Summer dragged herself out of bed before dawn, her limbs stiff and weary after the previous day’s cold journey, followed by an afternoon working in the café. Mason was asleep, his curls in disarray on the pillow. She was reminded of Ryder’s dig at him, which she’d seen as a compliment. She was more than happy with his Byronic curls, could understand why he’d been propositioned at the hatch yesterday, and why someone like Tania would have been attracted to him. Who wouldn’t?
Even their local boatbuilder in Willowbeck, a huge, burly man called Mick, had fuelled Summer’s doubts when she was first getting to know Mason by referring to him as Lothario. When she’d got the explanation out of him, it was because everyone – even unapologetically heterosexual men like Mick – could see he was a catch, not because he spent his nights taking scores of different women to bed.
She left Mason sleeping, took the handful of clothes she’d left out the night before, and snuck out of the cabin. She couldn’t spend her day ogling her boyfriend; she had to put her focus into the café. It wouldn’t be long before the punters started banging on the door for coffee and bacon sandwiches.
She dressed hurriedly, prepared breakfast for Archie and Latte, who were still blinking awake on the sofa, and boiled the kettle. With an instant coffee slowly waking her up, she got to work. She took some of Harry’s chocolate and mince pie twists out of the freezer, and prepared the mix for a batch of Christmas brownies with chunks of hazelnut and glacé cherries, and three trays of her festive-flavoured macarons. She’d bought a batch of floury baps from a bakery at their last stop before Little Venice, but would need to find a new supplier while they were here, so she could continue to make bacon rolls.
She opened the door into the café, letting the luxurious smells waft inside, and switched on the coffee machine. The towpath lamps glowed, but the canal was dark. At this hour, even Claire’s boat had no lights on, no wintry soundtrack drifting out of the speakers.
Summer stood, clutching her coffee mug, and soaked it all up. There was something mesmerizing about the early morning, the water a black nothing, lapping gently against the sides of the boat. She switched the Christmas tree lights on and they punctuated the dark with soft, rainbow colours. Latte and Archie, fed and watered, pattered into the café, exploring it, checking for any new smells that had appeared since the day before. Summer crouched and stroked her Bichon Frise, and Latte let out a squeak of delight.
‘This wasn’t a mistake, was it?’ she asked her dog. Tania, and the effect the encounter had had on both her and Mason, played on her mind. He had said that it wouldn’t ruin their trip, and it was up to her to put it aside, to make the most of being in Little Venice. But Tania was going to socialize with them, and she couldn’t imagine there wouldn’t be any lingering awkwardness.
Latte looked up at her adoringly, and Summer smiled. ‘You’re right,’ she said, with more conviction than she felt. ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’
She returned to the kitchen and checked on her bakes. She lined up the next lot of trays, cleared up and filled the dishwasher. Daylight made a slow, sleepy appearance, a streak of lighter sky showing above the buildings, the landscape of Little Venice being revealed as if from behind a theatre curtain. It was cold, the bow deck sparkling with a thick frost, and Summer was relieved to see the water wasn’t frozen, however much Mason had told her it would never happen. A man in an orange fluorescent work-suit was gritting the towpath, his breath clouding into the air like smoke.
By the time Mason emerged, Summer had unlocked the hatch and written her menu of Christmas specials on the blackboard.
‘You should have woken me,’ he said, putting his arms around her. His hair was damp from the shower and water droplets landed on her shoulder.
‘You needed the sleep. Now, what do you think – bacon roll and a coffee or tea, three pounds. That’s still a bargain in London, isn’t it?’
‘It’s a steal,’ Mason said. ‘What can I do?’
‘Cut open and butter the rolls. You could put the bacon on too, if you like.’
Mason gave her a cheeky smile. ‘Have you had any breakfast? Shall we sample them first?’
Summer narrowed her eyes. ‘There must be a monumental health risk to having bacon every day.’
‘I don’t have it every day,’ Mason protested. Summer stared at him, and his cheeks coloured. ‘I’ll get started.’ He rubbed his hands and disappeared into the kitchen.
She could hear him singing softly to himself as he prepared the rolls, something by Frank Turner, and she felt a stab of guilt that she had been worrying about Tania. She had to remember that, while the circumstances hadn’t been ideal, talking to Tania and getting her forgiveness would have lifted a weight off his shoulders. There was nothing, now, stopping them focusing on their future. Summer’s heart skipped as she thought of New Year’s Eve, the ideas that were swirling around in her head, even more excited now that Claire was on board and was helping her firm them up.
Mason’s voice was drowned out as the first chords of ‘Don’t You Worry’ by Lucy Rose drifted out of Claire’s speakers, the lights of Water Music flicking on. Mason’s singing immediately changed to match it, and he popped his head around the kitchen door.
‘Your favourite song,’ he said. ‘It’s almost as if Claire’s done it specially for you.’
‘It’s just coincidence. I don’t think she knows this is my favourite.’
‘But I do,’ Mason said. ‘I’ve heard it so often, I could probably recite the lyrics backwards. Don’t you worry, I’m staying here,’ he whispered, and Summer realized how apt the words were right at that moment. She started singing along to crush the lump in her throat, and Mason joined back in, although Lucy Rose’s voice was much too high for him, and they quickly descended into laughter. She stopped when she noticed two men in their forties, dressed in smart coats and suit trousers despite it being Sunday, walking towards them on the towpath.
‘Coffee and a bacon roll three pounds this morning, if you’re interested?’ she called. They were, and Summer waved them towards the hatch.
Sunday in Little Venice was as busy as the Saturday afternoon had been, but Summer thought that everything was moving at a slightly slower pace. The trees that overhung the canal, almost as if they were eavesdropping on the conversations of the liveaboards, were skeletons, the thinnest branches shivering in a light breeze. But the winter scene could never look anything other than festive, because of the brightly coloured narrowboats. Even first thing, there was a couple wrapped in blankets having a loud conversation on their deck, their laughter drifting down the canal. A woman dressed in dark jeans, knee-high burgundy boots and a taupe, woollen coat that looked impossibly soft, walked two miniature schnauzers and a pug down the towpath, her strides long and purposeful, her pets scurrying to keep up.
Behind the trees were large, cream houses, so big that Summer thought many must have been converted into flats, and then beyond them, in the distance, was the shining glass of towering office blocks, the skyline of a more familiar London. Summer could never imagine this towpath being deserted, like it often was in Willowbeck, but today there were strollers rather than rushers, and more laughter, despite the cold that made people stamp their feet in the queue for the hatch, and rub their hands in relief as they opened the bow doors and stepped into the café. Summer always made sure it was either heated or ventilated, depending on the weather.
‘Jeez, it’s freezing out there,’ said a man in a leather jacket with slicked-back hair, looking like he was straight out of a production of Grease. He was followed into the café by a woman wearing white jeans and a purple puffa jacket, and two small girls wrapped up like Christmas presents, their scarves and hats bright red against royal blue coats and wellington boots. ‘Can we sit at one of these, love?’ he asked, pointing at the tables.
‘Of course. Have a seat and I’ll be over in a moment to take your order.’ She watched the family choose a table on the canal side of the boat and dismantle their outdoor apparel, the girls mesmerized by the water and what they could see in it. ‘Duck,’ ‘leaf,’ ‘boat,’ they shouted, pointing things out in turn.
‘Now girls, what have I said about sound levels?’ the mum asked.
‘Ssshhhhh,’ said the younger girl, pressing her finger to her lips.
‘Exactly. When we’re out with other people, they don’t always want to hear our conversations.’
‘But what if they’re fun?’ asked the older girl.
‘They might be having their own fun conversations. Let’s have a look at the menu, see what cakes they do.’
This seemed to placate them and Summer popped her head into the kitchen, where Mason was lining up more rolls, buttering them and laying them on a tray, his movements methodical. The crackle and smell of bacon was overwhelming, and Summer put her hand on her stomach.
Mason looked up. ‘I told you to have one. Did you get any breakfast?’
She shook her head. ‘We’ve got a family in the café now.’
‘You see to them, and I’ll prepare you a deluxe bacon sandwich. A Mason Causey speciality.’
‘What makes it so special?’
He looked at her aghast, as if the answer was obvious. ‘I’m making it!’
Laughing, she left him to it.
The busyness continued, the café filled and emptied, filled and emptied, and by the end of the day the floor was a mass of muddy footprints, exacerbated by a short, sharp rain shower that had darkened the skies around three o’clock and acted as a precursor for nightfall. The crowds dispersed noticeably earlier than they had the day before, and Summer made the decision to close at four o’clock, allowing her time to replenish her stock before whatever evening activity Claire had organized for them all.
She got a text confirming that plans were to go back to the Riverside Inn, and Summer was good to her word, getting the first round in. There was no sign of Tania, and for that she was thankful. The conversation was much more relaxed, and she sat between Mason and Jas on a long bench upholstered in maroon fabric, her back to the wall.
There were no wooded copses with fairy lights – an unlikely find in London and far too cold at this time of year anyway – and Summer was comforted by how straightforward it felt. But then, halfway through the evening, the door burst open and all conversation was drowned out by a rendition of ‘We Three Kings’ as a group of men and women, dressed as elves in red and green costumes, and hats with bells on the end, bustled into the pub. They stood in the middle of the space, forcing the drinking customers to move back around the edges, and continued to sing their carol with gusto.
‘Oh good Lord,’ Ralph said, leaning in closer so Summer could hear him. ‘What a way to ruin a quiet Sunday drink.’
Summer laughed. ‘It’s Christmas! And I think they’re quite good, don’t you?’
‘Collecting for some charity no doubt,’ Doug added.
Summer rolled her eyes. ‘What’s wrong with that? It’s the season of giving and goodwill, and that doesn’t just mean buying your friends and family expensive presents that they don’t really want. This,’ she said, gesturing towards the group, ‘is what Christmas is – or should be – all about.’
She gave a triumphant smile which faded when she realized one of the elves had noticed her pointing, and was waggling her finger, beckoning her forwards, her cheeks rosy in the warmth of the pub and her fur-lined jacket.
Summer shook her head and sipped her drink, but as the carol singers came to the end of their current song, the beckoning elf approached her. ‘Come and join us for a few,’ she said. ‘The more the merrier.’
‘Oh nooooo,’ Summer said, laughing nervously. ‘I can’t sing. You don’t want me.’
‘No discrimination here, not even for the vocally challenged. Come on, everyone knows the words to “Jingle Bells.”’
The other elves were moving through the pub, trying to encourage other reluctant punters into the impromptu singsong. She saw the tall, bearded man behind the bar shrug his shoulders genially and lift the hatch.
‘Yeah, go on, Summer,’ Ryder said, giving her a wicked grin. ‘Join in.’
‘I’m not—’
‘What was that you were saying about it being the season of giving and goodwill?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You can’t be a spoilsport now.’
‘I can,’ she said, then realized how petulant that sounded. ‘Mason, tell them. Nobody wants to hear me sing.’
Mason gave her a soft, quick kiss. ‘You’ll be wonderful,’ he said. ‘I’m so proud of you.’
‘Mason!’ she squeaked, watching as he tried not to descend into laughter. ‘You traitor.’
‘I’ve heard you singing in the shower,’ he said. ‘Have confidence in yourself.’
Summer thought about folding her arms and refusing to budge, but the female elf was still standing next to their table, watching her expectantly, and she didn’t want to be the bah humbug member of the party. She sighed and hauled herself to her feet.
‘I’m Milly,’ the elf said.
‘I’m Summer. It’s … lovely to meet you. Do you do this kind of thing often?’
Milly chuckled. ‘We’re actually part of the cast of the pantomime that’s playing in the Canal Café Theatre. The run starts tomorrow night – we’ve just had our final dress rehearsal and thought we’d come out and do a bit of publicity.’
‘Which pantomime are you doing?’ Summer glanced at the other elves, still encouraging members of the pub crowd to join them. She counted them – there were seven. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘So you’re not actually elves, you’re dwarves. Which one are you?’
‘I’m Happy, and tonight, at least, we’re a bit of a hybrid. These outfits are Christmas elves – the director would have a fit if we brought our performance costumes to the pub the night before opening.’
‘That’s very sensible,’ Summer said. ‘You don’t want to meet Snow White tomorrow smelling of beer.’ She grinned, and was pulled into the huddle in the middle of the pub. Milly was standing next to her on one side, and a very tall, burly man wearing a rugby shirt was on the other.
A male elf with a loud, tenor voice, called out: ‘“Away in a Manger”. Three, two, one,’ and they launched into the first line of the carol.
Summer felt her cheeks redden, and focused on her Converse sneakers and the floorboards beneath them. When she did glance up, she saw that her friends were grinning at her, Claire’s face pinched as she tried to hold in her laughter, Jas swaying side to side in time to the music. Ryder gave her an over-enthusiastic thumbs up, and when she caught Mason’s eye, he mouthed ‘I love you’.
After that, Summer let herself loosen up, and once she and the group of motley Christmas elves had been through ‘Jingle Bells’, ‘Silent Night’ and a very raucous version of ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’ which had far too much emphasis – as always – on the “wish”, the pub was filled with enthusiastic clapping.
Summer gave an awkward bow, and shook Milly’s hand. ‘Good luck with the pantomime.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It was lovely to sing with you, Summer.’
‘You too,’ she replied honestly. ‘And Merry Christmas!’
She raced back to her table where her friends gave her an extra, embarrassingly long round of applause, and Ryder pushed a fresh drink in front of her.
‘Here you go, Dopey, you’ve earned it.’
‘Ha ha,’ Summer said dryly, accepting the drink.
Mason put his arm around her and pulled her close. ‘You were wonderful,’ he said.
‘I bet you couldn’t even hear me over that guy.’ She pointed at the tall man who had been standing next to her, and who had unleashed an impressive baritone when they’d started singing. He probably led the chanting at rugby matches.
‘That doesn’t matter,’ Mason said. ‘You were by far my favourite Christmas elf – dwarf – whatever they were supposed to be.’
‘A bit of a hybrid, apparently,’ Summer said. ‘It was fun, though. And not that unexpected.’
Mason raised a questioning eyebrow.
Summer laughed. ‘We’re with this lot,’ she said, gesturing to Claire, Ryder and the others. ‘Nothing’s ever straightforward when they’re around.’
That night, sleep came to her much more easily, and with her baking done and her lie-in longer, she bounced out of bed on Monday morning ready to face whatever Little Venice had to offer her.
Unfortunately, that turned out to be Tania.
Despite the reassurances Mason had given her, she felt a churn of anxiety when the glamorous woman walked into the café mid-morning. There was a temporary lull in custom, which meant she didn’t even have an excuse to serve her quickly and keep conversation at a minimum. It was as if she knew, Summer thought, or was controlling everyone’s behaviour, making them avoid the café at the precise moment she appeared, like a baddie in an X-Men film.
She was wearing a fitted, caramel coat over pale jeans and tan boots, delicate gold studs in her ears offsetting her subtle, shimmery makeup. She looked like a mirage, and Summer was frozen to the spot.
‘Hi,’ she said, in her bold, even voice. ‘When we were talking the other night, Mason told me all about your café. I thought I’d come and sample some of the macarons. It’s very pretty,’ she added, glancing around her.
‘Thank you,’ Summer said. ‘Take a seat. What can I get you to drink? How many macarons?’
‘Oh, a selection, you choose. And a latte with skimmed milk.’
‘No problem.’ Summer waited for Tania to sit down, but she didn’t.
‘These are great,’ she said instead, picking up a carving of a sleigh adorned with gifts, one of Norman’s more elaborate creations.
‘They’re made by Norman, one of our neighbours in Willowbeck. He’s not that interested in making money from them, but he would be doing them regardless, and I think the world should know about his talent – our little corner of the world, at least. He’s slowly come round to the idea that me selling them for him is a good thing, and he’s made some of these specifically for Little Venice.’ She smiled, but Tania didn’t, intent on examining the other models.
Summer busied herself making Tania’s latte, wondering if she should get Mason, who had taken the lull as an opportunity to spend time working on his new article. He wanted to write about their trip, the wildlife they’d encountered in London and on the journey, but with the cold weather it had so far been sparse, and Summer had seen him staring at the blank page of his notepad.
‘I’m sorry our introduction wasn’t great,’ Summer said, filling the void left by Tania’s silence with an apology she didn’t need to give.
‘No problem,’ Tania replied, failing to acknowledge the way she had sprung her presence on them. ‘It was great to see Mason again after all this time. I can’t deny—’ she stopped, gave Summer a quick smile as she accepted her latte. ‘You do know about me and Mason, don’t you? How it ended?’
‘I do,’ Summer said, bristling at the assumption he’d kept her in the dark. ‘He’s told me everything.’
Tania gave her a quick, businesslike nod. ‘It was good to talk it through, to set things straight. And have a chance to catch up, too. It was surprising how easy it felt, how much of a connection there still is, after all this time.’ She smiled wistfully, and Summer’s stomach knotted.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you had that chance, and I know Mason has wanted to apologize to you, to put everything that happened behind him. It’s important that you were both able to say all you needed to.’ She kept her voice strong, controlled, hoping that Tania would get the message.
Tania gave her a quick, amused look, and Summer felt instantly smaller. She drew in a long breath, wiped her hands down her apron and started putting macarons on a plate.
‘We have some new festive flavours,’ she said. ‘I’d love to know which one’s your favourite. Will you excuse me for a moment?’ She handed the plate to Tania, waited while she picked a table and then hurried through the kitchen to the living space. Mason had his notepad on his lap, his head in his hands. She loved the way he wrote out his articles freehand first, often sitting on the deck of The Sandpiper to immerse himself in the nature he was writing about.
‘Mason?’
‘My mind is a blank,’ he said, groaning.
‘You’ve had a lot to deal with over the last couple of days.’
‘That’s no excuse for this,’ he said, waving his hand at the pad. Summer took it from him, squinting as she tried to decipher his handwriting, which wasn’t so much scruffy as it was too joined-up. Words ran together, some letters were indistinguishable from each other – the thoughts spilling from his brain on to the page.
Slowly, her eyes took it in: Article no. 14. It’s understandable to think that the only wildlife about at this time of year is a handful of robins and a few brazen foxes, but if you take the time to look out of your window, or slow down on the post-Christmas lunch walk, what’s really out there? She smiled. She loved the opening line. She wanted to help him with it, but now wasn’t the time.
‘Mason, Tania’s here. She’s come to sample some macarons.’ She raised her eyebrows when he looked up, his frown deepening.
‘That’s all?’
‘Supposedly. She said you’d mentioned the café, and she wanted to come and check it out. I didn’t know if you’d want to see her, or …?’
He sighed, and pushed himself up to standing. ‘I’ll come and say hello.’
‘Great.’ Summer went back into the café, relieved to see an old couple hovering by the hatch, change purses out in anticipation.
‘Mason,’ Tania said. Summer could hear the change in her voice, the warmth that she’d held back until he appeared, the flirtation in it. She wondered how Tania had the nerve to be so forward in front of her, what she thought she would achieve by telling Summer that she and Mason still had a connection.
Summer smiled at the old couple, but it was through gritted teeth.
‘Hi, Tania, how are you?’ Mason asked.
‘Good thanks, great. How’s it going in the café? Have you had a chance to see the sights of London yet?’
‘The café’s been busy, so we’ve not been out and about that much, but we’ve taken Archie and Latte to Regent’s Park and Primrose Hill. The views from there are stunning.’
‘Oh yes, your Bichon Frise. She sounds adorable.’
‘She’s Summer’s dog,’ Mason said. ‘Though that means they’re both ours, really, which I know Summer’s delighted about. Archie can be a bit on the disobedient side.’
Summer gave the old couple their drinks and their change, and turned away from the hatch. ‘Archie’s only badly behaved with you, he’s a sweetheart with me.’
Mason inhaled sharply. ‘That’s not true. Last week he almost drowned himself under your watch!’
‘That’s because you were opening the lock, and I was steering. He was trying to get to you! And I seem to remember it was you who’d tied them onto the deck, your knots that didn’t prevent him jumping in the canal.’
Mason folded his arms, his stern expression failing against a grin. ‘You could have checked them.’
‘I didn’t think I needed to.’ She paused. ‘OK, I suppose I should have realized that nothing’s foolproof where you and Archie are concerned.’
Their eyes locked, and Summer returned his smile.
‘I need to get going,’ Tania said, frowning at her phone and shoving it deep into her pocket. She put her plate and mug on the counter and gave Summer a smile that could have frozen the canal. ‘See you soon, I hope?’ As she passed Mason she reached her hand out and brushed her fingers against his, her words directed only at him.
‘Bye,’ Summer said to Tania’s retreating back, glad she hadn’t pointed out the mistletoe the two of them had been standing beneath. Her heart sank as Mason stared incredulously at Tania, then ran his hand through his hair as if shaking off her touch. He looked disconcerted, and Summer could already feel the exhaustion at having to deal with her own insecurities – her constant wavering between worrying his ex was after him again, and reminding herself that Mason would never be unfaithful to her, however hard Tania tried.
‘I had a look at the Winter Wonderland website,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘It allows dogs, but they say that it isn’t the best place for them, because it’s so busy and noisy, so I think we should take them for a long walk before we go tomorrow. I don’t want to risk Latte or Archie getting squashed, or lost when they somehow manage to slip their leads.’
‘Unfair,’ he said, but the word didn’t have any weight behind it. ‘Lunchtime’s coming up, do you want me to stay out here?’
She did, but the café was still quiet. ‘That article won’t write itself. I’ll call you if I need you.’
‘Now this,’ Summer said the following evening, staring up at the attractions, the lights and whooshes and screams invading her senses, ‘is what London at Christmas is all about!’
‘I feel twenty years too old,’ Mason shouted, as they stood in front of waltzers adorned with a light system that was more frantic than festive.
‘Me too,’ Summer said. ‘Let’s wind the years back.’
She waved to Claire and Jas; they’d arranged to meet up in the Belgian Bar in a couple of hours, and her friends were soon lost in the crowds.
She dragged Mason into one of the seats, waited until the security bar was brought down over them, and then snuggled into him, closing her eyes as the music ramped up, its rhythm getting faster and faster in time with the ride. It was years since she’d been to an amusement park, so long since she’d smelt the overwhelmingly sweet scent of candy floss and butter popcorn mingled together. She felt giddy, reckless, and leaned over to kiss Mason despite the pull of the ride stealing control of her body. She got his chin and he laughed, burying his head into her neck, his nose squashed against her as the direction changed again.
They went on the Ferris Wheel, drinking in the view, the city twinkling in the darkness, the gold and red of headlights and taillights marking the larger roads, the cold air numbing their lips. Mason bought her a white fluffy hat with pink-tinged ears from one of the market stalls, and they drank mulled wine and shared a bag of roasted chestnuts. When they approached the ice rink, it was Mason’s turn to pull her forward. Summer laughed, until she realized he was serious.
‘Come on, polar bear,’ he said, tugging the ears of her hat, ‘it’ll be fun.’
‘Can you skate?’ It had never crossed her mind to ask him before now.
‘A bit,’ he admitted, sheepishly. ‘We lived close to an ice rink when I was younger, and I went there with friends quite often, not just at Christmas.’
‘OK then,’ Summer said. She could put aside her fear of falling over and having her fingers sliced off for him. They finished their chestnuts as they stood in the queue, and then were given the heavy, solid boots with lethal-looking blades on the bottoms. They changed into them on benches that weren’t quite dry, the laces rough against her cold hands. She remembered going skating with Ben as a child, the way he had zoomed fearlessly around the rink while she had clung onto the edge for dear life, her brother completing about twenty laps to every one of hers.
They walked over the thick rubber matting together, and then Mason stepped onto the ice and turned, the movement quick and expert. Summer’s mouth fell open. ‘How often did you say you went?’
‘Come on,’ he said softly, holding out his hands. She ached to be able to cling onto the wall, to have at least half of her body pressed against it so if she did lose her footing she could simply slide down to the compact ice, away from the other skaters. But Mason wasn’t having any of it. She took his hands, squeezing them tightly, and stepped out onto the ice, feeling the immediate loss of grip, so that her foot slid forwards and Mason’s arms were around her in a flash, holding her firmly.
‘I can’t,’ she murmured into his shoulder.
‘Yes, you can.’ He put his hands on her waist this time, and skated slowly backwards, his movements small and controlled, allowing Summer to test out her legs on the ice. She was sure she looked like a baby giraffe taking its first steps, but with Mason’s hands to steady her, the warmth in his eyes, she began to feel more confident. As they made their way slowly around the rink, she held onto his elbows, and then his hands, so he was no longer supporting her waist, so she was further from him, more independent. He was still skating backwards, and she shook her head, smiling.
‘You’re a pro.’
‘Far from it. But it’s like riding a bike, it all comes back to you.’
‘I wish it didn’t for me,’ Summer said. ‘I remember clutching onto the sides and flinching whenever someone whooshed past me.’
‘And look at you now. But we can stop any time you want.’
‘No, I want to do this.’ And she did.
She wanted to be here, the air thick with a cold, clean freshness that wasn’t due just to the ice; the dark of the winter’s night high above, the rides flashing, whizzing and blaring around them, trapping them in a festive cocoon. There was a giant Christmas tree at one end of the rink, its lights white against decorations in gold, pink, blue and silver. It was glitzy but tasteful, and being there, on the ice, made Summer feel like she was in a Christmas film. Elf, or Serendipity. Oh, how she loved the ending of Serendipity, the deserted ice rink, the snow, the glove floating down to land on John Cusack. She closed her eyes and the air whipped around her as someone sailed past, clipping the heel of her boot and catching her off balance. She squealed as the momentum twisted her away from Mason.
‘Whoa!’ He grabbed her waist and pulled her into him before she landed on the ice, as someone yelled ‘Sorry’ in their direction, already halfway round the rink. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked. They were pressed together, his nose millimetres from hers, his eyes wide with concern.
‘I’m OK,’ she said, thinking that this was much better than Serendipity, because how could she have coped with meeting Mason, spending a day falling for him, and then having to pass all those years apart, never knowing where he was?
‘Do you want to get off the ice?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I’m starting to enjoy myself. But there’s something that would help me enjoy it even more.’
‘Anything,’ he said, solemnly, and then watched in horror as she took her fluffy-eared hat off and, while Mason was holding tightly onto her, used both hands to pull it down over his wayward hair, his curls sticking out beneath it.
‘You have to skate with this on,’ she said, only just managing to say it before laughter took over. He looked ridiculous and cross and utterly gorgeous.
‘Oh I do, do I?’ He spun them both round, making her squeal again, and then they began their slow, steady progress over the ice, Mason skating backwards, holding onto her, never letting go, never breaking eye contact, wearing the fluffy hat in a way that only he could. As they skated, London sparkled and sang around them, and Summer lost herself in it, deciding that in this moment, everything was as it should be. Even if she did look like a baby giraffe skating with a curly-haired polar bear.