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The welcome she got was cheerier, even if it wasn’t much warmer inside the shop than out. The sawdust on the floor, she was sure, was unnecessary, but Adam had always kept his business as traditional as possible.
‘Are my eyes deceiving me?’ Adam said, looking up from where he was scribbling something in a book. ‘I thought you’d given up this place.’
‘I’m back,’ Summer said, ‘for today at least. How are you? How’s Charlie?’
‘He’s out back,’ Adam said. ‘Turning into a good apprentice. It’s the same as ever, we’re still busy, still doing lots of deliveries. What can I do for you?’
Summer looked at the items under the glass. ‘I’d like some of your bacon please, smoked. Quite a bit, actually.’
Adam raised his eyebrows. He had thinning mid-brown hair, a cheerful face, and a red and white striped apron over his white coat. ‘You’re back in the café, then?’
Summer shifted from one foot to the other. ‘I’m helping Valerie out. I thought, as it’s so cold, bacon sandwiches might go down well. I’m glad you’re busy,’ she added. ‘It seems so quiet here today. I’ve hardly seen anyone. Is it like this all the time now?’
‘It’s still early, girl,’ Adam said. ‘But I’ve seen that it’s struggling a bit, your café.’ He counted out the rashers, his face fixed in concentration.
Summer’s words disappeared. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t hers, that she had never asked for it, that the last thing she had wanted was to be in charge, because that meant her mum wasn’t there to run it any more.
‘Of course,’ Adam continued, when she failed to fill the space, “winter months, it’s going to be quieter, isn’t it?” It’ll soon pick up. And Valerie’s a trooper, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, she’s been amazing for even trying to keep it going.’ She bit her lip, realizing how mean that sounded. Adam handed over the bacon and she got her purse out, paid and thanked him, then hurried outside, wondering if it was possible to get it wrong with everyone in Willowbeck before lunchtime. Of course, she thought, looking up at The Black Swan, she’d do that with Jenny and Dennis just by being here.
When she got back to the café Valerie had moved the chairs and tables to the edges of the space, and was polishing the floor, all trace of coffee beans and spiders gone. The smell of pine-scented cleaner filled the air. ‘I thought I’d give it a going-over,’ she said.
‘It looks better already. I’ve got bacon, but we need rolls – do you have any?’
‘Oh no,’ Valerie admitted. ‘I could barely come up with any cakes, let alone think of doing sandwich fillings. The newsagents do white bread.’
Summer chewed her lip. ‘I think rolls would be better. Will you be all right if I disappear for half an hour, get a few bits from the shop? I could get some cakes up and running too.’
Valerie nodded and smiled. ‘I knew you’d fix it all,’ she said.
‘I’m not,’ Summer protested. ‘Anyone would struggle running the café entirely on their own. I’m helping you get back on your feet, that’s all.’
‘It’s not my feet that should be here. I’m doing this for Maddy and for you, Summer, but I have my own job to be getting on with. The money I get for my readings is even more important now.’ She gestured around her, and Summer felt her cheeks redden, realizing that Valerie would have had to buy supplies as well as everything else. ‘I was never cut out for this,’ Valerie continued. ‘Maddy left the café to you, and you loved it, didn’t you? Being here with her.’
‘Of course I did. But I have my job, my flat – and I’ve got a dog now. I never lived here, because—’
‘Because it was Maddy’s. But Summer,’ Valerie put her mop down, ‘she’s not here. The living space is empty, the café’s failing. It’s turning into a ghost ship…’
Summer gave Valerie a sharp look, but she carried on unperturbed.
‘And I know that Maddy wants you here, carrying it on for her. You’ve shown, already, that you were meant to be here.’
‘I’ve cleaned out the coffee machine and bought some bacon,’ Summer said, exasperation creeping into her voice. ‘That’s all. This place is still a mess, we’ve got hardly anything to sell and there aren’t any customers. I can cook all the bacon I want, but if there’s nobody to eat it then what’s the point? I know you’ve given up a lot to keep it running, but I can’t just come back, Valerie. It isn’t that simple.’
‘So sell it,’ Valerie said, her hazel eyes meeting Summer’s. ‘Get rid of the boat. Be done with it.’
Summer froze.
‘I’m serious. If you don’t want to be here, then sell it and do something else with your mum’s money. There’s no point in it limping along like this.’
Summer shook her head.
‘I’m not trying to be cruel, Summer, but really, you have to do something.’
‘I have to go to the supermarket,’ Summer said, backing towards the door.
‘Well,’ Valerie said, sploshing the mop into the bucket and then sweeping it in a wide, soapy puddle over the floor, ‘that’s a start.’
By the time she returned from Ely with carrier bags full of cake ingredients and crusty white and wholemeal rolls, the hatch at the side of the boat was open and Valerie was leaning out, handing blue cardboard coffee cups to a young couple togged up in woolly hats and gloves. Summer hurried aboard, her eyes widening at the transformation.
The floor was clean, the tables and chairs back in place and crumb free, waiting for repairs and decoration. The counter was gleaming, the Jammie Dodgers nowhere to be seen, and the smell coming from the coffee machine made Summer yearn for a spiced latte.
‘Wow.’
‘They were our first customers,’ Valerie said. ‘Appeared as soon as I opened the hatch. I’ve cleaned up a bit, but the offerings are pretty paltry.’
‘Hopefully this will help,’ Summer said, holding up her bags. ‘Let’s get the bacon on, I can sort out some rolls and then mix up some brownies.’
‘Ooh,’ Valerie said, her voice taking on a dreamy tone, ‘you and your brownies. Maddy always said they were the best thing she sold.’
‘Hardly,’ Summer said, but she felt a smile tug at her lips – until she saw the state of the kitchen.
‘I haven’t had a chance to come back here yet,’ Valerie said.
‘That’s OK,’ Summer murmured. She glanced at the door that led to the cabin, her mum’s living quarters compressed because of the café taking up half the length of the boat. She’d watched countless films on the sofa, curled up alongside her mum, the boat undulating softly.
Summer never got over how snug her mum’s living space was, but her mouth dried out at the thought of stepping in there now. How could it have any warmth to it when Madeleine was gone? She thought of Valerie’s words, about how her mum’s presence was strong, and imagined her sitting on the sofa staring at the blank television screen, her pale face devoid of emotion.
She shook her head angrily – she was not about to indulge Valerie’s ghostly beliefs – dropped her bags on the floor and stared at the scatter of plates, spoons and mixing bowls covering every surface and filling the sink.
‘Tell me what I can do,’ Valerie said from the doorway.
‘Can you keep serving coffee?’ Summer asked. ‘I need to make this place gleam, and then I can start cooking.’
‘You’re sure you don’t want me to do that?’
‘I’m sure,’ Summer said. ‘You’ve cleaned the café, Valerie, now it’s my turn to get my hands dirty.’ She ran hot water and began piling things into the sink.
It wouldn’t take long to get the kitchen back to its former, polished glory, but Summer knew that wouldn’t be enough to rescue the café, to return it to the sparkling, welcoming place that Maddy had put her heart into. And after getting over the initial hurdle of returning to Willowbeck and The Canal Boat Café, Summer wasn’t sure that she had the will to stick it out.
Chapter 2 (#u5d89ec9e-695b-511b-9e13-75c1432b61f0)
By eleven o’clock, they were serving their first bacon sandwiches through the hatch on to the towpath. The inside of the café still needed some work – the scratches needed to be fixed, the windows polished and the whole place given a thorough, deep clean – not to mention the personal touches, like flowers on the tables, that Maddy had always taken so much time over. But at least they were open, they were serving, and a batch of brownies was in the oven.
Sweat was running down Summer’s back, and her face was flushed, her wavy hair turning to frizz in the heat from the oven. She had put all her energy into cleaning and then baking, feeling that she could do more behind the scenes than out at the front, talking to customers. Besides, she hadn’t been at Willowbeck for months, the regulars would be more familiar with Valerie – if there were any regulars left.
‘Summer, do you think we should put the blackboard out now?’
Summer wiped her hands on a tea towel and, checking the oven timer, followed Valerie into the café. It looked brighter, despite the smeared windows limiting the amount of sun that was coming in. The counter was clean, the cake domes waiting for fresh brownies, a glass full of snowdrops that Summer had picked on her walk back from the car sat next to the till. Before she’d had a chance to respond, Valerie hugged her, squeezing tightly, her earring grazing Summer’s cheek.
‘Blackboard,’ Summer managed.
‘Look what you’ve done,’ Valerie said. ‘Look what a difference you make.’
‘We’ve done this,’ Summer said, gently wriggling out of Valerie’s grasp, ‘and it’s not there yet. Besides, anyone could have helped – it’s the difference between one pair of hands and two. That’s all.’
Valerie shook her head. ‘Stop being so humble. You were meant to run this café.’
Summer swallowed. ‘No I wasn’t,’ she said quietly. ‘Mum was. This should still be Mum’s.’
Valerie seemed to deflate, the light leaving her eyes, and Summer felt instantly guilty. But she couldn’t help it. Her mum had been robbed of her life far too soon, and when she was living it to the full, too. Summer hadn’t been able to reconcile herself with what had happened, or the fact that she was partly to blame.
‘I’ll do the blackboard,’ she said, grabbing the A-frame from where it was leaning against the counter, and the coloured chalks. Her feet echoed on the wooden floor and the boat swayed slightly as she walked through the café and out on to the deck, and then across to the towpath. She set the A-frame near the open hatch and crouched, pressing her bare knees into the ground, the leather of her boots cracking.
She thought for a moment, and then, in blue chalk, wrote: Keep out the cold with a fresh bacon roll. The writing was bold and swirly. Whenever Summer had worked on the boat with her mum, Madeleine had got her to do this part. Summer was a sign-writer by trade, and it came naturally to her, the lettering looking professional, evenly spaced and not misshapen. Add a coffee or tea,she added underneath in red chalk, for an extra 50p. She’d just started on her final line when she felt a presence behind her.
‘What’s this?’ the familiar voice said, and Summer pressed too hard and snapped the chalk. She crouched, and then pushed herself to standing, brushing dirt off her knees before turning to face Jenny.
‘What does it look like?’ Summer said, pulling herself up to her full, five-foot-four height, trying to minimize the feeling of being talked down to.
‘Like you haven’t got a cat in hell’s chance of selling anything,’ Jenny said. ‘People won’t be endeared to you because of a few childish rhymes.’ She was dressed in black, her auburn hair pulled back, her fringe framing her pinched face. Summer thought she must be in her mid-forties, but looked older than Madeleine had, which was probably another reason – on top of all the others – that Jenny had taken against her.
‘But maybe they’ll see that we’re welcoming. Anyway,’ Summer said, ‘Valerie’s been doing it all on her own, and now I’m back to help. What makes you think we can’t be successful?’
‘Because things have changed, Summer. Hasn’t Valerie told you?’
Summer glanced at the boat. ‘Told me what?’
‘We sell professional cakes now, and we’re open from ten. You should see the kitchen, the utilities we’ve got. Why not come over and sample some of the red velvet cake I made yesterday? It’s as light as a feather, and still moist.’
Summer folded her arms. ‘I can’t imagine you mean that.’
‘Of course I do,’ Jenny said, giving her such a wide smile that Summer thought for a second that all might be forgiven. ‘That’ll prove to you that your pathetic attempt at a café is finished.’
Summer felt a surge of defiance that shocked her. ‘You’re wrong.’
‘Sometimes the truth hurts, Summer. I should know that better than anyone. It’s admirable of you to come down here and try to rescue it, but you have to face up to the fact that you’re at the helm of a sinking ship.’
‘But we’re a café,’ Summer said. ‘It says it there, on the side, in beautiful writing.’ She pointed to the boat. ‘You’re a pub. I bet hardly anyone knows that you sell cakes as well, and just because you’ve got a new blender and some fancy recipe books doesn’t mean they’re any better than ours.’
Jenny’s expression hardened into anger. ‘You haven’t got a hope,’ she hissed, ‘not any more. The sooner you come to terms with that, the better.’
‘Why do you get to make the rules?’ Summer asked. ‘Why can’t we both do our own thing and not get in each other’s way?’
‘You know why.’
‘But I haven’t done anything wrong,’ Summer said, trying and failing to end the argument. ‘You can’t attack me just because of what happened months ago. Why do we need to have this battle? If I’m going to be coming back here—’ Summer stopped, the words on her lips before she’d had time to consider them.
‘Are you?’ Jenny shot back.
She stared at the pub owner, at her conservative outfit of black trousers and a black shirt, professional but devoid of personality, at the challenge in her face, and realized she didn’t have the answer.
‘Maybe,’ she managed, but she knew her indecision was all that Jenny needed.
Jenny gave her a triumphant smile, and then spun on her heels. ‘Count your losses, Summer. Go back to your life, and leave this place in the past.’
Summer watched her climb the path that cut through the grassy slope, up to the front of the pub. ‘Crap,’ she murmured. She turned back to the chalk board and saw Valerie peering at her out of the hatch, a worried look on her face.
Seeing Jenny had been as bad as Summer had feared it would be, but it had also lit a flame inside her. For the first time that day, she felt some of the passion for The Canal Boat Café that she knew her mum had had. What Jenny had said was untrue, and even if Summer wasn’t ready to come back to Willowbeck more permanently, she couldn’t let her win.
‘So Jenny’s really upped the ante with the baking,’ she said as she took her own batch of brownies out of the oven, the heat hitting her, quickly followed by the rich smell of melting chocolate and butter.
Valerie nodded. ‘They don’t just do the standard pub food any more. Dennis refurbished their kitchen last year, not long after … after the summer.’
Summer frowned. ‘Really?’
‘I suppose there was a space to fill,’ Valerie said quietly.
‘No,’ Summer replied, ‘that can’t be why. I mean, perhaps for Jenny, but I can’t imagine Dennis ever taking that attitude.’
Valerie caught Summer’s eye. ‘I’m not sure he would have had a choice.’
Summer exhaled loudly, put the brownies on the cooling rack, and turned back to her scone mixture, wiggling her fingers before diving in. It was her favourite part, rubbing the butter and flour together, and today she was going to treat the dough as a culinary stress-ball.
‘So you’ve not had much cheeriness from the pub these last few months, then?’
‘Dennis smiles at me, when she’s not around.’
‘Damned by association.’
‘I don’t think Jenny has a good day unless she can have an argument with someone.’
‘And then force them to eat a cake,’ Summer added. ‘That must get confusing for people.’
Valerie tittered, the sound small and unconvincing. Summer had noticed that much of the older woman’s confidence was gone, deferring to Summer for everything, even whether she should put the blackboard outside. She turned away from her mixture, gestured for Valerie to move into the café and followed her out with the brownies. They weren’t nearly cool enough, but sticky, melting brownies were better than no brownies, and the February wind coming through the hatch would soon cool them down.
She put them on the plate, leaving the glass dome off, and made two coffees. She gave one to Valerie and sat at one of the tables, Valerie sitting opposite her.
‘It must have been lonely here, since Mum died.’ It hurt Summer to say the words, but over the last few hours she’d realized that if she couldn’t even say it, then she couldn’t do anything about the boat’s predicament with any kind of conviction.
‘I have my readings,’ Valerie said into her coffee. ‘And I’ve been serving customers, however ineffectively. Mr Dawson from the village gets a latte on his way to work, strolling along the towpath in his suit, and passing boaters are always friendly, commenting on the colour of Moonshine.’
‘Dark lavender’s a beautiful colour,’ Summer admitted. ‘And unusual for a narrowboat. But even so, with the pub being so hostile – do you ever go in there?’
‘Sometimes, when I want a hot meal and I haven’t got the energy to cook. I have no grudge with them, and as I said, Dennis is always amicable, and the other staff are pleasant enough.’
‘But Norman’s a bit reclusive, so I guess down here …’ She looked out of the window as a couple of mallards swam past, the drake’s green feathers glinting in the sun. ‘Who’s in The Sandpiper? That wasn’t here before.’
