The first thing Summer heard was the music, and it took her back to a time when she had felt very differently. Today everything was grey outside, but inside Summer was anything but, her life falling into place in a way she hadn’t imagined. Whereas that spring, when she’d first returned to Willowbeck and then made her escape up the river, the sun had shone while she struggled. Now, the soothing tones of London Grammar drifted towards her from upriver, and Summer knew that Claire and the others were on their way.
The café had been surprisingly busy for a bleak November morning, but it was a Saturday, and she wondered if people were being galvanized into activity, knowing they should be starting Christmas shopping with just over a month to go. She served a couple who were walking a pair of poodles along the towpath, and who had taken up her special offer of a gingerbread latte and a chocolate twist, the perfect snack to eat while walking. Summer knew this, because she’d done it a bit too often since perfecting the recipe a couple of weeks ago.
Her Christmas specials were all in place. She and Harry had worked in the quiet periods, browsing recipe books and online sites, injecting their own personalities into the recipes. As well as the chocolate twists, Harry had come up with a mince pie lattice, which was delicious and indulgent and sprinkled with icing sugar. Summer had developed some new macaron flavours – Christmas pudding, brandy butter and rich chocolate log. They’d created a cranberry jam to go in the bacon sandwiches, and Summer had even ordered some turkey from the butcher’s, to add an extra festive element. When they were on route, she’d defer to Ralph who owned The Sandwich Shack, though she was sure he wouldn’t mind her selling her bacon and turkey special.
All that, along with her cinnamon and gingerbread lattes, a special chai tea, and a creamy hot chocolate with a dash of almond syrup, meant that Summer was fully in the festive spirit. Harry had been making batches of their new recipes for her to store in the freezer and take down to London, and the two of them had spent the previous day decorating the café, to bring Madeleine up to their Christmassy standards.
Gone were the bats and ghosts hanging from the ceiling, which admittedly Summer had kept up for a bit too long, and now the bunting was made of pennants in silky green and red, interspersed with glittering gold and silver. She had a mini Christmas tree on the counter, its coloured lights fading in and out, and with a wooden star on the top that Norman had carved especially for her. It was five-pointed, hollow at the bottom so she could pop it on the top branch of the tree, and was of the same, beautiful quality as the rest of his whittling work. She could have painted it gold, but she loved the pale wood, the way the lights reflected off the matt surface. A sprig of mistletoe hung in front of the counter, ready to catch out unsuspecting customers.
When they had arranged the date to set off for London, Summer had suggested that she and Mason could meet Claire and the others further west, where the River Nene met the Grand Union Canal, but Claire had said she’d come to them, that she knew the area like the back of her hand. Mason protested at first – he had been a rover for several years before finally settling in Willowbeck, and was confident navigating England’s waterways and locks – but Claire had insisted. They would do the journey together, united as one raggle-taggle band of traders, stopping to sell their wares along the way.
Summer’s stomach was knotted with excitement and, as the café was momentarily empty, she rushed onto the bow deck, waiting until Water Music appeared under the bridge, then Doug’s Antiques Barge and The Sandwich Shack. Others followed, and then Ryder, in his beautiful navy and silver narrowboat, The Wanderer’s Rest, brought up the rear. Slowly, they manoeuvred into the visitor moorings on the opposite side of the river, Claire giving Summer a cheery wave once she’d secured her boat to the towpath.
‘Summer,’ she called. ‘We made it! How are you?’
Summer waved back. ‘Good! Come across.’ She indicated the bridge, and Claire disappeared inside, her music volume lowered but not turned off. It had moved on to Crowded House now, reminding Summer that Water Music played anything and everything, her soundtrack able to drag long-forgotten memories and nostalgia out of anyone in its vicinity on a regular basis.
She waited for Claire on the towpath, and let herself be scooped into a bear hug. Claire’s dark hair was longer than the last time she’d seen it, but other than that she was unchanged, her eyes alive with mischief, her snug-looking jumper in a bold, pumpkin shade.
‘Willowbeck’s looking grand,’ she said, ‘despite the miserable weather. One of the prettiest places we’ve visited, though you wait until you see Little Venice. You won’t want to come back.’
‘Not sure about that,’ Summer said, laughing. She thought of Valerie and Norman, Jenny and Dennis. Even Adam in the butcher’s and the river warden’s derelict but decorated hut would be hard to leave for good. There was too much here, even with the promise of excitement and bright lights ahead of them. ‘But I’m fully prepared for a Christmas adventure.’
‘I’ll ask you again in a few weeks,’ Claire said. ‘See if you’ve changed your mind. Everyone’s here.’ She pointed, and Ryder and Jas waved from the deck of The Wanderer’s Rest, where they were drinking tea out of tin mugs. Jas’s Irish wolfhound, Chester, had accompanied Jas to Ryder’s boat and was sitting next to him, docile as ever, while Latte bounded excitedly at her feet. Summer wondered if she remembered the larger dog, or it was just someone new to be interested in.
‘How are you and Ryder?’ Summer asked.
Like Ryder himself, Summer had never been able to pin down the nature of her friend’s relationship with the wild man of the group. With his blond hair and effortless charisma, not to mention the kind of ambiguity surrounding everything he did – his business dealings, his boat, his stories – that made him a classic bad boy, Ryder flirted mercilessly, and never apologized for anything. He’d been interested in Summer when she’d temporarily joined their group, and Summer, while never being worried, had found his attention claustrophobic. But once she’d made it clear nothing was going to happen between them, Ryder had backed off, and become entertaining instead; his sporadic, seemingly opportunistic trading – buying and selling whatever he could get his hands on, often to order, always with an air of shadiness – raising a laugh or an eyebrow.
Currently, his bow deck was adorned with about seven, three-foot-high fake Christmas trees that she was sure he was planning on flogging. She could see the fibre-optic stars on top, translucent without electricity to light them.
‘Same as ever,’ Claire said, refusing to give anything away. Summer was sure that Ryder was interested in Claire in a way that surpassed mere flirting.
‘Fantastic,’ Summer said dryly.
Her friend rolled her eyes. ‘Give us a chance to turn the engines off before you go fishing for gossip. We thought we’d stop here for a couple of hours, then set off around lunchtime, so we can get a good chunk of travelling in before dark. OK for you?’
‘Sure, we’re ready to go.’
‘And where is the lovely Mason?’
‘Ah,’ Summer said, wondering how long she could stall.
Claire narrowed her eyes. ‘Ah?’
‘Mason’s sort of disappeared. He left me a message saying he had to do something crucial, and he’s taken my car – though I’m surprised he got it to start. He’s not answering his phone, but that’s probably because he’s driving back. If we’re not going for a couple of hours, then it’s fine.’
‘Does he do this often, this disappearing act?’ Claire smiled, but it was a tight smile that Summer wasn’t used to. She knew Claire was thinking of a couple of years ago, and wanted to remind her that Mason wasn’t the only one who had left Willowbeck under an emotional black cloud. And before that, with Tania, had been entirely different.
‘Of course not. He’s just gone to pick something up for the journey. Is anything wrong?’
Claire didn’t reply for a moment, and then she sighed. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not at all. I just need to make sure that we stick to our travelling schedule if we’re going to make the most of our moorings in Little Venice. To say it’s a popular spot is an understatement.’
‘I get that,’ Summer said. ‘And Mason’s looking forward to it as much as I am.’
‘But he took a bit of convincing, didn’t he?’ She said it gently, but Summer squirmed.
Claire was a great friend, but she always spoke her mind, however uncomfortable it made things. Summer didn’t want to be reminded that Mason hadn’t originally been thrilled by the idea, even though his change of heart had been swift.
‘It was the short notice,’ she said, defending him. ‘I sprung it on him and he had to sort out a few things with work. Who wouldn’t be flustered, especially so close to Christmas? I’m asking him to uproot his whole life, leave his lovely boat behind, for over a month.’
‘God, Summer, I know all that. I’m sorry – I wasn’t thinking. I spend my life roving, I’m firmly in that mindset and sometimes I find it hard to believe other liveaboards don’t feel the same. And this opportunity, Sum, it’s so good. Little Venice, just before Christmas. It’s the kind of thing that doesn’t come around very often.’
‘I know – and we’re coming! We’re both excited, even if Mason has, as usual, left it to the last minute to get organized.’ She smiled, hoping to dispel the tension that had worked its way between them.
To her relief, Claire laughed. ‘Good old Mason. Café still the same? How are your events going?’
‘They’re great,’ Summer said. ‘Come and see the wooden decorations Norman’s made for my tree.’
‘Ooooh, is he still doing that?’ Claire’s voice warmed instantly at the mention of Summer’s elderly neighbour.
‘I’ve convinced him to make some that I can sell for him in Little Venice. I’m sure they’ll be popular.’
‘Too right.’ Claire followed Summer inside Madeleine, and Summer was thankful that normality seemed to have been restored.
Summer’s rusty old Polo screeched into Willowbeck’s car park forty-five minutes before they were due to leave, and Summer rushed out to meet Mason.
‘Where have you been?’ she asked, almost before he’d climbed out of the driver’s seat. It came out harsher than she’d intended, Claire’s comments putting her on edge.
Mason grinned, his hands going up in submission. ‘It took longer than I thought, I’m sorry.’ He kissed her, and Summer’s irritation disintegrated.
‘What did?’ she asked softly.
‘This!’ He opened the boot triumphantly, and Summer took in the words and photo on the box that filled the cramped space: Jumbo Christmas lights. Five settings. Superior LED bulbs. ‘For Madeleine. To turn her into a Christmas cruiser.’
Summer stared, first at the lights, then at Mason. ‘You don’t think they’re tacky?’
‘We’ve got four weeks of travelling ahead, and I thought we could be a leading light – as it were – of Christmas spirit on the waterways. Besides, we’ll need to stand out once we reach London. Are they here?’
Summer swallowed, touched by Mason’s thoughtfulness. ‘Claire was wondering where you were.’
‘Now we can tell her. I may not have been part of the welcoming party, but I come bearing sparkly lights. She can’t be annoyed about that.’
‘You’re right,’ Summer said. ‘She can’t. Let’s go and give Madeleine her Christmas costume. Thank you for getting them, she’s going to look wonderful.’
‘The belle of the ball,’ Mason agreed.
Claire came out of Valerie’s boat Cosmic while Mason was on Madeleine’s roof, securing the fairy lights to each corner.
‘So, the wanderer returns.’ Her smile was wide.
‘Claire.’ Mason climbed down and jumped onto the towpath, wiping his hands down his jeans. ‘Good to see you.’ They embraced, and Summer watched from inside the café. Did Claire still have reservations about Mason that Summer didn’t know about – was that why she had brought up his initial reluctance to come with them? Or was she reading too much into it, still worried that there was something more behind his uncharacteristic annoyance when she had first mentioned the trip?
Feeling unsettled, Summer left them to chat, taking a fresh batch of scones out of the oven, Latte hovering at her feet as if warm, cheesy dough was her favourite treat.
When it was time to set off, Ryder tooted his horn.
Summer gave Valerie a hug on the towpath, the older woman squeezing her tightly as they said goodbye.
‘Be careful, Summer,’ she said. ‘And believe in the ones you love.’
‘What does that mean?’ Summer asked, laughing nervously.
‘Just have a wonderful time.’
‘See you for Christmas,’ Summer said. ‘And keep Norman company.’
‘I’m going to teach him how to read tea leaves,’ Valerie said, and Summer was left with that disturbing but hilarious image as she made her way to the stern deck of Madeleine, untying the ropes as she went.
‘All set?’ Mason asked, giving a quick, wistful glance at his beloved boat.
‘All set,’ Summer agreed, patting the side of The Sandpiper before jumping up beside him. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’
Mason started the engine, the low thrum obscured as Led Zeppelin blared out from Water Music’s speakers, and Summer and Mason followed Claire, Ryder and the band of roving traders out of Willowbeck. Peering ahead, as Madeleine followed in the wakes of the other narrowboats, Summer noticed that Claire had a small banner hanging from the back door of her boat, visible when she changed position at the helm. It said Bruisin’ for a cruisin’.
The weather was grey but still, the sun and wind both muted, the water flat, the going easy but cold. They made good progress, and slowed as they reached a small marina in a place called King’s Corner, just after a particularly tight lock. The marina was decorated beautifully, with blue, twinkling Christmas lights and a Christmas tree alongside the towpath covered in silver baubles and fake snow.
‘So this is our stop-over for the night?’ Mason asked. ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever stayed here before.’
‘And I definitely haven’t.’ The festive sight made Summer feel giddy with excitement for their trip, glad that they were on their way, and that the moment of frostiness between her and Claire hadn’t lasted. She kissed Mason, distracting him from turning the boat into the mooring.
He tried to see past her and huffed. ‘Summer, do you want a hole in the side of Madeleine?’
‘Sorry,’ she said, stepping back, trying to hide her smile.
She waited until they were in place, and hopped onto the towpath to tie the ropes. ‘See,’ she said, once she was back on board and Mason was feeding Archie and Latte in the kitchen. ‘No damage done.’
‘Only because of my astute navigational skills in the face of women throwing themselves at me.’ Mason flashed her a grin.
Summer shook her head, trying not to laugh, and then flung her arms around him, the scratchy wool of his coat – which he hadn’t yet taken off – tickling her cheek. ‘Let’s go and see what the plan for tonight is.’
The plan turned out to be a slightly scruffy pub a hundred yards along the towpath, where they ordered fish and chips with a tangy, homemade tartar sauce and got reacquainted with each other. Mason had met everyone when they’d put on a music festival the previous year, and Claire’s band of roving traders had visited Willowbeck a couple of times since then, but he didn’t know them as well as Summer did. Ralph still had his sandwich shack, and delighted in telling them all about his Christmas offerings. They included bacon and Christmas pudding, and roast beef and brandy butter. Mason made a guttural moan when he said he was trying out turkey, cranberry jelly and a custard relish.
‘I’m calling it turkey trifle,’ Ralph said, grinning. ‘I might even add a bit of nutmeg stuffing.’
‘Was that a moan of pain, or longing?’ Summer asked Mason.
‘Don’t you think it sounds delicious?’
‘Custard, Mason. With turkey.’
‘I can’t see custard ever being a bad thing.’ He shrugged.
‘And I thought I knew you.’ Summer placed a hand against her chest dramatically, and Ralph laughed.
‘Seems like I’ve got a fan,’ he said. ‘And don’t worry Summer, there’s plain old turkey and cranberry, or beef and horseradish. I never forget about the people with unadventurous taste buds.’
The group slipped into a familiar, easy chat. They caught up on the last few months’ gossip, the goings-on at Willowbeck, the different places Claire and the others had ventured to, the quirkiness of life as a roving trader. There was a woman who had spent two hours on Water Music in stifling heat, searching every shelf for Boyzone LPs and CDs, even though Claire had directed her to the right section to begin with. Doug told Summer and Mason about a couple who had bought a miniature portrait to his antique barge for valuation, and he had told them he didn’t have enough money to take it off their hands because he was sure it was an original John Smart, and they could pay off half their mortgage if they took it to an auction house.
Summer was in the process of telling everyone about the Halloween-slash-engagement party when Ryder leaned languidly across the table, his blond hair flopping in front of his eyes, and spoke in a voice that was loud enough to bring all other conversation to a halt.
‘So Mason,’ he said, ‘I noticed you’ve been writing these pieces, about the nature reserves around here. How’s that going?’
Mason seemed as taken aback by the question as Summer was, but then she glanced at Claire and thought that maybe her friend had been prepping Ryder, perhaps suggesting he needed to make an effort to seem interested in other people.
‘It’s a great job,’ Mason said, ‘having a regular column. I can build up a picture of the reserve slowly, look at the changes throughout the year, the seasonal highlights, and I don’t have to cram everything into a couple of thousand words. I’ve had good feedback from readers so far.’
‘Getting a fanbase already?’ Ryder leaned back, giving Summer a quick, smug glance.
‘It’s three letters,’ Mason laughed, ‘from bird watchers. They’re interested in the area, so—’
‘Not those Byronic curls? Sure one of your twitchers isn’t really a groupie in the making, masquerading as a sixty-year-old man?’
Mason frowned. ‘Pretty sure. It’s not really the specialism for attracting adoring fans.’
‘You never know. Best stay on your toes.’ Ryder tapped his nose, and then turned to Doug, who was looking equally bemused by the younger man’s warning.
‘What was that about?’ Mason asked out of the side of his mouth.
‘It was Ryder being Ryder,’ Summer said.
‘He’s not happy unless he’s stirring the pot,’ Jas added.
In his mid-twenties, with a neat black beard and thick hair that was often hidden under a baseball cap, Jas wrote a blog about living on the waterways, which had grown slowly before taking off, appealing to a younger audience than the subject matter suggested, gaining followers into the hundreds of thousands. Summer remembered his kindness, his quiet, unassuming nature, his online appeal more about the warmth of his posts – and his Irish wolfhound, Chester, who featured heavily – than anything flashy or show-off. He left all that to Ryder.
‘But,’ Jas continued, ‘you shouldn’t underestimate the power of your words, and the number of people who are passionate about the same things as you, even if it doesn’t seem, at first, like the kind of thing that would reach a wide audience.’
‘Speaking from experience,’ Mason said.
‘Nobody’s more surprised about how my blog’s grown than I am. Have you ever thought of doing one? It would sit well alongside your magazine work. They’d feed off each other.’
‘I hadn’t. If there was any interest, it would be a small, select few.’ Mason looked to Summer, who squeezed his leg under the table.
‘You’re being too modest,’ she said. ‘Jas is right, he knows what he’s talking about. You just need to be able to commit, to have the time to do it regularly.’
Jas was nodding. ‘Absolutely. Build up your followers, make sure that it’s consistent, manage their expectations. Talk to them. And,’ he said, his dark eyes alive with amusement, ‘a good photo of you with those Byronic locks wouldn’t hurt either.’
Mason ran a hand self-consciously through the hair in question. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Let’s get together at some point – it’s not like we’ll be short of time – and I can show you around my blog, give you a feel for what it would be like. Then any decision you make will be informed.’
Mason chewed his lip, and Summer could almost see the battling factions in his head: the opportunity to reach out to more people, to spread his love of nature, against his love of being in it, of not being stuck behind a computer screen – except when he was sorting through his photos or writing about what he’d seen. She knew that spending hours replying to comments, endless tweeting, would have him running for the hills.
‘Have a think,’ she said. ‘You don’t need to decide now.’
‘No. Thanks, Jas, it’s a kind offer.’
‘Sure,’ he said amiably, ‘any time. I’m not going anywhere.’
Later, curled up in Madeleine’s snug cabin, blanketed in quietness, Summer let the familiar and unfamiliar settle around her. She could hear the occasional snuffles and knocks from Archie and Latte next door, as they both tried to monopolize the sofa to sleep on. A nighttime cruiser sometimes drifted past, causing the rhythmic swaying of the boat, hollow clunks as Madeleine knocked gently against the side of the towpath. There was a tawny owl in a tree not far away, its hoot soothing and reassuring.
She had enjoyed their first day cruising, had slipped back into it so easily, the relaxed evening in the pub, the banter and the teasing, Ryder getting under everyone’s skin. She hoped that Mason hadn’t been too put out by it, that he was enjoying it as much as she was. Because already, Summer knew that it had been the right decision. She had missed Claire and Jas, Ralph and Doug – even Ryder – more than she’d realized, and the thought of spending five weeks with them, of being in the centre of London in the run-up to Christmas, filled her with happiness. And this time, she thought, as she snuggled closer to Mason, his hair tickling her face even while he slept, it was even better, because she was with the man that she loved.