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‘A Stormtrooper,’ Harry admitted, and they both laughed. ‘What’s Mason doing tonight? I hope he’s not going trick-or-treating with Archie.’
‘Do you think he’d risk that? If ever a scenario spelt disaster, it would be that one. No, he’s tinkering with his latest magazine article.’
‘Is that still going well?’
‘It is! Sometimes he feels the pressure of having something new to write about, but he always manages it, and it’s always interesting – even for someone who’s not as much of a nature buff as he is.’ Mason had recently won a contract with an eastern region nature magazine to write a regular article, complete with his own photographs, about the seasonal highlights and unusual sightings in the area. It gave him focus, as well as a new challenge, and Summer was sure it would lead on to other things. She wasn’t the only one who had made leaps and bounds career-wise, and she wondered if it was partly due to them both feeling happy and secure.
As Josh, stooping slightly beneath the narrowboat’s low ceiling, tapped a spoon on the side of his glass and, staring adoringly at Emma, proceeded to tell the group of close friends how much he loved her and how excited he was to be marrying her, Summer knew she was grinning idiotically. The young couple seemed wonderfully happy, and it was clear they had so much to look forward to. Summer’s applause was more profuse than most when Josh raised his glass for a toast, and when she returned from the kitchen carrying more bottles of fizz, icy-cold from the fridge, Harry gave her a curious look.
Everyone was fully in the party spirit by the time Summer manoeuvred the boat slowly round and began the return journey. The canapés were finished, more champagne was drunk and Madeleine seemed to vibrate with laughter. Even Mark and Stuart had relaxed, listening intently while Aliana told everyone about the last time she had been on a boat, a ferry over to France, and her younger brother had spent the whole time with his head in a bucket, his face greener than the pea bruschetta.
As the clock struck ten, the guests thanked Summer and Harry, Emma enveloping Summer in a sweet-smelling hug, and stepped from the deck onto the towpath in turn. Several taxis were waiting in Willowbeck’s small car park, engines running, exhausts puffing out into the cold night sky in much the same way as Summer’s breath. She stood on the deck and watched them all go, giving Josh a final wave as he climbed into the back of the taxi.
After the short flurry of activity, the riverside village was suddenly still. The butcher’s, newsagent’s and gift shop that faced the river were all quiet, and only the Black Swan was aglow with life, its large windows golden and inviting. Summer’s mind was firmly fixed on finding Mason, getting the hot chocolate he had promised her, and sinking into his arms. But Harry wasn’t ready to let her go.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked, as they gave the café a final check, ensuring everything was tidy, the appliances switched off. The pumpkins would remain until tomorrow but, even though electric tea lights were safer than real flames, she removed them all and switched them off, with the exception of Mason’s wolf. She tucked his pumpkin under her arm as she let Latte, who had spent the evening sitting at her feet as she steered the boat, or snoozing on her sofa, and then Harry onto the deck. She didn’t sleep on Madeleine very often these days, The Sandpiper being much more comfortable and having the significant added bonus of Mason on it, but occasionally he had to take his boat away for work, and so her cosy living quarters weren’t entirely abandoned.
‘What do you mean?’ Summer asked, focusing on locking the door, securing her boat for the night.
She heard Harry sigh behind her, and turned to meet a look that was entirely penetrating, even under the soft glow of the towpath lamps.
‘Don’t play the innocent with me, Summer Freeman. What was all the smiling, the nervous energy about tonight? Your bounce has gone up several levels, and when Josh was talking about marrying Emma …’ Her words faded away, and she gasped into the darkness. ‘Has Mason proposed? Oh my God!’ She glanced at The Sandpiper as they stepped onto the towpath, and took Summer by the shoulders. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? How could you keep this from me?’ The words were a loud, squeaky whisper, and Latte, sensing the excitement, let out a loud yip.
Summer realized, then, that she wouldn’t be able to keep her idea to herself; she was too transparent, and her best friend knew her too well. Besides, in only a few minutes Harry and Latte combined would have woken the whole of Cambridgeshire’s wild dog population with their high-pitched squeaking. She knew she could trust her.
‘No,’ she said, ‘Mason hasn’t proposed, but …’ she paused, took a deep breath. ‘I’m going to.’
Chapter Two (#u507da3fd-91b2-5344-821f-a35029764657)
‘You’re what? Oh, Summer, when? How?’ Harry clapped her hands together, and Latte upped her barking. Suddenly the dark towpath was charged with excitement, and the last thing Summer wanted was for Mason to overhear the commotion, come outside and rumble them. Madeleine was all locked up now, and she didn’t want to have to go through the process all over again, so she pointed towards the pub.
‘I’ve got half an hour before I have to leave,’ Harry said. ‘I want to know everything!’
‘You have to promise not to tell anyone else.’
‘Of course, of course.’ Summer could see her friend’s eagerness, recognized in her jitteriness the way she had been feeling for the last few weeks, as the thought had taken hold.
She held the pub door open and Latte skittered inside, followed by Harry. It was warm to the point of gentle furnace, and Summer knew she would have to work hard to stay awake after the cold of the river.
‘Summer, Harry,’ Dennis called, raising a hand in greeting. Dennis, in his early fifties and with a mild, approachable manner, owned and ran the pub with his wife Jenny. Summer had known them both for years, ever since her mother had bought the boat and moored it in Willowbeck, and their friendship had grown over the last year – though it hadn’t been without its complications. ‘How are you? How did it go tonight?’
‘It was very successful, thanks. The spirit of celebration wasn’t dampened by all the gurning pumpkins.’
‘Like that one, you mean?’ Dennis said, pointing, reminding Summer that she had Mason’s wolf tucked under her arm.
‘This is the least scary, believe me.’
‘What can I get you both?’
‘Two mulled wines,’ Harry said. ‘One alcoholic, one non. I’m driving back shortly, to see if Tommy’s overdosed on Haribo.’
‘Coming up.’
They took their drinks to a table by the window, and Latte settled at their feet as Summer pressed her cold hands against her burning cheeks.
‘It’s warm in here,’ she said.
‘Never mind the temperature,’ Harry said. ‘When did you decide you were going to propose? How are you going to do it? I need to know.’
Harry’s eyes were dancing, and Summer was reassured that her best friend was clearly enthusiastic about the idea, and wasn’t going to try and persuade her against it.
‘It’s been the last few weeks,’ she said, cradling her mug of hot, spiced wine. ‘Mason and I are happy. More than happy – this last year has been the best of my life. Perhaps all the complications at the beginning meant we used up our quota of difficulties, but whatever the cause, whether it’s fate or destiny or simply that we just fit together, I can’t imagine not being with him. I don’t want to. I love him, and I want to make it permanent – officially permanent.’
‘This is the best thing,’ Harry said. ‘I’m so excited for you. What are you going to do? How will you pop the question? Will you get him an engagement ring?’
‘I’m not sure if he’d appreciate me buying him a ring that he’d feel obliged to wear. He’s not really the jewellery type.’
‘But you can get lovely rings for men, something special but not sparkly. If you’re doing the proposing, you need to get him a ring.’
Summer wrinkled her nose. Would Mason like a ring?
Unperturbed, Harry continued. ‘Will you go down on one knee?’
‘Maybe,’ Summer said. ‘I hadn’t got much further than making the decision, and wanting to do it at Christmas. It’s our second one together, and I want to make it extra special.’
‘It’ll be perfect. Anything I can do to help – distract Mason, string lights along Willowbeck’s bridge – I’ll be there. We should brainstorm!’
‘We should,’ Summer said, drumming her fingers on the table. She wondered, now she had revealed her plans to Harry, if she should also tell her about the one thing that was holding her back, dampening her enthusiasm ever so slightly. But she didn’t need to wonder, because Harry had already picked up on her hesitation.
‘So what’s worrying you? You don’t actually think he’ll say no, do you? Summer,’ she pressed her palms flat on the table, ‘anyone can see he loves you. People passing on the towpath who have never met you would realize that much. And you’ve said how happy you are with him. What else is there?’
Summer sipped her drink so she could get her thoughts in order before she replied. ‘Will he want to get married again, after what happened with Lisa? Maybe he’s content to be with me, but won’t want to go through all that again.’
Sadness darkened Harry’s eyes. ‘What happened to Lisa was tragic, but it had nothing to do with their married status. She wouldn’t have been saved if they’d only been partners, boyfriend and girlfriend. It’s usually divorce that makes people reluctant to go through it again, or Hugh Grant in Four Weddings and Funeral – having all that bad luck with his friend’s weddings.’
Harry’s words made perfect sense, and she wasn’t finished.
‘He was reluctant to get involved again, to open himself up to love, but he cared about you enough to risk his heart. That was the hard part for him, and it’s proof that he wants to be with you, that what you’re doing, planning, is wonderful and exciting, and is the right call. You love him, you want to be with him for the rest of your life, and I’m sure he feels the same. Do you ever talk about Lisa?’
‘Sometimes,’ Summer said. ‘He’s become better at talking about her, about their life together, before she died. He’s started to accept the happy memories without being clouded by the terrible ones. But I’ve never spoken to him about re-marrying. We talk about the future – what we’ll do when we’re in our sixties, whether our bones will creak as much as the tiller on Celeste when we’re cruising, or if we’ll still be able to work the locks without help. But it’s always flippant.’
Harry was nodding, her expression patient and understanding. Summer wondered why she hadn’t talked to her before now, why she had been reluctant to tell her about her plans, and the worries that came with them.
‘So maybe,’ Harry said, ‘you need to have a chat with him, a more serious one. Try and gauge his thoughts before you pop the question – if you’re concerned, which I don’t think you need to be.’
‘I’m not sure I could get away with it. How do you do that subtly when your whole mind is focused on not giving away the secret? It’s like trying to avoid a bunker on a golf course, and all you’re thinking about is avoiding the bunker. Inevitably you end up in the sand.’
‘There’ll be a conversation, one day, when you realize you can change direction slightly, slip it in.’
‘You sound very confident about that, Mrs Poole.’
‘I have faith in you, because you’re brilliant and determined; when you want something you go for it.’
‘I think you’ve confused me with someone else,’ Summer said, laughing. ‘Think how long I dillydallied over taking over Mum’s café, how long it took me to realize my feelings for a certain, curly-haired nature photographer.’
‘OK, but when you decided you wanted the café, you made a huge success of it – you’ve just hosted a cruising engagement Halloween party for God’s sake, who else can say they’ve done that? And with Mason, it was complicated. For both of you. You got there in the end, and you’ve not had a moment of doubt since. Go for it, Summer. You’ll soon have a wedding to plan on top of everything else.’
Summer’s shoulders relaxed, the tension ebbing out of her. ‘You’re the brilliant one, Harry. What would I do without you?’
‘I don’t know, but you’re temporarily going to find out, because I have to get back to my boys and see what chaos they’ve caused. Normal time in the café tomorrow?’
‘Come in after lunch,’ Summer said. ‘The morning rush isn’t quite as rushy now it’s getting colder, so I’ll be fine on my own.’
‘You’ve worked late too,’ Harry said, standing and shrugging on her coat.
‘Yes, but it’s my business. Besides, it’s not like I have the same commute as you. Take the morning off.’
‘Thank you.’ They hugged, Harry’s squeeze a little tighter than usual. ‘And don’t worry. Mason loves you, he wants to be with you, and you need to focus all your energy on planning the perfect proposal rather than fretting about his past. But if you want reassurance, try to subtly sound him out first. I don’t think you need to, but it’s an option. Now, go and find him.’
Summer assured her friend she was going to do just that, and after they said goodbye and Harry hurried to her car, Summer strolled with Latte down the path that cut through the grass in front of the Black Swan, back to the towpath. She thought of everything her friend had said, that Mason’s commitment to her was enough, that he was unlikely to be against marrying her because his first marriage had ended so tragically. Could she be sure that was the truth, or if not, could she talk seriously to him about it without him getting suspicious? She was going to have to come down on one side or the other soon, or she would derail her own proposal plans before she’d even got out of the starting blocks.
She opened the door of The Sandpiper and was met with a familiar scene. Beyond the galley kitchen, with its black, marble-effect worktops and curved wooden cupboards, the open-plan living area held two figures. One, Archie, lay stretched out along a sofa, and the other had his back to her, leaning forward and peering at the screen of a large desktop computer, set up on a tiny desk squashed into the far end of the space. She had fleeting thoughts about creeping up on him, making him jump, but Latte had already bounded forward, greeting her doggy companion first, and then looking for Mason’s affection. He turned at the sound, reached a hand down towards Latte but looked straight at Summer, his face breaking out into one of the smiles that made her heart beat faster.
‘How did it go?’ He abandoned his computer and wrapped his arms around her.
She accepted the embrace willingly, smiling into his soft jumper, the firmness of his chest beneath. ‘It was great,’ she said, ‘better than I could have hoped.’
‘And no weirdness, with the celebratory terror crossover?’
‘None,’ Summer laughed. ‘And I bought you a present.’ She nodded towards the kitchen counter where she had put Mason’s wolf pumpkin, still flickering with electric light.
‘To remind me of my crap handiwork? Couldn’t you have brought Norman’s instead?’
‘I’m not having that monstrosity in a place of rest and relaxation. How’s the article?’
‘OK. I’ve been working on the photos to accompany it. Here – come and have a look. It’s for the run-up to Christmas, and everyone thinks that robins are cute on their Christmas cards, but not many people know a lot about them. I didn’t even need the zoom for these – that’s how tame it was.’
Summer followed him to the computer and he pulled her onto his lap, then scrolled through the photographs. They were spectacular, as his photos so often were, the feather detail, the beadiness of the bird’s eye, captured in perfect clarity. She felt a swell of love for him, for the way he got excited about the everyday wildlife surrounding them, his tenderness towards each creature, whether rare or mundane. She kissed the top of his head, inhaled the lemon scent of his shampoo, turned her attention away from proposals and her niggling worries, and gave it all to Mason and the festive robin redbreast on his computer.
The following morning, as they lay under the duvet in Mason’s cabin, she wondered if they’d reached the point where he could read her mind.
‘What do you want to do this Christmas?’ he asked. ‘It’s now officially November, so it’s not that far away.’ It was after midnight, all the souls of the dead would have hopefully been appeased, so it was time to start thinking about the next celebration.
I’m planning to propose to you, she thought; so stop trying to catch me out. ‘Oh God, you’re worse than the supermarkets. It’s still two months away, one-sixth of a year. As much as Sainsbury’s would have you believe, we don’t need to start our Christmas shopping now. The John Lewis advert hasn’t even aired yet, and you legitimately don’t need to worry about anything Christmas-related until that point.’
‘All right,’ he chuckled, stroking her hair. ‘Have I hit a sore spot? Do you want to leave everything until Christmas Eve this time? I remember you were uber-organized last year.’
‘That’s because it was my first Christmas as a liveaboard, and I was paranoid that the river would freeze over and we’d be completely stuck, so I wanted to be prepared.’
‘Even though your car was sitting in the car park, waiting to transport you to the nearest shopping centre if you so desired?’
‘Hey,’ she slapped him lightly on the chest, and he feigned hurt. ‘I was nervous. I hadn’t done it before, and with Dad and Ben coming for dinner on the boat … Everything needed to go right.’
‘And it did,’ he said softly. ‘So maybe it’s fine to leave things a little later this time round.’
‘You were the one who brought it up, said we needed to decide!’
‘I didn’t,’ he protested, laughing. ‘I just asked what you wanted to do. We don’t need to firm up the plan for ages, we can stay here, in bed, while it gets colder and grimmer outside the window, safe in our snug little cocoon …’ He rolled over, kissing her collarbone.
‘We will need to eat at some point,’ she murmured, ‘and I have to open the café.’
‘Right now?’
‘Not quite yet, but I’ll need to get started on …’ All her arguments drifted away at his touch, as they so often did. ‘Bacon sandwiches,’ she blustered, as his kisses went lower.
‘Do you know what?’ He looked up, his eyes bright with amusement. ‘That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.’ And he returned to the important business of kissing her.
Valerie Brogan intercepted Summer as she was rushing to open up the café, her watch displaying 8.05. Valerie’s long red hair was flowing out behind her, her dress a shimmering green, and her approach brought with it the usual cloud of sandalwood incense, despite the icy air.
‘Summer,’ Valerie said. ‘Happy All Saints’ Day. I trust you’re well?’
‘Very well thanks, Valerie,’ Summer replied, fumbling with her keys in her haste to open up the café. She had several regulars now: Toby, who detoured along the towpath for an Americano and bacon sandwich on his way to his bus stop; Charlotte and Sammy, who had a permanent mooring further down the river, but often passed through Willowbeck and always bought a generous portion of homemade brownies; and Mrs Ramsey, who brought her Cairn terrier Destiny for a walk every morning without fail, and would be even more in need of her usual cappuccino now the weather was turning colder.
Summer pushed open the door and raced inside, Valerie following, wafting incense, as she turned on the coffee machine.
‘Are you OK, Summer dear? You seem somewhat in a flap.’
‘I’m running a bit late this morning, that’s all.’ Summer pushed a strand of frizzy, strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. She’d had to leave it to dry naturally after the world’s quickest shower, and it was making the most of its freedom, being unruly and unhelpful. She dug in the pocket of her jeans and was disproportionately overjoyed to find a hairband nestling at the bottom. She scooped her hair up into a ponytail, checked the coffee machine was making all the right noises, and opened the hatch onto the towpath, letting in a rush of welcome cold air. How had she let herself get so flustered already?
‘Did your Halloween party go well last night? With that young couple?’
‘Yes thanks,’ Summer said, rushing into the kitchen to take yesterday’s remaining brownies out of the fridge, and the lavender and honey, fruit and cheese scones out of the purple storage tins she kept them in. She would have time to make more this morning, after the early rush which, she had to accept, would be only those few regulars and a couple of other passers-by. She had been worked off her feet throughout the summer, Harry had been a permanent help and, on several occasions, they’d even called on Mason to clear the outside tables she used in warmer weather. Now, she’d be lucky if, at any time during the day, she’d have visitors at all six of the tables inside the café.
Once the counter looked inviting with sweet and savoury offerings, the coffee machine was heating up, and bacon was sizzling on the hob, Summer swiftly removed all last night’s pumpkins from the tables and put them in her small living space. The bunting was still up, but Summer decided she liked it, and having ghosts and bats hanging from her ceiling a few days into November wouldn’t offend anyone, surely? In a couple of weeks, she realized with excitement, she could make and put up Christmas bunting.
‘Valerie, I’m so sorry. Can I get you a drink? Any breakfast? I’ve just put the bacon on.’
‘Thank you, my dear, a latte wouldn’t go amiss. Where is the little puffball, by the way?’
‘Mason’s looking after her. He’s going to take her and Archie for a long walk this morning, seeing as we ran out of time before work.’
‘Ah. So lovely of him. He’s a keeper, that man of yours.’
Yes, Summer thought. That’s what I’ve been thinking. ‘He’s not too bad,’ she said, smiling.
She started to make the hot drinks, and felt a surge of relief when there was a familiar rat-tat-tat at the hatch, and she turned to find Toby standing there, his usual grin on his face, a smart navy overcoat covering his business suit. She hadn’t missed him.
‘Toby! How are you? Any trick-or-treaters last night?’
