The Canal Boat Café Christmas: Port Out. Cressida McLaughlin
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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.
After the short flurry of activity, the riverside village was suddenly still. The butcher’s, newsagent’s and gift shop that faced the river were all quiet, and only the Black Swan was aglow with life, its large windows golden and inviting. Summer’s mind was firmly fixed on finding Mason, getting the hot chocolate he had promised her, and sinking into his arms. But Harry wasn’t ready to let her go.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked, as they gave the café a final check, ensuring everything was tidy, the appliances switched off. The pumpkins would remain until tomorrow but, even though electric tea lights were safer than real flames, she removed them all and switched them off, with the exception of Mason’s wolf. She tucked his pumpkin under her arm as she let Latte, who had spent the evening sitting at her feet as she steered the boat, or snoozing on her sofa, and then Harry onto the deck. She didn’t sleep on Madeleine very often these days, The Sandpiper being much more comfortable and having the significant added bonus of Mason on it, but occasionally he had to take his boat away for work, and so her cosy living quarters weren’t entirely abandoned.
‘What do you mean?’ Summer asked, focusing on locking the door, securing her boat for the night.
She heard Harry sigh behind her, and turned to meet a look that was entirely penetrating, even under the soft glow of the towpath lamps.
‘Don’t play the innocent with me, Summer Freeman. What was all the smiling, the nervous energy about tonight? Your bounce has gone up several levels, and when Josh was talking about marrying Emma …’ Her words faded away, and she gasped into the darkness. ‘Has Mason proposed? Oh my God!’ She glanced at The Sandpiper as they stepped onto the towpath, and took Summer by the shoulders. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? How could you keep this from me?’ The words were a loud, squeaky whisper, and Latte, sensing the excitement, let out a loud yip.
Summer realized, then, that she wouldn’t be able to keep her idea to herself; she was too transparent, and her best friend knew her too well. Besides, in only a few minutes Harry and Latte combined would have woken the whole of Cambridgeshire’s wild dog population with their high-pitched squeaking. She knew she could trust her.
‘No,’ she said, ‘Mason hasn’t proposed, but …’ she paused, took a deep breath. ‘I’m going to.’
‘You’re what? Oh, Summer, when? How?’ Harry clapped her hands together, and Latte upped her barking. Suddenly the dark towpath was charged with excitement, and the last thing Summer wanted was for Mason to overhear the commotion, come outside and rumble them. Madeleine was all locked up now, and she didn’t want to have to go through the process all over again, so she pointed towards the pub.
‘I’ve got half an hour before I have to leave,’ Harry said. ‘I want to know everything!’
‘You have to promise not to tell anyone else.’
‘Of course, of course.’ Summer could see her friend’s eagerness, recognized in her jitteriness the way she had been feeling for the last few weeks, as the thought had taken hold.
She held the pub door open and Latte skittered inside, followed by Harry. It was warm to the point of gentle furnace, and Summer knew she would have to work hard to stay awake after the cold of the river.
‘Summer, Harry,’ Dennis called, raising a hand in greeting. Dennis, in his early fifties and with a mild, approachable manner, owned and ran the pub with his wife Jenny. Summer had known them both for years, ever since her mother had bought the boat and moored it in Willowbeck, and their friendship had grown over the last year – though it hadn’t been without its complications. ‘How are you? How did it go tonight?’
‘It was very successful, thanks. The spirit of celebration wasn’t dampened by all the gurning pumpkins.’
‘Like that one, you mean?’ Dennis said, pointing, reminding Summer that she had Mason’s wolf tucked under her arm.
‘This is the least scary, believe me.’
‘What can I get you both?’
‘Two mulled wines,’ Harry said. ‘One alcoholic, one non. I’m driving back shortly, to see if Tommy’s overdosed on Haribo.’
‘Coming up.’
They took their drinks to a table by the window, and Latte settled at their feet as Summer pressed her cold hands against her burning cheeks.
‘It’s warm in here,’ she said.
‘Never mind the temperature,’ Harry said. ‘When did you decide you were going to propose? How are you going to do it? I need to know.’
Harry’s eyes were dancing, and Summer was reassured that her best friend was clearly enthusiastic about the idea, and wasn’t going to try and persuade her against it.
‘It’s been the last few weeks,’ she said, cradling her mug of hot, spiced wine. ‘Mason and I are happy. More than happy – this last year has been the best of my life. Perhaps all the complications at the beginning meant we used up our quota of difficulties, but whatever the cause, whether it’s fate or destiny or simply that we just fit together, I can’t imagine not being with him. I don’t want to. I love him, and I want to make it permanent – officially permanent.’
‘This is the best thing,’ Harry said. ‘I’m so excited for you. What are you going to do? How will you pop the question? Will you get him an engagement ring?’
‘I’m not sure if he’d appreciate me buying him a ring that he’d feel obliged to wear. He’s not really the jewellery type.’
‘But you can get lovely rings for men, something special but not sparkly. If you’re doing the proposing, you need to get him a ring.’
Summer wrinkled her nose. Would Mason like a ring?
Unperturbed, Harry continued. ‘Will you go down on one knee?’
‘Maybe,’ Summer said. ‘I hadn’t got much further than making the decision, and wanting to do it at Christmas. It’s our second one together, and I want to make it extra special.’
‘It’ll be perfect. Anything I can do to help – distract Mason, string lights along Willowbeck’s bridge – I’ll be there. We should brainstorm!’
‘We should,’ Summer said, drumming her fingers on the table. She wondered, now she had revealed her plans to Harry, if she should also tell her about the one thing that was holding her back, dampening her enthusiasm ever so slightly. But she didn’t need to wonder, because Harry had already picked up on her hesitation.
‘So what’s worrying you? You don’t actually think he’ll say no, do you? Summer,’ she pressed her palms flat on the table, ‘anyone can see he loves you. People passing on the towpath who have never met you would realize that much. And you’ve said how happy you are with him. What else is there?’
Summer