The Canal Boat Café Christmas: Port Out

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain in ebook format in 2017 by HarperCollinsPublishers

Copyright © Cressida McLaughlin 2017

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017

Cover illustration © Alice Stevenson

Cressida McLaughlin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © November 2017 ISBN: 9780008273354

Version 2018-09-24

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Part One: Port Out

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

About the Author

Keep Reading …

Also by Cressida McLaughlin

About the Publisher

Summer Freeman placed an electric, flickering tea light in the pumpkin nearest the bow doors, and stood back to examine her handiwork. The café looked both celebratory and spooky which, she supposed, was the effect she was going for. The six tables inside Madeleine, her canal boat café, were adorned with black and orange streamers and the glint of metallic, pumpkin and skull-shaped confetti. The chair-backs were cloaked in white sheets, tied with glossy orange ribbons so it didn’t look like they were simply in the process of redecorating, and Halloween bunting – bats and cartoon ghosts and skeletons – hung in swathes along the length of the café. It certainly gave it a different feel to her usual, summery, bunting, but it still looked smart.

As she turned towards the blackboard behind the counter, Summer thought about the couple who had decided on a Halloween-themed engagement party. Was it just that the timing was right, and they were piggy-backing on the existing Hallmark occasion, or did they have a shared interest in all things supernatural? Emma and Josh had seemed down-to-earth when she’d met them a few weeks ago to plan their event; both in their mid-twenties, Emma with auburn waves and a face as open as any she’d seen, and Josh, slightly more reserved but with a light in his blue eyes that conveyed easily to Summer how much he loved his fiancée. Josh had grown up in Market Harborough, the Grand Union Canal on his doorstep, and when a friend had told them about the canal boat café, and that it now ran private parties as well as serving daily bacon sandwiches and brownies, they’d known it was the perfect way to celebrate their engagement.

Summer hadn’t questioned their theme, why would she? But as she took in the transformation her café had undergone, she wondered again if it was something she would consider: celebrating the start of a new life together, while simultaneously looking the afterlife in the face. She shook her head and smiled; she needed to stop being so serious. Halloween had a distinctly American feel about it these days – it was fun and frivolous rather than macabre.

She remembered her dad refusing to answer the door to trick-or-treaters when she was small, despite her mum’s entreaties, and the idea that she and her brother Ben might dress up as a witch and a skeleton to knock on doors themselves was nothing short of scandalous. But now it was embraced, it demanded as much decoration as Christmas, and the streets were filled with laughter as children tried to out-sweet each other.

The previous evening’s pumpkin carving hadn’t exactly been downbeat. Summer had corralled her best friend Harriet, fellow liveaboards Valerie and Norman, and of course Mason, into helping her.

She ran her fingers over Mason’s pumpkin. He was her boyfriend of just over a year, and owned The Sandpiper, the beautiful narrowboat moored next to her. A nature photographer and journalist, he spent many cold, damp days crouching in bushes or hides, his lens trained on some rare visiting bird, hoping to capture their moment of take-off, or the vividness of their plumage as the sun emerged from behind clouds. Every time Summer thought about Mason, a flame of happiness lit up inside her, and even now, tracing her finger round the rather lopsided shape of the carved wolf’s face, she couldn’t help but grin.

None of their designs came close to Norman’s. In his seventies, he spent the time when he wasn’t fishing from the deck of his boat Celeste whittling, producing beautiful, intricate wooden carvings. When Summer had first arrived in the sleepy fenland village of Willowbeck he had left some anonymously on the deck of her boat, but now his secret was out, and Summer sold the models, of frogs and birds and suns and otters, in her café. His pumpkin, a take on the traditional grinning face, was terrifying.

The door of the café clicked open and Latte, her Bichon Frise, who had been dozing unperturbed on the floor close to the counter while Summer worked around her, jumped up and raced to greet the familiar visitor. Summer tried not to copy her dog.

‘Hello, I – wow.’ Mason stood inside the doorway and ran his hand absent-mindedly through his dark, unruly curls as he stared around the café. ‘This looks …’ His words trailed away and he gave Summer a bemused smile.

‘Spooky?’ she asked.

Mason nodded, crouched to ruffle Latte’s springy fur and then wrapped his arms around Summer, resting his chin on the top of her head. Summer hugged him back, breathing in his familiar, citrus scent and luxuriating in the feel of his strong body against hers. She would never get tired of this, would never fail to get a thrill from being so close to him. That conviction was growing more with every day that they were together, and had recently planted a seed of an idea in her thoughts.

‘You’ve done a fantastic job,’ he said, his words vibrating through her.

‘I’m not sure about Norman’s pumpkin. I’m worried it’s too scary for an engagement party.’

‘That face was in my dreams last night,’ Mason said, pulling back from her and running his thumb softly over her cheek.

‘You were tossing and turning a bit,’ Summer said. ‘Remind me not to make you watch the new horror film that’s appeared on Netflix. Have you seen the trailer?’

‘Nope.’ He smiled down at her, his brown eyes with their usual intensity, his expression one of pure contentment. He looked the same way she felt. ‘Is there anything I can help you with? It seems I’ve turned up too late.’

‘Perfect timing, then.’ She folded her arms in mock disapproval.

‘I’ve been trying to finish my article,’ Mason said. ‘It’s due in tomorrow and it’s been so difficult to write. I don’t know why. But now I’m done, and I’ve decided it’s actually brilliant. I’ll give it a final read through and then send it to my editor.’

‘At least you’re being humble about it.’

‘As always,’ he replied solemnly, then grabbed her hand. ‘So if you’re done here, and the guests aren’t arriving for a couple of hours, does that mean we can spend some time together?’

‘Possibly,’ she said. ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘I thought we could take Latte and Archie to the big field, let them get as damp and muddy as they want, and then when they’re exhausted I can seduce you with one of my trademark hot chocolates.’

Summer pursed her lips. ‘I’m not sure I’ve got time to be seduced. Harry’s arriving at six to put the finishing touches in place.’

‘So let’s take the dogs for their walk, and I can do the seduction bit when you come back tonight.’ He pressed his face into her neck, kissing her softly, his hair tickling her skin.

‘OK,’ she murmured, closing her eyes. ‘Sounds like a plan. But only if you stop kissing me now, otherwise tonight’s going to seem like a very long way off.’

Mason gave her a rueful smile and planted a kiss on the tip of her nose. ‘The things we do for those dogs, eh?’

Summer stared down at Latte, who was looking up at them, her big, doggy eyes pooling with innocence. ‘If only they appreciated it more.’

Willowbeck, the small, riverside village on the Great River Ouse, looked pretty even with the apt autumn mist that had descended throughout the day. Now it hung lightly over everything, hitting Summer with a much-needed burst of cool moisture as she stepped outside. Madeleine had originally been called The Canal Boat Café, but she had renamed it last year in memory of her mum, who had died suddenly, and left her the boat and business in the hopes that she would take over from her. It hadn’t been an easy decision, but Summer knew now that it had been the right one.

Hers was one of four boats permanently moored up in Willowbeck. Her café was adorned in red and blue; the cakes and coffee cups, the gingham trim, had all been painted by her own fair hand, along with its new name, when she’d taken it to the boatbuilders the previous year. Next to her was Cosmic, owned by Valerie Brogan, who had been her mum’s best friend. Cosmic was an incense-filled, spiritual haven, from which Valerie did fortune-telling, psychic readings and all manner of other things that Summer tried not to delve too deeply into, watched over by her silver tabbies Mike and Harvey. On Summer’s other side was Mason’s boat The Sandpiper, an almost regal boat in red, gold and black, that was as smart inside as it was out. Norman’s boat was the last of the four. Painted traditionally in red and green, it was called Celeste.

As Mason went to retrieve his Border terrier, Archie, from The Sandpiper, Summer sat on one of the picnic benches at the edge of the towpath, realizing too late that the film of condensation would make her jeans damp. But she was about to tromp through the fields with the dogs, so she didn’t mind too much. She would get changed before the party guests started to arrive. The picnic benches belonged to the Black Swan, the pub that overlooked the river, its gentle grass slope running down to the towpath. In summer the benches were usually packed, but on a misty late October afternoon, any punters would be inside, Jenny and Dennis, the couple who owned and ran it, giving everyone a cheerful welcome.

The stillness of the afternoon was shattered by the loud crack of a door banging open, and a familiar shout of ‘Archie, no!’ Summer held firmly onto Latte’s lead as her young dog bounded towards the commotion. Archie, his fur recently trimmed, raced forward leadless, and greeted first Latte and then her with the enthusiasm of someone who’d been held captive for weeks. Mason followed, the lead dangling from his hand, his handsome face crumpled in confusion as if this hadn’t happened hundreds of times before. While firmly in control of every other aspect of his life, Mason had never been able to assert himself as Archie’s master, and the loveable, mischievous dog was always getting the better of him. Summer found this chink in Mason’s character wholeheartedly endearing.

‘Archie, come here,’ Mason said, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

Archie continued to snuffle at Latte and Summer, his tail wagging, and ignored him.

Mason crept up behind his dog and, dropping to his knees, clipped the lead onto Archie’s collar in one fell swoop. He grinned triumphantly at Summer, and Archie turned and gave his master a big, slobbering lick up the side of his face.

‘Archie, for God’s sake!’

‘True love.’ Summer stood and held out her hand. Mason took it and hauled himself up, and the four of them set off down the towpath, the dogs racing ahead, searching for new scents to sniff, Summer blissfully content with Mason at her side.

As Emma and Josh appeared, wide-eyed, at the entrance to the café, closely followed by their guests, the familiar surge of adrenaline kicked in. Summer turned to Harry, who gave her a nod of encouragement. Her friend’s long, sleek hair was tied up in an elaborate plait, a smile flickering on her lips. It would be so easy for the two of them to be giddy, almost schoolgirlish – they were hosting parties on board a narrowboat, and what could be more fun than that – but they knew they had to start out friendly but professional, then adapt to whatever mood the occasion took on.

Emma and Josh, it seemed, were up for fun. As Harry handed a glass of champagne to each of the guests, and turned the lights down low to maximize the effect of the glowing pumpkins, the chatter and laughter filled the café and echoed outside, the sound spilling onto the bow deck. Summer gave everyone enough time to greet each other, and then cleared her throat.

‘Welcome aboard Madeleine, our canal boat café, for a celebration of all things Halloween – oh, and Emma and Josh’s engagement!’

After the whoops and cheers had died down, there was a round of introductions. Summer and Harry met Beth, the maid of honour, and Luke, Josh’s best man, along with their other, closest friends. There were twelve guests altogether, six men and six women. Emma had told Summer, during that first meeting, that her mum wasn’t keen on boats, so they were organizing a separate, larger party for the family at a later date.

She noticed that two of the men, Mark and Stuart, looked slightly awkward, folding their arms and hunching their shoulders, as if the space was too small for them. Not everyone was used to being on a narrowboat, but she knew that once they’d spent some time on it, and the champagne had worked its magic, they’d begin to relax.

‘We’re going to be travelling for about thirty minutes,’ she continued, ‘and while it’s obviously dark, there are some riverside villages that are creative with their lights and look beautiful even at nighttime. I’d ask that you don’t go on the deck while we’re travelling, though of course once we’ve stopped you’re more than welcome to, and please shout if there’s a problem or you want to ask anything. I’ll be at the helm of the boat, but Harry will be on hand the whole time. Now sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.’

Summer waited for the smattering of applause, and then made her way across the kitchen that serviced both the café and herself, through her snug living quarters, and to the stern deck of the boat. She started the engine, its thrum low and reassuring. The chill was equal to the time of year, and she zipped her fur-collared coat up to her neck. Latte sat at her feet, loyal despite the less than cosy conditions, and Summer couldn’t help thinking of later, when she would be curled up with Mason in The Sandpiper’s luxurious interior, a hot chocolate and his presence warming her cold limbs. If there was a better reward for an evening of work, she couldn’t think of one.

The stop that she was taking them to wasn’t even a village, but an area where an old river warden’s hut stood, deserted since the job became defunct, and the last warden hung up his hat for the final time. When Summer had first passed by, it had been covered in ivy, the tendrils bursting through cracks in the window and roof, grass and wildflowers growing up through the floor. But inexplicably, several months ago, someone had taken it upon themselves to clear it out, to paint the hut turquoise with a magenta roof, and wrap it in multicoloured, solar fairy lights. She had asked the people who cruised regularly up and down the waterways, but hadn’t been able to find out who was behind the makeover. Summer found the spot enchanting, beautiful whether in daylight or darkness, and so it was where she cruised to whenever she had a private party, a talking point for her guests.

It had taken her a while to get used to night cruising, but she didn’t want to limit this new branch of her business by only being able to take the boat out during the day or on summer evenings. With Mason’s help she had become a pro, and now had only the slightest frisson of nerves every time she set off on one of her after-dark adventures.

The journey was straightforward; Summer had got so used to travelling this stretch of the river, she knew that – even if she didn’t have her boat’s lights or the towpath lamps to guide her – she would know every curve, every turn of the tiller. The moment when it twisted right, the bank of ash trees on the left making way for a view over open fields, now just a different shade of black; the place where a weeping willow hung low over the water, giving each boat a leafy hug as it passed. She regularly checked in with Harry on the walkie-talkies they had purchased in a fit of over-excitement, but which had proved useful when Summer was steering and Harry was in sole charge of hosting.

‘All OK?’ she asked now. ‘We’re only a couple of minutes away.’

‘Full of good cheer,’ Harry confirmed, in her calm voice. ‘I’ll start plating the canapés.’

‘Fab. See you back there.’

Soon, the river warden’s hut came into view, its multicoloured lights glowing softly, standing out against the dense, countryside darkness. Summer slowed her speed and cruised gently up to the side of the towpath, stepping expertly off the boat with the rope and securing Madeleine at one end, and then the other. Once the boat was firmly moored, a couple of the women came out onto the bow deck and admired the decorated hut.

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Summer said.

‘It’s amazing,’ laughed Beth. ‘Why is it like that?’

‘I haven’t been able to find out.’ Summer shook her head. ‘The waterways are more close-knit than you’d think, considering the stretches of open river, and yet nobody seems to have any idea who’s given the hut a makeover – it used to be derelict.’

‘Maybe everyone involved is sworn to secrecy?’ said Aliana, her eyes widening at the possibility.

‘Could be. There’s an old-fashioned air of mystery about this lifestyle, this area. Lots of traditions, lots of strange stories.’

‘It must get hard in the winter though,’ Beth said, shivering in her cream parka.

‘Oh, it does.’ Summer felt a twist of nerves. Tomorrow was the first of November, the winter was on its way, and she had only one year’s experience behind her. There were challenges to being a liveaboard all year round, and she wondered what this Christmas would bring, especially with the idea that had been steadily growing, gaining shape and substance in her thoughts. ‘Shall we go in?’ she asked. ‘It’s food time!’

The café’s interior was welcoming, the orange glow from the pumpkins and their electric tea lights adding to the effect, and the mood was jubilant. Summer joined Harry in the kitchen and they took out trays of nibbles, refilled everyone’s drinks and made them feel pampered.

As well as the champagne, there were cocktails and mocktails made with blood orange juice, and a range of canapés – fingers of pâté on ciabatta, discs of courgette and pea bruschetta, smoked salmon and horseradish blinis and tempura prawns with sweet-chilli dipping sauce. They had stopped short of producing full-on Halloween-themed food, such as lychees as eyeballs or biscuits shaped like fingers, Summer reminding Harry that, while it was All Saints’ Eve, it was also an engagement party for adults rather than children.

While the guests laughed and ate and drank, Summer and Harry stood side by side behind the counter.

‘What are Greg and Tommy up to tonight?’ Summer asked.

Harry wrinkled her pretty nose. ‘Greg’s taking Tommy trick-or-treating. Reluctantly, I might add. We don’t have a lot of close neighbours.’

Summer’s best friend, along with her husband Greg and eleven-year-old son Tommy, lived in an idyllic country cottage with roses around the door. It was stuck out on the edge of a Cambridgeshire village, and Summer could imagine Greg stalking along the country roads with a torch, his shoulders bunched up against the cold while Tommy, ever enthusiastic, took his pumpkin bucket to the front doors of houses that sometimes had a half-mile stretch of nothing in between them.

‘What’s he dressed up as?’

‘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.