The Canal Boat Café Christmas: Starboard Home. Cressida McLaughlin

and a very tall, burly man wearing a rugby shirt was on the other.

      A male elf with a loud, tenor voice, called out: ‘“Away in a Manger”. Three, two, one,’ and they launched into the first line of the carol.

      Summer felt her cheeks redden, and focused on her Converse sneakers and the floorboards beneath them. When she did glance up, she saw that her friends were grinning at her, Claire’s face pinched as she tried to hold in her laughter, Jas swaying side to side in time to the music. Ryder gave her an over-enthusiastic thumbs up, and when she caught Mason’s eye, he mouthed ‘I love you’.

      After that, Summer let herself loosen up, and once she and the group of motley Christmas elves had been through ‘Jingle Bells’, ‘Silent Night’ and a very raucous version of ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’ which had far too much emphasis – as always – on the “wish”, the pub was filled with enthusiastic clapping.

      Summer gave an awkward bow, and shook Milly’s hand. ‘Good luck with the pantomime.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It was lovely to sing with you, Summer.’

      ‘You too,’ she replied honestly. ‘And Merry Christmas!’

      She raced back to her table where her friends gave her an extra, embarrassingly long round of applause, and Ryder pushed a fresh drink in front of her.

      ‘Here you go, Dopey, you’ve earned it.’

      ‘Ha ha,’ Summer said dryly, accepting the drink.

      Mason put his arm around her and pulled her close. ‘You were wonderful,’ he said.

      ‘I bet you couldn’t even hear me over that guy.’ She pointed at the tall man who had been standing next to her, and who had unleashed an impressive baritone when they’d started singing. He probably led the chanting at rugby matches.

      ‘That doesn’t matter,’ Mason said. ‘You were by far my favourite Christmas elf – dwarf – whatever they were supposed to be.’

      ‘A bit of a hybrid, apparently,’ Summer said. ‘It was fun, though. And not that unexpected.’

      Mason raised a questioning eyebrow.

      Summer laughed. ‘We’re with this lot,’ she said, gesturing to Claire, Ryder and the others. ‘Nothing’s ever straightforward when they’re around.’

      That night, sleep came to her much more easily, and with her baking done and her lie-in longer, she bounced out of bed on Monday morning ready to face whatever Little Venice had to offer her.

      Unfortunately, that turned out to be Tania.

      Despite the reassurances Mason had given her, she felt a churn of anxiety when the glamorous woman walked into the café mid-morning. There was a temporary lull in custom, which meant she didn’t even have an excuse to serve her quickly and keep conversation at a minimum. It was as if she knew, Summer thought, or was controlling everyone’s behaviour, making them avoid the café at the precise moment she appeared, like a baddie in an X-Men film.

      She was wearing a fitted, caramel coat over pale jeans and tan boots, delicate gold studs in her ears offsetting her subtle, shimmery makeup. She looked like a mirage, and Summer was frozen to the spot.

      ‘Hi,’ she said, in her bold, even voice. ‘When we were talking the other night, Mason told me all about your café. I thought I’d come and sample some of the macarons. It’s very pretty,’ she added, glancing around her.

      ‘Thank you,’ Summer said. ‘Take a seat. What can I get you to drink? How many macarons?’

      ‘Oh, a selection, you choose. And a latte with skimmed milk.’

      ‘No problem.’ Summer waited for Tania to sit down, but she didn’t.

      ‘These are great,’ she said instead, picking up a carving of a sleigh adorned with gifts, one of Norman’s more elaborate creations.

      ‘They’re made by Norman, one of our neighbours in Willowbeck. He’s not that interested in making money from them, but he would be doing them regardless, and I think the world should know about his talent – our little corner of the world, at least. He’s slowly come round to the idea that me selling them for him is a good thing, and he’s made some of these specifically for Little Venice.’ She smiled, but Tania didn’t, intent on examining the other models.

      Summer busied herself making Tania’s latte, wondering if she should get Mason, who had taken the lull as an opportunity to spend time working on his new article. He wanted to write about their trip, the wildlife they’d encountered in London and on the journey, but with the cold weather it had so far been sparse, and Summer had seen him staring at the blank page of his notepad.

      ‘I’m sorry our introduction wasn’t great,’ Summer said, filling the void left by Tania’s silence with an apology she didn’t need to give.

      ‘No problem,’ Tania replied, failing to acknowledge the way she had sprung her presence on them. ‘It was great to see Mason again after all this time. I can’t deny—’ she stopped, gave Summer a quick smile as she accepted her latte. ‘You do know about me and Mason, don’t you? How it ended?’

      ‘I do,’ Summer said, bristling at the assumption he’d kept her in the dark. ‘He’s told me everything.’

      Tania gave her a quick, businesslike nod. ‘It was good to talk it through, to set things straight. And have a chance to catch up, too. It was surprising how easy it felt, how much of a connection there still is, after all this time.’ She smiled wistfully, and Summer’s stomach knotted.

      ‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you had that chance, and I know Mason has wanted to apologize to you, to put everything that happened behind him. It’s important that you were both able to say all you needed to.’ She kept her voice strong, controlled, hoping that Tania would get the message.

      Tania gave her a quick, amused look, and Summer felt instantly smaller. She drew in a long breath, wiped her hands down her apron and started putting macarons on a plate.

      ‘We have some new festive flavours,’ she said. ‘I’d love to know which one’s your favourite. Will you excuse me for a moment?’ She handed the plate to Tania, waited while she picked a table and then hurried through the kitchen to the living space. Mason had his notepad on his lap, his head in his hands. She loved the way he wrote out his articles freehand first, often sitting on the deck of The Sandpiper to immerse himself in the nature he was writing about.

      ‘Mason?’

      ‘My mind is a blank,’ he said, groaning.

      ‘You’ve had a lot to deal with over the last couple of days.’

      ‘That’s no excuse for this,’ he said, waving his hand at the pad. Summer took it from him, squinting as she tried to decipher his handwriting, which wasn’t so much scruffy as it was too joined-up. Words ran together, some letters were indistinguishable from each other – the thoughts spilling from his brain on to the page.

      Slowly, her eyes took it in: Article no. 14. It’s understandable to think that the only wildlife about at this time of year is a handful of robins and a few brazen foxes, but if you take the time to look out of your window, or slow down on the post-Christmas lunch walk, what’s really out there? She smiled. She loved the opening line. She wanted to help him with it, but now wasn’t the time.

      ‘Mason, Tania’s here. She’s come to sample some macarons.’ She raised her eyebrows when he looked up, his frown deepening.

      ‘That’s all?’

      ‘Supposedly. She said you’d mentioned the café, and she wanted to come and check it out. I didn’t know if you’d want to see her, or …?’

      He sighed, and pushed himself up to standing. ‘I’ll come and say hello.’

      ‘Great.’ Summer went back