All Aboard: A perfect feel good romance. Cressida McLaughlin

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      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?’

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