The Canal Boat Café Christmas: Starboard Home. Cressida McLaughlin

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      ‘Fuck,’ he muttered, rubbing his temple.

      Summer winced and squeezed his shoulder. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Is everything OK?’

      He turned, his smile a half-grimace. ‘It’s making a funny noise. Stating the obvious, I know, but I’m worried that one of the pipes is blocked somewhere. Have you seen the weather this morning?’

      Summer shook her head, anxiety prickling down her spine. ‘Frozen?’

      ‘Not the river, but – it’s getting colder, and I think we need to be prepared.’ There was an uncharacteristic wariness in his voice, and Summer knew that he was worried. ‘The last thing we want is for the pipes to freeze and then crack, or for the heating to break down. Mick’s given me a few tips, so I’m checking it over. Go back to bed for a bit.’

      ‘Why don’t you have any clothes on? Never mind the river being frozen, your extremities will fall off!’

      Mason laughed. ‘I’m safe, don’t worry. To give her credit, Madeleine’s heating is efficient, and the fact that she’s still cosy this morning means the worst hasn’t happened – yet. But I’m not happy with this banging.’

      ‘Maybe it’s a ghost,’ Summer said, widening her eyes dramatically.

      ‘That,’ Mason said, turning to the toolbox on the floor, ‘would be a harder problem to solve. I’ll be a while, get back under the duvet.’ He put a screwdriver between his teeth and turned back to the engine.

      Summer ignored his suggestion and went to make tea. She returned with a steaming mug, one of his tattier jumpers – not that she ever minded staring at his body, but she didn’t want to add any more drama to their trip by failing to prevent him from catching hypothermia – and two very curious dogs, who would no doubt hinder rather than help him.

      Realizing that hovering behind him would be about as helpful as Archie and Latte’s contributions, she left him to it, checking the kitchen appliances and the café, ensuring everything was working, and also that the doors and windows hadn’t frozen solid. She’d been getting more liveaboard-savvy since she’d been in her café, but that didn’t mean she could diagnose every unusual sound her houseboat made, and she was grateful that Mason was prepared to take on that role, however un-feminist that sentiment was.

      As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the extent of the frost was revealed, its sharpness diluting the colours of Little Venice as everything was given a white, shimmering coat. The hot drinks machine would be working hard today, and she was glad she had extra bacon.

      Once Mason appeared, declaring everything seemed to be without issue, rubbing his forehead either because of the perplexing sounds that he hadn’t diagnosed, or because he was still smarting from knocking his head, she showered and started her fifth full day in the café. She winced at the cold air that sliced at her when she opened the hatch, and knew she would have to balance being welcoming at the takeaway counter with keeping the café’s interior snug enough for people to want to sit inside.