Copyright

Harper

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

The News Building

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www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by Harper 2016

Copyright © Cressida McLaughlin 2016

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016

Cover illustration by 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 © February 2016 ISBN: 9780008164256

Version: 2016-01-12

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

If you enjoyed ALL ABOARD

Keep Reading – PRIMROSE TERRACE

About the Author

Also by Cressida McLaughlin

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

As Summer Freeman turned into the square of concrete that proudly advertised itself as Willowbeck’s car park, her hands gripped the steering wheel, her fingers red from the cold.

It looked the same.

It had the same faded lines marking the spaces, the same notice above the pay and display machine reminding her that parking was free between November and March, the same wooden signpost with arrows pointing to ‘The Black Swan’, ‘The River Great Ouse’, ‘The Towpath’. A thin sliver of frost topped the arrows, giving them a Christmassy flourish even though it was mid-February.

There was no arrow pointing to ‘The Canal Boat Café’, something Madeleine, Summer’s mother, had always grumbled about. Why should the pub get a sign, when we’re as much a public eating establishment as they are? It had been the same argument, over and over, her mum only half-joking. Madeleine had thrived on the competition between her and the pub’s owners, Dennis and Jenny Greenway, at least until their relationship had changed irreversibly.

Summer parked in the farthest corner, next to the butcher’s van, as if she wanted to hide her presence from anyone who might be passing. She had thought about Willowbeck a lot in the last eight months, its beauty and buzz coming to her in pictures as vivid as photographs, but she had never got as far as the question of returning. It was a forty-minute drive from Cambridge, where she lived, and in the opposite direction to the studio where she worked as a sign-writer. But the journey north that morning, past the imposing outline of Ely Cathedral, was one that she could do in her sleep, even though it had been so long since she’d last taken the route. Her mum had owned the café, and now it was hers, but she had abandoned it like a broken toy, the memories, the thought of taking her mum’s place, too painful to consider.

She stepped out of the car, her breath misting, and wrapped her red wool coat tightly around her, folding her arms across her chest. She locked the old Polo and walked slowly across the car park, her steps echoing in the February morning quiet. She wished that she’d brought Latte with her. The young Bichon Frise always lifted Summer’s spirits, but she didn’t know exactly what she was going to face, and she hadn’t wanted to risk her little dog being in the way, or not knowing what to do with her.

Summer stood on the road, facing the river.

To her right was the small row of shops. She could see only the backs of them now but she knew they were the butcher’s, owned by Adam and his son Charlie, the newsagent’s that sold more Willowbeck postcards than it did newspapers, and a gift shop. Summer loved the soft pastels, the cosiness of the shelves of candles, cushions, and door-signs with slogans about dogs and life on the river. She had a sign on the wall of her tiny Cambridge flat that her mum had bought her. It read: I’d rather be on my boat. Over the last eight months, Summer hadn’t agreed with the sentiment, but now her hand had been forced.

To her left stood The Black Swan. It was a big cream building, the paintwork around the doors and windows black and glossy, the gentle slope of grass that led towards the river dotted with picnic tables. In front of her was Willowbeck’s moorings, big enough for six narrowboats moored bow to stern along the towpath. Four of the moorings were residential, and one of those was her mother’s.

Summer took a deep breath and walked forward, her view of the river widening as she got closer to the water. Today it was dark and smooth as glass, the trees that shaded the opposite towpath bare of their usual leaves. She smiled as a couple strolled past her, an eager Jack Russell terrier sniffing at the ground. All the permanent moorings were taken. Valerie’s purple narrowboat Moonshine was furthest left, in front of the pub, and next to hers was The Canal Boat Café. The lights were ablaze, but the serving hatch was closed, no blackboard outside offering fresh coffee and cakes. Summer swallowed, knowing that the chill she was feeling wasn’t just to do with the weather, and delayed stepping aboard for a few more moments.

On the right was Norman Friend’s boat, Celeste. The old man was nowhere to be seen, hibernating from the cold below board. The mooring between Celeste and The Canal Boat Café, which had been waiting for a new occupant the last time Summer had been to Willowbeck, was now taken up with a beautiful narrowboat coloured red, gold and black, The Sandpiper written in a flourishing font on the side. Summer could appreciate the quality of the artistry, and had often dreamed – in happier times – that one day her designs would decorate the boats that slid serenely up and down the river. But recently, all thoughts of the river, and of the boats, had been tainted by her grief, and she’d shut herself up in her studio, taking on any commission that would keep her mind away from the creeping thoughts of the day her mum had died.

‘Summer? Summer, is that you?’ The voice was high and breathy, and snapped Summer out of her daydream. Valerie Brogan popped her head out of the doors at the bow of The Canal Boat Café, then stepped on to the deck. Her red hair was like a blazing fire licking over her shoulders, her cheeks flushed, her long purple dress the colour of her own boat. ‘Summer, thank God you’re here.’ She held her arms wide, and Summer walked forward, hovering just out of reach. ‘Come aboard, come aboard. You can’t rescue me from there.’

Summer gave Valerie what she hoped was a warm smile, and walked across the plank that connected the towpath to the boat. Valerie wrapped her arms around her, smothering her in the scent of coffee, and an underlying sweetness of jasmine incense. ‘You have no idea how much I’ve missed you. How long has it been? Eight months?’

Summer tried to nod, her head pressed against Valerie’s shoulder. Seven months and twenty-six days, thought Summer. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘about that.’

‘Come inside then. Come and …’ Valerie looked directly at Summer, sighed, and then gestured behind her. ‘It’s not the best it’s ever looked. I’ll say that now.’

Summer followed Valerie through the doors, and gasped. The café took up the front half of the boat, and was big enough for six two-seater tables. At the back was the counter that served as the throne of Madeleine’s mini-empire. She had sold cakes and scones and coffee, either to those inside, or from the hatch that looked out on to the towpath, treating every customer like a dear friend, the blackboard behind her advertising daily specials. The chairs and tables were painted royal blue with red accents, matching the exterior paintwork of the boat, and even the outdoor furniture, stored on the boat in winter, fitted the colour scheme.

At least, that was the image that Summer had held on to: everything running smoothly, Madeleine so proud of her beautiful café. But now, as Summer stood in the doorway, icy air whispering around the tops of her boots, that shred of reassurance was torn away.

The café was empty of customers, which was a good thing considering the state of it. The tables were in disarray, chairs askew as if people had left in a hurry, and some of the blue paintwork had been scratched, revealing the wood underneath. A bag’s worth of coffee beans was scattered across the floor, collecting in the corners with dust and, Summer noticed, a couple of sizeable spiders. The windows were smeared on the inside as well as out, and some of the bunting had been pulled down. The counter looked like it was dealing with the aftermath of a squirrel-raid, crumbs and plates and mess everywhere, and the smell of burnt coffee caught in her throat.

Valerie shrugged her shoulders, her expression contrite, but Summer knew this was her own fault.

‘It’s not too bad,’ she said tentatively, running her finger along the top of one table. It caught on a splinter.

‘It’s worse,’ Valerie said. ‘I’ve been trying, Summer, I really have. But even during the winter, customers are always … popping in. It’s not always full, but there’s a steady stream and there’s never a minute to recover, and then by the end of the day I’m so shattered.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ Summer whispered. ‘What’s happened here?’ She approached the stricken coffee machine.

‘It’s stopped working. It just belches steam and spray and makes whirring noises, and then, when I was trying to fix it this morning, I knocked the beans over. And what with Jenny,’ she looked away, ‘really pushing the cakes in The Black Swan, I’m not sure that this place, Maddy’s place …’ Her words drifted off and she glanced at the counter, where a few Jammie Dodgers sat under a glass dome with a sign saying ‘Ten pence each’. ‘Maddy’s not happy with me, I know it.’

Summer turned to Valerie, her hands clenching into fists. ‘What?’

‘Her presence is strong. She can see me failing.’ Valerie crouched and picked up some coffee beans, shoving them into the pocket of her dress. ‘She forgives me of course, but even so.’

‘Valerie,’ Summer said, trying to keep her voice even, ‘please let’s focus on getting things back on track. I’m sure it won’t take long.’ She pushed a chair flush against a table, hoping it would make things look instantly brighter. It didn’t.

‘Summer,’ Valerie said, giving her a warm smile, ‘it is so good to see you. I don’t know why I didn’t call you sooner.’

‘It’s good to see you too,’ Summer said weakly. They both knew that Valerie had phoned Summer before this, but Summer had chosen to ignore her calls, unable to see herself back in the place where her mother – and she – had been so happy. ‘And I’m sorry,’ she added. ‘I’m so sorry Valerie. You shouldn’t have had to look after this place, you’ve got your own life to lead.’

‘But I was Maddy’s best friend. I’m next door. I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if I hadn’t at least tried to keep the café going. And I’ve fitted my readings in around it. But I do fear my efforts have made things worse than if it hadn’t been open at all. And the coffee machine was the last straw. If we can’t sell steaming cups of coffee on a February morning, then we’ve got no hope.’

‘So that’s what I’ll look at first.’ Summer shrugged off her coat and hung it over a chair, rolled up the sleeves of her grey jumper and pulled her wavy, strawberry-blonde hair into a messy ponytail with the hairband that lived constantly on her wrist. The stainless steel was hot to the touch, the coffee grinder at the side empty, and when she opened up the bowels of the machine, steam hit her in the face. She turned away, grasping for a cloth, and found a tea towel that looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks. She wiped her face on her jumper.

Valerie hovered beyond the counter, her long silver earrings dangling. ‘So how’ve you been, Summer? I’ve missed you. Willowbeck’s missed you.’

Summer busied herself with the coffee machine, scooping out chunks of sodden coffee grounds that had been left to pile up, causing the machine to jam. ‘Not too bad, thanks. Work’s busy, we’ve had a few more people join the co-operative, so the studio’s always got a good atmosphere. Christmas was … a bit hard,’ she added, her voice dropping.

‘Oh my love,’ Valerie said, ‘How could it not be, without Maddy there? Are your father and brother keeping well?’

‘They’re fine,’ Summer said. ‘Ben’s still up in Edinburgh, but he came to Dad’s for Christmas. It was strange, though.’ She hadn’t had a full family Christmas since her parents had divorced, nearly eight years before, but the traditional occasions at her dad’s had always been balanced by the time spent with her mum. More often than not they’d celebrated in The Black Swan, but sometimes they’d taken the boat further up the river and discovered other pubs, her mother quickly becoming the centre of attention, happy to talk to everyone, always smiling, and Summer getting swept up in it, finding her own confidence in Madeleine’s presence. Without that, Christmas had felt hollow, her mother’s absence overwhelming.

‘It felt strange here, too,’ Valerie said. ‘Willowbeck seemed much quieter.’

Summer closed her eyes. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Of course it was.’

She leant against the counter, dumping handfuls of coffee sludge into the dirty tea towel, and looked at Valerie. Her mum’s best friend had always matched Madeleine for vibrancy, both of them appearing much younger than early fifties, Valerie’s boat Moonshine hosting psychic readings, fortune-telling, astrology charts. A treasure-trove of magic and mysticism that Summer could never quite get her head around.

Somehow, she’d allowed herself to forget that Valerie was as close to her mother as she was. Valerie had lived alongside her for years, had lost her too, and instead of running away like Summer had, she’d tried to carry on where Madeleine no longer could.

It was no wonder that the café had gone downhill, but how much worse would it have been if Valerie had left Summer to deal with it? It would be completely closed, never mind a few scratches and an unappealing selection of cakes.

Summer heard footsteps along the towpath, a couple chatting as they passed the moorings. She sighed and moved the coffee grains around with her fingers. ‘I’m sorry, Valerie,’ she said again.

‘Oh hush,’ Valerie said. ‘You’re here now.’

Summer winced, knowing her apology was inadequate and Valerie was being too forgiving. ‘I think I’ve fixed the coffee machine.’

‘You have?’ Valerie’s eyes widened.

‘It was blocked up. I’ll give it a good clean, and then we can look at some of the other bits.’

‘I’ll get the dustpan and brush.’

‘Have we got any cakes?’ Alongside the Jammie Dodgers was a tray of what looked like flapjack, but was thin enough to be peanut brittle.

Valerie caught Summer’s eye. ‘I’m not much of a baker.’

‘No,’ Summer said. ‘Neither am I. That was always Mum’s thing. So.’ She glanced around her, waiting for a flash of inspiration. She could get some ingredients, fill the café with the smell of baking and entice people in. But what could they do immediately? Even if the seating area needed more work, they had the hatch, which at the moment was closed to the world. Ely and the nearest supermarket was a ten-minute drive away, she’d be back in no time. ‘Is the butcher’s still open at weekends?’

‘Saturday and Sunday mornings,’ Valerie said. ‘Another few hours before they close.’

‘Great. Give me five minutes.’ She washed her hands in the sink, put the sodden tea towel and coffee grounds in a carrier bag and tied it up, and then put her coat on and stepped outside.

The air was biting, sharp and cold compared to the belching coffee machine she’d had her head inside, and the water looked bottomless. She shuddered and stepped on to the towpath, glancing inside The Sandpiper as she passed it, but was met only with darkness. Next was Celeste. It cheered her to think of Norman still in there, even if he was the least sociable person in Willowbeck. He spent most of his time on his deck, fishing, and grumbling when other boats disturbed the calm of the water. For someone who lived on the river, he was particularly intolerant of other boat owners.

She couldn’t believe how quickly everything slipped back into place in her mind: Valerie and her readings, Norman, the butcher’s. The beautiful river, where she’d watched the orange and blue flash of kingfishers, the robin who perched on the tiller or the roof, the cacophony of ducks and geese and swans. It was quiet this morning, the colour of the narrowboats bright against the muted silvery-grey of frosty Willowbeck, but somehow that made it more of a blank canvas for all Summer’s memories.

Except that they all included her mum, laughing or winking at someone, her blonde hair pulled scruffily back, gingham apron on; taking a batch of cherry scones out of the oven; leaning out of the hatch to talk to a passing family, then turning to Summer and telling her a story about when she and Blaze were only knee-high. However many times Summer’s older brother had reminded Mum that he’d legally changed his name to Ben, Madeleine had insisted on referring to him as Blaze, his given name. Summer knew she had got off lightly, but she loved being named after her mum’s favourite season.

Summer found she’d stopped on the towpath, and was tracing the lettering on Norman’s boat with her finger, following the curved lines of Celeste. There was a loud banging from inside, and Summer jumped back as the doors on to the bow deck opened and Norman, looking exactly the same as the last time she’d seen him, navy flat cap, torn green cable-knit jumper and patchy grey beard, appeared and pointed at her.

‘Norman,’ Summer said, breaking into a smile. ‘It’s really good to see you. It’s been a long time, but you look just the same.’

He nodded once. ‘T’off my boat.’

‘What?’ She frowned.

‘Y’ll take the paint off.’ He jutted his chin in her direction, and Summer dropped her hand. Of course, he would know that Valerie had been struggling at the café, even if he hadn’t spoken to anyone. Summer realized that she had a lot to make up for, and not just with Valerie.

‘Sorry, I – I’m sorry, Norman.’

‘Hhm,’ he grunted. ‘Wha’ fer?’

Summer looked at him. ‘For not being here.’

‘Why? S’all the same t’me.’

‘OK,’ Summer said, clearing her throat. ‘Well, I’m going to do bacon rolls from the café this morning. Would you like one?’

‘Hhmmm,’ Norman said, his eyes, shadowed by grey bushy brows, watching her the whole time.

‘Right then,’ Summer said brightly. ‘Have a good day.’ She gave him a quick wave and hurried towards the butcher’s.

The welcome she got was cheerier, even if it wasn’t much warmer inside the shop than out. The sawdust on the floor, she was sure, was unnecessary, but Adam had always kept his business as traditional as possible.

‘Are my eyes deceiving me?’ Adam said, looking up from where he was scribbling something in a book. ‘I thought you’d given up this place.’

‘I’m back,’ Summer said, ‘for today at least. How are you? How’s Charlie?’

‘He’s out back,’ Adam said. ‘Turning into a good apprentice. It’s the same as ever, we’re still busy, still doing lots of deliveries. What can I do for you?’

Summer looked at the items under the glass. ‘I’d like some of your bacon please, smoked. Quite a bit, actually.’

Adam raised his eyebrows. He had thinning mid-brown hair, a cheerful face, and a red and white striped apron over his white coat. ‘You’re back in the café, then?’

Summer shifted from one foot to the other. ‘I’m helping Valerie out. I thought, as it’s so cold, bacon sandwiches might go down well. I’m glad you’re busy,’ she added. ‘It seems so quiet here today. I’ve hardly seen anyone. Is it like this all the time now?’

‘It’s still early, girl,’ Adam said. ‘But I’ve seen that it’s struggling a bit, your café.’ He counted out the rashers, his face fixed in concentration.

Summer’s words disappeared. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t hers, that she had never asked for it, that the last thing she had wanted was to be in charge, because that meant her mum wasn’t there to run it any more.

‘Of course,’ Adam continued, when she failed to fill the space, “winter months, it’s going to be quieter, isn’t it?” It’ll soon pick up. And Valerie’s a trooper, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, she’s been amazing for even trying to keep it going.’ She bit her lip, realizing how mean that sounded. Adam handed over the bacon and she got her purse out, paid and thanked him, then hurried outside, wondering if it was possible to get it wrong with everyone in Willowbeck before lunchtime. Of course, she thought, looking up at The Black Swan, she’d do that with Jenny and Dennis just by being here.

When she got back to the café Valerie had moved the chairs and tables to the edges of the space, and was polishing the floor, all trace of coffee beans and spiders gone. The smell of pine-scented cleaner filled the air. ‘I thought I’d give it a going-over,’ she said.

‘It looks better already. I’ve got bacon, but we need rolls – do you have any?’

‘Oh no,’ Valerie admitted. ‘I could barely come up with any cakes, let alone think of doing sandwich fillings. The newsagents do white bread.’

Summer chewed her lip. ‘I think rolls would be better. Will you be all right if I disappear for half an hour, get a few bits from the shop? I could get some cakes up and running too.’

Valerie nodded and smiled. ‘I knew you’d fix it all,’ she said.

‘I’m not,’ Summer protested. ‘Anyone would struggle running the café entirely on their own. I’m helping you get back on your feet, that’s all.’

‘It’s not my feet that should be here. I’m doing this for Maddy and for you, Summer, but I have my own job to be getting on with. The money I get for my readings is even more important now.’ She gestured around her, and Summer felt her cheeks redden, realizing that Valerie would have had to buy supplies as well as everything else. ‘I was never cut out for this,’ Valerie continued. ‘Maddy left the café to you, and you loved it, didn’t you? Being here with her.’

‘Of course I did. But I have my job, my flat – and I’ve got a dog now. I never lived here, because—’

‘Because it was Maddy’s. But Summer,’ Valerie put her mop down, ‘she’s not here. The living space is empty, the café’s failing. It’s turning into a ghost ship…’

Summer gave Valerie a sharp look, but she carried on unperturbed.

‘And I know that Maddy wants you here, carrying it on for her. You’ve shown, already, that you were meant to be here.’

‘I’ve cleaned out the coffee machine and bought some bacon,’ Summer said, exasperation creeping into her voice. ‘That’s all. This place is still a mess, we’ve got hardly anything to sell and there aren’t any customers. I can cook all the bacon I want, but if there’s nobody to eat it then what’s the point? I know you’ve given up a lot to keep it running, but I can’t just come back, Valerie. It isn’t that simple.’

‘So sell it,’ Valerie said, her hazel eyes meeting Summer’s. ‘Get rid of the boat. Be done with it.’

Summer froze.

‘I’m serious. If you don’t want to be here, then sell it and do something else with your mum’s money. There’s no point in it limping along like this.’

Summer shook her head.

‘I’m not trying to be cruel, Summer, but really, you have to do something.’

‘I have to go to the supermarket,’ Summer said, backing towards the door.

‘Well,’ Valerie said, sploshing the mop into the bucket and then sweeping it in a wide, soapy puddle over the floor, ‘that’s a start.’

By the time she returned from Ely with carrier bags full of cake ingredients and crusty white and wholemeal rolls, the hatch at the side of the boat was open and Valerie was leaning out, handing blue cardboard coffee cups to a young couple togged up in woolly hats and gloves. Summer hurried aboard, her eyes widening at the transformation.

The floor was clean, the tables and chairs back in place and crumb free, waiting for repairs and decoration. The counter was gleaming, the Jammie Dodgers nowhere to be seen, and the smell coming from the coffee machine made Summer yearn for a spiced latte.

‘Wow.’

‘They were our first customers,’ Valerie said. ‘Appeared as soon as I opened the hatch. I’ve cleaned up a bit, but the offerings are pretty paltry.’

‘Hopefully this will help,’ Summer said, holding up her bags. ‘Let’s get the bacon on, I can sort out some rolls and then mix up some brownies.’

‘Ooh,’ Valerie said, her voice taking on a dreamy tone, ‘you and your brownies. Maddy always said they were the best thing she sold.’

‘Hardly,’ Summer said, but she felt a smile tug at her lips – until she saw the state of the kitchen.

‘I haven’t had a chance to come back here yet,’ Valerie said.

‘That’s OK,’ Summer murmured. She glanced at the door that led to the cabin, her mum’s living quarters compressed because of the café taking up half the length of the boat. She’d watched countless films on the sofa, curled up alongside her mum, the boat undulating softly.

Summer never got over how snug her mum’s living space was, but her mouth dried out at the thought of stepping in there now. How could it have any warmth to it when Madeleine was gone? She thought of Valerie’s words, about how her mum’s presence was strong, and imagined her sitting on the sofa staring at the blank television screen, her pale face devoid of emotion.

She shook her head angrily – she was not about to indulge Valerie’s ghostly beliefs – dropped her bags on the floor and stared at the scatter of plates, spoons and mixing bowls covering every surface and filling the sink.

‘Tell me what I can do,’ Valerie said from the doorway.

‘Can you keep serving coffee?’ Summer asked. ‘I need to make this place gleam, and then I can start cooking.’

‘You’re sure you don’t want me to do that?’

‘I’m sure,’ Summer said. ‘You’ve cleaned the café, Valerie, now it’s my turn to get my hands dirty.’ She ran hot water and began piling things into the sink.

It wouldn’t take long to get the kitchen back to its former, polished glory, but Summer knew that wouldn’t be enough to rescue the café, to return it to the sparkling, welcoming place that Maddy had put her heart into. And after getting over the initial hurdle of returning to Willowbeck and The Canal Boat Café, Summer wasn’t sure that she had the will to stick it out.

Chapter 2

By eleven o’clock, they were serving their first bacon sandwiches through the hatch on to the towpath. The inside of the café still needed some work – the scratches needed to be fixed, the windows polished and the whole place given a thorough, deep clean – not to mention the personal touches, like flowers on the tables, that Maddy had always taken so much time over. But at least they were open, they were serving, and a batch of brownies was in the oven.

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?’

‘I suppose there was a space to fill,’ Valerie said quietly.

‘No,’ Summer replied, ‘that can’t be why. I mean, perhaps for Jenny, but I can’t imagine Dennis ever taking that attitude.’

Valerie caught Summer’s eye. ‘I’m not sure he would have had a choice.’

Summer exhaled loudly, put the brownies on the cooling rack, and turned back to her scone mixture, wiggling her fingers before diving in. It was her favourite part, rubbing the butter and flour together, and today she was going to treat the dough as a culinary stress-ball.

‘So you’ve not had much cheeriness from the pub these last few months, then?’

‘Dennis smiles at me, when she’s not around.’

‘Damned by association.’

‘I don’t think Jenny has a good day unless she can have an argument with someone.’

‘And then force them to eat a cake,’ Summer added. ‘That must get confusing for people.’

Valerie tittered, the sound small and unconvincing. Summer had noticed that much of the older woman’s confidence was gone, deferring to Summer for everything, even whether she should put the blackboard outside. She turned away from her mixture, gestured for Valerie to move into the café and followed her out with the brownies. They weren’t nearly cool enough, but sticky, melting brownies were better than no brownies, and the February wind coming through the hatch would soon cool them down.

She put them on the plate, leaving the glass dome off, and made two coffees. She gave one to Valerie and sat at one of the tables, Valerie sitting opposite her.

‘It must have been lonely here, since Mum died.’ It hurt Summer to say the words, but over the last few hours she’d realized that if she couldn’t even say it, then she couldn’t do anything about the boat’s predicament with any kind of conviction.

‘I have my readings,’ Valerie said into her coffee. ‘And I’ve been serving customers, however ineffectively. Mr Dawson from the village gets a latte on his way to work, strolling along the towpath in his suit, and passing boaters are always friendly, commenting on the colour of Moonshine.’

‘Dark lavender’s a beautiful colour,’ Summer admitted. ‘And unusual for a narrowboat. But even so, with the pub being so hostile – do you ever go in there?’

‘Sometimes, when I want a hot meal and I haven’t got the energy to cook. I have no grudge with them, and as I said, Dennis is always amicable, and the other staff are pleasant enough.’

‘But Norman’s a bit reclusive, so I guess down here …’ She looked out of the window as a couple of mallards swam past, the drake’s green feathers glinting in the sun. ‘Who’s in The Sandpiper? That wasn’t here before.’

‘Oh that’s Mason,’ Valerie said looking up, her face brightening. ‘He’s very nice.’

‘Who is he?’

‘He’s some nature buff, goes around hunting for birds and geese.’

Summer wrinkled her nose. ‘Like a twitcher?’

‘It’s his job – he writes and takes photos for magazines. He’s got a strong aura, good and kind.’

‘Right,’ Summer said. ‘Sounds like he’s companionable then.’

‘Oh he is – a bright spark.’

There was a knocking at the hatch and Summer jumped up, ready to serve a customer, and then realized the customer was a beautiful silver tabby. The cat jumped elegantly down into the café and Summer scooped him up so that his face was pressed against her cheek, his purring loud in her ear.

‘Harvey,’ she said, ‘oh I’ve missed you.’ She grinned and returned to the table, the cat content in her arms. ‘How are they?’

‘Good,’ Valerie said. ‘Harvey’s going through a phase of trying to catch moths, which is never a good idea on a boat. And after what happened to his brother, too.’

‘No!’ Summer said, and then directed her attention to the cat. “That’s a very silly thing to do, isn’t it, Harvey?” Harvey closed his eyes in contentment. ‘How’s Mike?’

Mike was Harvey’s brother. A smaller cat, he had fallen into the river as a kitten, and been rescued by Valerie jumping alarmingly in after him, a frantic Ophelia with her red hair streaming out behind her.

‘He’s fine,’ Valerie said. ‘Though he’s never recovered his adventurous spark after that incident.’ She reached out and stroked Harvey’s silky fur. ‘He does sometimes surprise my clients, snoozing on the sofa until halfway through a reading, when he’ll pop his head up and meow, or jump on to their laps. It’s not entirely professional, but I can’t bear to move him. His world is my boat, and I’m not going to limit him further. And Harvey’s adventurous enough for both of them. Not averse to trying out other people’s boats if a window or door has been left open.’

‘God, I wonder if he’s got on to Norman’s boat. If only you could talk,’ Summer said, rubbing the fur between Harvey’s eyes.

‘His latest thing is antagonizing Mason’s dog,’ Valerie said, sighing.

‘What kind of dog has he got?’ Summer asked, feeling a pang of longing at the thought of Latte, alone in her flat.

Valerie waved her hand. ‘Smallish, scruffy. A bit of a terror if you ask me, though I wouldn’t say it to Mason’s face. I’ve caught Harvey screeching at him, tail puffed out, more than once, but the dog always comes back for more – as if he enjoys it.’

Summer couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Sounds like a pretty straightforward relationship to me.’

Valerie gave her a curious look. ‘Do you know what, Summer Freeman? That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh since you’ve been back here.’

Summer opened her mouth, but her lack of response was forgotten as there was a gentle rat-a-tat at the serving hatch, this time from a human visitor rather than a feline one.

‘Hello? Any chance of a cuppa? My hands are freezing.’ A face appeared and Valerie rushed to greet the customer, an older gentleman with a shock of white hair and a brown jacket zipped up to the neck, and Summer slipped back to the kitchen to carry on with her scones. As she rubbed the mixture between her fingers, she realized how much she’d shut herself off, and how unfair that had been to Valerie. At least she didn’t seem too lonely, was able to go in the pub and had a new, friendly neighbour, even if he did sound a little on the geeky side.

Summer put the scones in the oven and looked at her watch. It was two o’clock, and realistically the café would only be open until four. Summer glanced again at the doorway into the living room and shuddered. She didn’t want to admit to being spooked out – it was just a couple of empty rooms – but she had to be away from the boat before it got dark. She chided herself, wished again that she had Latte’s uncomplicated companionship, and started clearing up.

She remembered that she had mentioned her bacon rolls to Norman, and decided that if he wasn’t prepared to come to them – and she hadn’t really expected him to – then she would take one to him. She’d surprised herself by how much she’d enjoyed seeing Valerie again, as well as getting back into baking, and part of her knew that this couldn’t be a one-off, not if she wanted the café to survive. Maybe she could come back every other weekend. Regardless, she wanted Jenny and the people of Willowbeck to know The Canal Boat Café was back in business, and getting Norman onside seemed like a good place to start.

She fried some more bacon, sliced open a crusty roll and finished it with a dollop of ketchup.

‘Do you know what coffee Norman likes? I can’t remember.’

Valerie smiled. ‘He thinks coffee is a new-fangled invention. He only ever drinks tea.’

Summer’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, that’s right! I wonder what would happen if I took him a spiced gingerbread latte with whipped cream and cinnamon sprinkles?’

‘He’d throw it in the river.’

‘I’ll take him a tea, then.’

She banged on the door at the bow deck, concerned that the bacon roll would be cold by the time he got it. She couldn’t hear anything, so she knocked again. Eventually, she heard a whumph, and a couple of bangs, and then the door opened an inch.

‘What?’ Norman asked.

‘I brought you a bacon roll and a tea. It’s a welcome back gift, and I thought it’d warm you up a bit.’

‘I’ve not be’n anywhere. Always be’n here.’

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