The Canal Boat Café Christmas: Starboard Home. Cressida McLaughlin

playlist that Madeleine could have going on in the background, and offered to lend her some external speakers and help her set them up.

      Summer laughed, as she always did when she was with Claire, her friend’s enthusiasm infectious, despite the circumstances. Her glances towards her phone became less frequent – they had been gone thirty-five minutes now – and Summer tried not to picture them leaning towards each other over a table in the café, the windows opaque with condensation, sparks of attraction reigniting between them, like fireflies glowing in the dusk.

      Her phone buzzed with a message from Harry, asking if they’d arrived safely. She smiled wryly, picturing her friend’s face when she updated her on all that had happened.

      She had started to reply when a hand landed gently on her shoulder, fingers tickling her neck. Summer closed her eyes, surprised at the emotion the touch brought, realizing how tense she’d been.

      ‘Mason.’ She swivelled round in her chair and then stood. ‘Are you OK?’

      He nodded. He looked tired, dark shadows under his eyes. ‘I’m sorry I was so long,’ he said. ‘I might head back. Do you want to stay, or …’

      ‘I’ll come with you,’ she said quickly. She couldn’t see Tania, and wondered whether she hadn’t come back with Mason, but then spotted her long dark hair slipping through the crowd towards the Ladies.

      Summer gave Claire a brief hug and waved goodbye to the others, promising the first round the next evening would be hers, a sentiment that was met with applause, and light heckling from Ryder. She pulled her coat on and did it up, Mason helping her with the stiff top button.

      ‘Do you mind if we don’t go back to the boat yet?’ Mason asked. ‘I could do with clearing my head, and we’ll still have time to take Archie and Latte for a walk before bed.’

      ‘If they aren’t conked out on the sofa already,’ Summer said, smiling gently. ‘Do you want me to come, or would you rather be on your own?’

      They stepped out into the night. The cold was biting and soothing all at once.

      Mason faced her. ‘I’d like you to come, unless you’re too tired. I want to tell you how it went. I don’t want to keep anything from you.’ His Adam’s apple bobbed, a day’s worth of stubble making him look even wearier.

      She nodded, relief coursing through her. Maybe there were no fireflies, no sparks. They turned away from the river, along residential streets lined with cars. The air was full of city sounds: shouts, laughter, a distant siren, the underlying hum of traffic. They walked hand in hand, silent except for the occasional direction from Mason.

      ‘I hope you’re keeping track of where we’re going,’ Summer said jokingly, but she meant it. After everything else, she didn’t want to get lost on their first night.

      ‘We’ll be fine,’ Mason murmured. ‘Here it is.’

      He’d stopped in front of a narrow building squeezed between two others, with a blue awning that looked more suited to a newsagent’s than a bar or pub. The windows glowed invitingly beneath a sign that read Benji’s, a mesh of coloured, twinkling lights covering one of the large panes of glass. Summer followed Mason inside.

      It was the smallest, snuggest bar she’d ever been in. It had blue, velvety booths squashed close together and bright mosaics on the walls, the low hum of unobtrusive music in the background. The bar was wide enough for three men standing abreast, and there was a pure white cat sitting at its base, licking its front paw intently.

      ‘How did you know about this place?’ Summer asked.

      ‘My editor told me about it,’ Mason said, gesturing towards an unoccupied booth in the corner. ‘He said it was close to Little Venice, and a bit out of the ordinary. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find it, but …’ He shrugged, took off his coat and went to the bar.

      Summer settled into the comfortable booth and stared at her new surroundings, thinking how surreal the evening had become after the jubilant, busy afternoon serving in the café. To think she had felt threatened by the flirtatious woman in the sparkly hat.

      ‘Here.’ Mason slid in opposite her, clinking his wine glass against hers before taking a sip. He was wearing a loose-fitting khaki shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Summer caught a whiff of his usual citrus and vanilla scent. He was so familiar to her now, and yet, at this moment, she had no idea what he was about to tell her.

      ‘How did it go?’ she asked. ‘Are you all right?’

      His smile was tired. He reached his hand out and she held it, resting her arm on the table.

      ‘I’m OK,’ he said. ‘It hasn’t been the easiest evening, but I’m glad I spoke to her.’ He sipped his wine.

      ‘Did you tell her everything?’ Summer asked. ‘About Lisa, about becoming a liveaboard?’

      He nodded. ‘Claire paved the way when they ran into each other a few months ago, so she had some idea. But I wanted her to hear it from me, how I never meant to treat her badly and thought I was doing the opposite when I disappeared, believing it would be best for both of us. That’s how screwed up I was.’ He sighed. ‘I owed it to her to be honest about it all.’

      Summer nodded, holding back the question she most wanted to ask. ‘And how did she take it?’

      ‘Well. Better than I thought she would, though of course she’s had a while to think about it.’

      ‘She forgave you?’

      ‘She said it was water under the bridge.’ He laughed gently.

      ‘And how do you feel, now that you’ve cleared the air? Was it weird, seeing her again?’ She drummed her fingers on her knee under the table, hoping Mason wouldn’t see how nervous she was.

      ‘Very weird,’ he said. ‘Good. But … it’s been so long. And when we were together, I was numb, really. I did care about her, but … I’ve blocked a lot of it out, or my mind has simply refused to let me remember the details. So it felt unbalanced, somehow. As if she’d held a lot more store in our relationship than I had. And tonight, she wanted to hear how things were now, what I’d been up to. She told me about living in Little Venice too, and asked about you, Claire and the other traders.’ He looked at the table, his brows knitting together. ‘I didn’t mean to be so long, but I didn’t feel like I could leave.’

      ‘Of course, Mason, it’s fine,’ Summer said. ‘Claire’s sorry it turned out this way – apparently Tania had planned to go away for the whole of December. She hadn’t expected her to be here.’

      Mason looked up at her. ‘Tania said she needed to change her plans, that she can’t go and see her family until closer to Christmas. She apologized for springing herself on me – on us, like this.’

      Summer nodded, wondering if she believed her. She wanted to, but there was something about Tania’s smooth smile, the way she had glided easily towards them through the pub, the look she had given Mason, that was putting her on edge. ‘Are you sure you’re OK with this?’ she asked. ‘Do you want to go back to Willowbeck? I’ll do whatever’s best for you.’

      ‘What’s best,’ he said, leaning across the table towards her, ‘is that we put this behind us now, and enjoy London. I’m not spending two weeks travelling all this way only to turn straight around. I need a few more days at least before we have to tackle all those locks again.’

      ‘You’re sure?’

      ‘I’m sure, Summer. It’s you, me, Madeleine and the dogs against London’s Christmas revellers. I’ve been looking forward to it, and I’m not going to let this put us off course. It wasn’t how I’d pictured our first night here, but I’m fine. I’ve wanted to talk to Tania for a long time. It was a conversation I needed to have, and now it’s done. But –’ He held her gaze, his dark eyes clouded with concern. ‘Are you OK? You’ve been so supportive tonight, looking