When Summer locked up the café at the end of Monday, the sun was already beginning to set behind the trees, leaving a cold chill that reached easily through her layers. She stepped outside in her thickest coat, boots pulled up over her jeans and, shooting a quick glance in the direction of the empty mooring where The Sandpiper usually was, began walking down the towpath in the opposite direction. Latte was bouncy and interested in everything after an afternoon of snoozing on Summer’s sofa.
Mason was spending the day on one of the local reserves, and had called her earlier to say he would be back late, that one of the rangers was doing a study on the local bat population, and had asked if Mason would like to look at the data with him. Summer had heard the thrill in his voice at the opportunity to investigate the habits of the nocturnal mammal, and had said she would keep her fingers crossed that they found something interesting. At the back of her thoughts was the niggle that he needed more time to think about Little Venice, that she was right about his uncertainty being down to more than the short notice.
She stepped under the brick bridge that marked the edge of Willowbeck, and into the riverside wilderness. The towpath was still well-kept here, lights along it beginning to spark on now that dusk was falling, but the further she walked, the more the countryside encroached. On the opposite side, the river was lined with mature trees, the occasional bench nestling in the undergrowth, and to Summer’s immediate left, after she’d passed the copse of trees that edged the Black Swan’s land, were open fields. Tall hedges, their leafless branches twisted and gnarled, acted as a border between the fields and the towpath.
Latte snuffled close to the hedge, an unlikely tracker dog, and Summer let her go as far as she wanted. It was unusual for her pampered pooch to be quite so enthusiastic about something that didn’t involve a soft cushion, and she thought their trip to Haddenham Country Park might have woken up something inside her little dog too.
When they returned to Willowbeck, the mooring next to Madeleine was still empty, and instead of returning home, Summer turned towards the Black Swan. The pub wasn’t heaving, but it was gratifyingly busy, the atmosphere humming, enveloping her with warmth. Summer found Jenny behind the bar, her dark hair pulled up into a messy ponytail, serving a customer with practised efficiency.
Summer’s history with Jenny was complicated. They had been at loggerheads when Summer first returned to Willowbeck. Jenny was angry for an entirely justifiable reason, but she had directed it at the wrong person, and Summer had spent a long time wondering if it was worth staying in the riverside village. But since the events of last year, they had been able to put the past behind them, and Summer knew she wasn’t the only one who felt the burden lifted from her shoulders. She waited until the older woman turned in her direction, and returned her smile.
‘Summer, how are you? How’s that boat of yours? We’ve got mulled wine if you need warming up.’ Despite living on the river’s edge for years, Jenny had never quite got over her conviction that narrowboats were eternally damp, cold places. Summer had even given her a tour of Mason’s boat, which was more luxurious than most of the houses she’d been in, but Jenny still wasn’t convinced.
‘A glass of red wine please,’ Summer said. ‘Madeleine’s good, heating’s working fine. We’ll have to do the usual round of checks before the winter sets in, but she had a thorough going-over when I repainted her last year, so she’s in great condition.’
‘Madeleine,’ Jenny repeated, shaking her head. ‘It’s so strange to think of your boat as Madeleine, and you referring to it as “she”. I sometimes wonder if she’s been reincarnated into the boat. You know … your mum.’
As she spoke, her words became less certain, and Summer bit her lip to try to stop herself from laughing. Not that long ago, she wouldn’t have found this flight of fantasy remotely funny, and definitely not coming from Jenny.
Jenny’s face creased into a frown. ‘Ignore me, Summer, I don’t know where that came from.’
‘You’ve been spending too much time with Valerie,’ Summer said. ‘But in some ways you’re right. She was my mum’s boat, her café, and I’m keeping her memory alive every day that I open it and serve my customers – some of them were her customers, too. It made sense to rename the boat after her, so there’s lots of my mum in there. Maybe not her spirit, but …’
‘Indeed,’ Jenny said, suddenly businesslike. ‘Any food this evening? Mason out on one of his jaunts?’
‘Yes and yes. I’ll browse the menu and order in a minute. Things OK with you?’ she asked, wanting to dissolve the awkwardness that had appeared between them.
‘Oh sure, fine. Great, mostly,’ Jenny said. ‘Gearing up for our Christmas menu, and Dennis is thinking of getting some reindeer and penguins for the lawn.’
Summer’s eyes widened.
‘You know, models that light up, all very cheerful. He’s found some tasteful ones – his words – and seems rather overexcited at the prospect. He said we don’t have to worry about offending the neighbours, but I’ve realized we do. There’s you and Mason, Norman and Valerie. I’m not sure how Norman would feel about pulsing purple penguins outside his boat.’
‘I’m sure Norman will love them,’ Summer said. ‘Even if he’s not prepared to admit it.’
‘I might do a bit of door-knocking anyway, as a courtesy.’
‘Well, you have my full approval. I love anything Christmassy.’ Summer paid for her wine and selected a booth, Latte happy to curl up at her feet after their long walk.
Summer ordered a cheeseburger and chips and, though she had told herself she would wait until Mason had made up his mind, nevertheless she found herself looking at tourist websites for Little Venice. The photos were small on her iPhone screen, but immediately she could see that it was as charming as she remembered. She read about the variety of boats and riverside attractions; there was a permanently moored canal boat café already, and Summer felt a twist of nerves that she wouldn’t be welcome. But then, she reasoned, there were so many other cafés, restaurants and food stalls – it was London after all – they couldn’t begrudge her being there for seven days.
She read on, laughing at the discovery that there was a puppet theatre on a boat. The whole area seemed alive with creativity and interest. In some of the photos, it looked as calm and tranquil as Willowbeck, but she knew that would be far from the truth. Little Venice was at the point where the Grand Union Canal met Regent’s Canal; it was a walk away from Regent’s Park and London Zoo. It would be a whirlwind of different sights, sounds and smells; the still water and lone, echoing footsteps of her fenland village replaced by constant chatter, the comings and goings of a busy waterway in the heart of the capital.
A young barman Summer knew as Ed brought her food to the table. She thanked him, and ate the chips with her fingers while she scrolled. She had to go to Little Venice. She would regret it if she missed the opportunity. Of course, there was nothing to stop her and Mason going on their own, but Claire knew people, Claire was a roving trader with experience and unwavering confidence, and people who could sort out visitor moorings three weeks before Christmas. And Summer wanted to be amongst her old friends, to be swept up in their adventure.
As she finished her burger, her phone rang.
‘Hello?’
‘Summer,’ Claire said, her voice jubilant. ‘How are you? What’s the answer?’
How she would love to say yes. ‘The answer is hopefully. Mason’s got a couple of things to confirm with work before he knows if he can have time away, but I should be able to call you tomorrow.’
‘And if Mason can’t get away?’
‘Then I’ll make a decision, and I’ll let you know one way or the other.’ Summer hoped she wouldn’t be faced with that dilemma.
‘We’d all love to have you,’ Claire said, ‘you know that, right? Mason too, of course, but if he can’t make it then it’s not the end of the world.’
Summer swallowed. ‘I’m sure he’ll be able to come. Who’d want to miss this?’
‘Exactly,’ Claire said. ‘You work your magic on him, Sum. He’ll make the right call.’
They said goodbye and Summer swilled her wine in her glass. Of course she could go away without Mason. There was nothing wrong with being apart, but five weeks seemed like a long time, especially before Christmas, and especially when she was gearing up to propose to him. Claire was used to being independent, so wouldn’t fully understand Summer’s reluctance to make the trip without him.
She browsed the dessert menu idly, wondering if she had room for apple pie and custard, and looked up as Jenny slid into the seat opposite, putting two full glasses of wine on the table.
‘Hi.’
Jenny pushed a glass towards her. ‘On the house.’
‘Thank you. What for?’
‘A apology, for being so insensitive.’
‘There’s no need. What you said made a weird kind of sense. Except I see the café as mine now, which I hope doesn’t seem insensitive either.’
‘Not at all. You’ve done so much with it, Summer. You’ve given it a new lease of life, and – while I’m not the right person to be saying this – your mum would be so proud.’
Summer smiled. ‘I know,’ she said quietly. ‘And I don’t mind you saying it.’
The silence between them seemed thick with unspoken words, and Summer had the urge to fill it.
‘How will you and Dennis spend Christmas?’
‘We’ll be here,’ Jenny said. ‘Open on Christmas Eve, and we’re trying to decide whether to open for a select few on Christmas Day too. It’s usually just the two of us, and it’s not that we don’t want to spend time together – things are much better between us than they were – but it seems a shame not to open our doors when we’ve got the space, the catering facilities. What did Norman do last year, do you know?’
Summer folded her arms, thinking. ‘I don’t. I invited him to the café. Mason and I had my dad and brother for the day, Valerie came for the meal and I wanted Norman to come too, but he said he was fine – you know what he’s like. But if the pub was open, maybe he’d be more willing. I’m sure he thought my invite was out of pity. Which it wasn’t, of course, but he’s a proud man, underneath all that gruffness.’
‘So you think it’s a good idea?’
Summer never thought she’d see the day when Jenny would be asking her advice about something. It showed how much had changed since she’d returned to Willowbeck on that cold, February morning. ‘I do if there are a few more people you can invite besides Norman.’
‘Will you and Mason be here?’
‘Yes,’ Summer said. ‘I think we’re going to have a quiet one, just the two of us.’
If they were getting back to Willowbeck close to Christmas Day, she might not have a chance to arrange for her dad and Ben to visit, but if her brother was staying with her dad in Cambridge she could see them between Christmas and New Year.
‘We might even come to the pub, too. That would be really useful, if—’ she stopped, not wanting to mention Little Venice until it was confirmed. She wasn’t about to blackmail Mason by making it a certainty in other people’s eyes.
‘If what?’
‘If things work out how I want them to,’ she said, feeling her cheeks redden.
Jenny peered at her closely. ‘Things?’ she asked, with a gentle smile. She was inviting Summer in, coaxing the words out of her. And Summer was tempted, because in her mum’s absence it would be nice to have the perspective of an older woman. She was close to Valerie, but somehow Jenny was more objective. She hadn’t been her mum’s best friend – far from it – and maybe her cool detachment was exactly what Summer needed.
‘I have this plan, that … I mean, it’s changed a bit now and there’s this other potential thing that’s come up, so …’
Jenny rested her chin on her hand, a puzzled smile on her face. ‘Sounds great.’
Summer laughed self-consciously. ‘You promise you won’t tell anyone? Not even Dennis?’
Jenny hesitated, and Summer realized her mistake. The last thing they needed was any more secrets between them. ‘It’s nothing terrible, or huge – not for you or Dennis I mean – but it is – it could be – for Mason and me. The thing is …’ She chewed her lip. ‘How did Dennis propose to you? Or did you propose to him?’
Jenny’s expression morphed from confusion to delight, and she glanced around self-consciously, as if her smile alone was giving the game away. ‘Has he proposed?’ she whispered, leaning across the table.
Summer shook her head. ‘I’m going to. At Christmas – New Year now, probably. We might be going away for a couple of weeks first, but I want to know how to do it. Is it best if I go all out, guns blazing, or should I do something small and intimate? Ordinarily, I would say small, but he loved his surprise birthday party last year, so I don’t know if should make a bigger splash and involve everyone. That’s obviously a more risky option, especially if he turns me down, but I have to get it right.’
‘Firstly,’ Jenny said, ‘that’s wonderful news. Secondly, he won’t turn you down, and thirdly, of course it will be right, because you’ll be asking him to marry you. That’s all that matters.’
‘I want it to be special.’
‘Summer, you could wait until you’d both fallen off your boat trying to make a difficult turn in the river, and were standing waist-deep in green slime, and he’d think it was special.’
‘What if I’d dropped the ring onto the riverbed?’
‘Don’t run with my hypotheticals. He loves you, Summer.’
‘I know, but I want to go the extra mile. I was thinking a banner, hanging from the bridge here – if I have a chance to design it – plus fireworks, champagne.’
‘See? You’ve got it completely sorted. A little bit of your individual style, a lot of sparkle, and the main thing –- looking into his eyes, asking him to be with you for the rest of your lives.’ Jenny’s voice wavered at the end, and without warning she reached over and put her hand on top of Summer’s. ‘Your mum’s not the only one who would be proud of you, you know. Dennis and I, we feel like we’re family. I know Valerie feels the same. This community is a lot more closely knit than it ever was before.’ She swallowed, took a large gulp of wine. ‘Now, is there anything I can help you with, towards New Year’s Eve? And I know you said not to mention it to Dennis, but I promise you he won’t spill the beans.’
‘I know he won’t,’ Summer said. ‘Of course, talk to him. I’m concerned that the more people that know, the more precarious it is, but you and Dennis – no problem. And once I’ve firmed my ideas up I’d love some help.’
Jenny patted her hand and got up, the movement disturbing Latte who stood suddenly and blinked, as if trying to remember where she was, and then pawed at Summer’s shins.
‘Oh, and Jenny,’ Summer said, as the older women turned towards the bar, ‘I see you as family too.’
When she stepped outside, the cold closed in around her, the soft glow from the towpath lights impeded by a mist that reminded Summer of Halloween. But nothing could hide the fact that The Sandpiper was back in its rightful place, nestled in between the café and Norman’s boat Celeste. She hurried down the path, Latte pulling on her lead, and Summer laughed at the fact they had both been hooked by their respective men; Latte was as smitten with Archie as she was with Mason.
‘Hello?’ She knocked on the door, pushing it open when she heard his voice.
‘Hey.’ He was still shrugging off the navy wool coat that would have been too smart for him, except within days of buying it Archie had chewed a hole in the pocket. His cheeks were pink with cold, and he came towards her while his arms were still tied up in his sleeves. He flapped to try and get them over his hands. ‘I missed you,’ he said, their faces close, his arms behind him as if he was handcuffed.
She laughed, kissed his icy-cold lips. ‘Here, let me. You’ve just got back?’
He turned around and she pulled on his sleeves, tugging his hands free. ‘Yup. It was interesting, but freezing. Deepest Cambridgeshire in the dark, in November. I didn’t go fully prepared.’
‘It was spontaneous,’ Summer said. ‘Are you glad you stayed, though?’
‘The data they’re gathering is groundbreaking. It’s fascinating, and Shaun, who’s running the project, says I can cover it exclusively for the magazine. I’ll work closely with him – there’ll be rules about what can be revealed when – but it could be a whole series of articles, a real scoop. Or as much as these things can be called scoops, anyway.’ He gave her a one-shouldered shrug, but she could sense his excitement.
‘In the nature world, it’ll be a huge scoop! I’m so happy for you! And worth losing a couple of fingers for, then – did you even wear gloves on the journey back?’
‘I did, but they’re a little on the airy side.’ He pulled one out of his pocket, and Summer saw that the hole in the finger she’d noticed the other day had grown considerably.
‘Have you eaten?’ She pressed her hands over his, her fingers steepled.
He shook his head. ‘You?’
‘I had burger and chips at the pub, and a catch-up with Jenny.’
‘How is she?’
‘She’s good. Dennis is going to cover the lawn in sparkly Christmas animals.’
‘Oh God, seriously?’
‘It’ll look wonderful.’
‘It’ll look tacky.’
‘Don’t be a Grinch. There are going to be penguins. Penguins in Willowbeck, just imagine! They’ll give the crested grebes a run for their money.’
‘You are ridiculous, Summer, you know that?’ He was grinning.
‘Go and have a hot shower, and I’ll cook you something.’
‘You will?’
‘A pasta dish, with extra cheese. Now go, get warm. How will you be able to type groundbreaking articles if your fingers have fallen off?’
He did as he was told, and Summer set to work, conjuring up a simple but delicious meal that, despite her huge dinner earlier, gave her pangs of food envy.
When Mason emerged wearing jeans and a grey jumper, his curls dampened into shiny ringlets, she handed him the bowl, and he held it close to his face and inhaled. ‘Bacon?’
‘And tomatoes, broccoli and condensed mushroom soup. If this doesn’t warm you up then you’re beyond hope.’
‘You didn’t have to do this,’ he said, tucking in hungrily.
‘I wanted to.’ She left him to it, finishing the washing-up while he ate. He made short work of it, and then, as Summer went to take his empty bowl to the kitchen, Mason took hold of her wrist.
‘Come and sit down a moment.’
‘I’ll just wash this—’
‘I’ll do that. I wanted to say sorry, for how I reacted yesterday. It was so out of the blue, this plan of Claire’s, and I’d got set in my head how the run-up to Christmas would be. I was being selfish.’
‘I did spring it on you,’ Summer said. ‘It’s understandable that you wouldn’t be sure about it.’
‘I’ve had a chance to think, to talk to my editor about everything I need to submit by the twentieth of December. So …’ He drew the word out.
‘So?’ Summer’s heart thumped in her chest. Little Venice, at Christmas, with Mason. That was what she wanted.
‘When do we leave?’
She waited a beat, waited while his face broke into one of his killer smiles, and then a flicker of confusion lowered his brows. ‘Summer?’
‘You’re coming?’
‘Yes, I’m coming. If you’ll still have me? You seem unsure.’
‘No. No no no. Not unsure, but – I thought you wouldn’t. I thought work would stop you, or … you’re coming?’
‘Yes, Summer,’ Mason laughed. ‘Though God knows what I’ve let myself in for. I’ve seen what you and Claire can be like when you get your heads together.’
‘So join in with us, embrace the madness! Oh, Mason, this is going to be amazing! Have you seen what Little Venice looks like? Imagine if it snowed.’
‘Summer,’ Mason said, ‘it is not going to snow in London at Christmas. The winters have been steadily warming up for the last—’
‘Sshhh.’ She put her finger over his lips. ‘Don’t spoil my fantasies with your nature buff knowledge. Just think of twinkling lights, roast chestnuts, carol singers serenading us from the little blue bridge.’ She couldn’t help it; she was elated. It was as if he had said yes to everything all at once. ‘We can make gingerbread lattes and mince pies, and wear Santa hats while we work …’
‘Fantastic,’ Mason said dryly. ‘Santa hats have been missing from my life since I don’t know when.’
She flung her arms around him. ‘Thank you, Mason. For coming with me.’
‘As if I could leave you for five whole weeks,’ he said into her ear. ‘You beat this lady hands down.’ He tapped the arm of the sofa, and Summer blinked, taking a moment to realize what he meant.
‘Oh, The Sandpiper.’
‘I assume we can’t take both, I’m sure the moorings in Little Venice are limited, not to mention pricey. We’ll go on Madeleine, leave this girl to have a cosy Christmas in once we return.’ She thought she could detect a hint of sadness in his voice, which would be entirely understandable. She loved the minimalist luxury of The Sandpiper too, but the thought of the four of them, all living in Madeleine’s smaller quarters, snug in her tiny cabin, Mason helping her in the café, exploring the sights of London together, was thrilling. A proper adventure, with the person – and pets – that mattered most.
‘She’ll be fine,’ Summer said. ‘We can get Valerie, Dennis and Jenny to keep an eye on her, and make sure the heating’s on when we get back.’
‘I know,’ Mason said lightly.
‘I’m going to call Claire, give her the good news.’
He nodded, taking his empty plate to the kitchen. As she brought up Claire’s number, Mason glanced at her, and Summer smiled. Her sense of relief was huge, almost eclipsing the excitement. She’d got her Christmas wish, now she just needed to keep that momentum going through to New Year’s Eve.
‘Claire, it’s Summer. Guess what?’