The Canal Boat Café Christmas: Port Out. Cressida McLaughlin
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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