The Canal Boat Café Christmas: Port Out. Cressida McLaughlin

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СКАЧАТЬ 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? СКАЧАТЬ