laughing Gala glided slowly past, the ripples of its wake jostling gently against the side of their boat. ‘I do,’ she said, ‘but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me something that’s going to put me off for life.’ She tried to smile, but saying the words had gripped her with despair.

  Claire’s smile was equally weak, and though she shook her head, she didn’t jump to refute Summer’s claim. ‘I met him a while back, almost five years ago now. He’d not long been a liveaboard, and he was pretty green about it all. God, his hair?’ Her eyes widened with amusement. ‘He used to be so smart, so tidy, and we told him it wouldn’t last.’ She shook her head. ‘Well, he’s grown into it, hasn’t he? Boat life. He looks well.’

  ‘You were close?’ Summer prompted.

  ‘We got friendly. He seemed great, easy to get on with at first, but then you get so far and …’ she sighed. ‘I’m not really talking for me, here.’ She winced, and Summer steeled herself, ready to hear the worst. ‘My friend Tania fell for him pretty hard,’ Claire continued. ‘He was kind, but a little bit mysterious. I remember she said he was like an exotic puzzle that needed to be cracked. Everything about him was tempting, all sunbeam smile and irresistible body in tight T-shirts, but with a bit of intrigue thrown in. And at first he seemed to like her too, he was warm and considerate, they started a relationship and I don’t think it took long for Tania to fall in love with him.’

  ‘So what happened?’ Summer was cross with herself for sounding so desperate, but she couldn’t help it. This story was as compelling as any she’d heard the other night, and this time she was invested in the outcome.

  ‘He took off,’ Claire said, her gaze apologetic. ‘Hardly a word spoken – no argument or possible cause that Tania told me of. She was devastated.’

  Summer chewed her lip. ‘Do you think she could have been holding something back? Something that caused them to break up, that she was ashamed of or unwilling to reveal, even to you?’

  Claire sighed and swirled her coffee. ‘I know that would be nice, the best-case scenario, and of course I can’t know all that went on, even from Tania. But from the way she was afterwards, she … God, I don’t know, Summer. She was heartbroken, and shocked more than anything, as if it was completely out of the blue. I told her not to fall for someone so enigmatic – I thought he had all the makings of a classic bad boy – but if you’re presented with a cream doughnut and told not to eat it, what are you going to do?’

  ‘Eat the doughnut,’ Summer murmured.

  ‘Exactly. I’m not saying this to put you off, Summer, but I think you should know the truth. From what I know of him, he puts on a good show, but he’s as cold as ice cream, and nowhere near as sweet.’

  Summer stared at the froth at the bottom of her cup, trying to digest Claire’s words. She couldn’t imagine, for a moment, that was Mason’s style, but she had to admit she didn’t know him very well, and she couldn’t ignore the way he’d changed after Claire had appeared. ‘He followed me up here,’ she said, only half talking to Claire.

  ‘Maybe that suits him. If you’re up here, he can woo you, then disappear back off to Willowbeck when he’s had enough. Sorry – that sounds harsh, but I’m just … I’m butting in, aren’t I?’ Claire reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘He may have changed, or there may have been more to what happened between him and Tania. I’m just telling you what I know.’

  ‘And he changed after he saw you,’ Summer admitted. ‘He seemed so – so withdrawn. He definitely had something on his mind.’ She spooned the coffee froth into her mouth.

  ‘Hey,’ Claire said, her voice gentle, ‘don’t do a complete U-turn because of what I’ve said. Everyone’s complicated, and I can’t deny he’s even more of a looker now he’s settled into his boating skin, scruffy and tousled and ripped,’ she raised her eyebrows. ‘Just be a bit cautious, that’s all.’

  Summer nodded and swallowed. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘He’s gone now anyway. I can put him out of my mind, concentrate on the café and getting to know people here.’

  ‘And the fairy glade!’ Claire said, giving Summer an appraising look. ‘You don’t have to get involved if you don’t want to. All stories need an audience, so if you’re more comfortable just listening then don’t worry.’

  ‘No, I – I’d like to.’

  Claire grinned. ‘Good on you. I have a feeling you’ll be good at weaving a few tales, once you get going.’

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ Summer forced a laugh, ‘but it’ll take my mind off things.’ She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to think of anything else, except the way Mason had snapped at her, apologized and then wrapped his arms around her, or how different it might have been without Claire taking Mason back to the past, to memories he clearly wasn’t comfortable with. He had never come across as cold before, and Summer wondered which was the work of fiction: Claire’s story about Mason and her friend Tania, or Mason himself.

  In the end, Summer didn’t have much time to think about Mason because, despite the weather being grey, it was still a Saturday in early April and Foxburn was alive with people. She couldn’t remember a stretch of river being as busy. The traffic was constant, the visitor mooring spaces all full, and, while the café had a steady stream of people, Summer often found herself out on the deck, watching as narrowboats tried to navigate past each other without scraping paintwork, waving to the helmsman, offering drinks and cake if they looked like they were pausing, even for a few minutes.

  A couple in one of the colourful houses opposite the moorings put deckchairs in their front garden and, with a jug of Pimm’s and tatty paperbacks, set up for the day. Summer couldn’t help grinning at their perseverance, even though they both had thick jumpers on and the man had a blanket over his knees. Latte was enjoying the sights as much as she was, always barking when another dog went past. One boat had a mini Schnauzer at the bow, front paws on the deck seating so it looked like a masthead, and another had a glossy black Labrador swimming alongside, managing – at least while it was in Summer’s view – to keep up with the boat. The helmsman was constantly checking on him, shouting things like ‘Good work, Leo’ and ‘Keep going, my son’, as if the dog was training for a Channel swim.

  Nobody in Foxburn seemed shy about coming aboard The Canal Boat Café, and Summer did as much business inside as she was doing through the hatch. It was as if the village was willing spring to bloom
, and thought that if they acted like it had properly arrived, then the weather was bound to take notice. Summer thought that was a good attitude to have. Harry was coming to see her in the next couple of days, and she hoped her friend would be enthusiastic about her idea. If it worked, then The Canal Boat Café would hopefully see even more custom coming her way.

  Summer turned up at Claire’s that evening with Una and Colin, who had been keen to join the folk evening. Claire, Jas and Ryder made them feel welcome, and on the journey to the forest they tucked into falafel wraps, zingy with raita and chilli salsa.

  As they sat in the circle with the fairy lights twinkling above them, Summer’s palms prickled with sweat. She had never been much of a public speaker, and had always hidden behind her creations, her signs and her artwork. Along with Una and Colin, there were a few other unfamiliar faces, and she realized the group changed from day to day, Ryder accepting anyone and everyone on board his boat. With this in mind, she expected the stories to be similar, retellings and adaptations of the tales she’d heard before, but every single one was different.

  Ryder, who was wearing a shirt in a bright, grassy green, and who looked at home in the leafy surroundings, turned his blue eyes on Summer. ‘Do you have something for us?’ he asked.

  Summer nodded, and realized her mouth was completely dry. She tried to swallow, and took a long sip of the homemade wine that Ralph had once again produced.

  ‘N-not far from here,’ she started, leaning forward, hoping her voice would carry, ‘a few hours down the river, there’s a small, brick bridge. Even at dusk, it looks innocuous. Its arch is elegant, the low walls ensuring a beautiful view of the river and the surrounding countryside as you walk across it. It’s a bridge for lovers to pause on, for friends to cross on their way to the pub.’

  She glanced at her audience, a thrill running through her as she realized she was holding their attention, nobody whispering to their neighbour or making shapes in the earth with their fingers.

  ‘But walk beneath it,’ Summer continued, ‘take those few, short steps in the gloom, with its dank bricks overhead, and you get a different sensation altogether. A feeling of foreboding, of dread and of heartbreak.’ She gave a flicker of a smile, and then told the group the tragic story of Elizabeth Proudfoot – Valerie’s ghost – who was supposed to haunt the bridge at Willowbeck.