Cressida McLaughlin - The Canal Boat Café Christmas

‘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 couple seemed wonderfully happy, and it was clear they had so much to look forward to. Summer’s applause was more profuse than most when Josh raised his glass for a toast, and when she returned from the kitchen carrying more bottles of fizz, icy-cold from the fridge, 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.’

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