‘Because it was Maddy’s. But Summer,’ Valerie put her mop down, ‘she’s not here. The living space is empty, the café’s failing. It’s turning into a ghost ship…’
Summer gave Valerie a sharp look, but she carried on unperturbed.
‘And I know that Maddy wants you here, carrying it on for her. You’ve shown, already, that you were meant to be here.’
‘I’ve cleaned out the coffee machine and bought some bacon,’ Summer said, exasperation creeping into her voice. ‘That’s all. This place is still a mess, we’ve got hardly anything to sell and there aren’t any customers. I can cook all the bacon I want, but if there’s nobody to eat it then what’s the point? I know you’ve given up a lot to keep it running, but I can’t just come back, Valerie. It isn’t that simple.’
‘So sell it,’ Valerie said, her hazel eyes meeting Summer’s. ‘Get rid of the boat. Be done with it.’
Summer froze.
‘I’m serious. If you don’t want to be here, then sell it and do something else with your mum’s money. There’s no point in it limping along like this.’
Summer shook her head.
‘I’m not trying to be cruel, Summer, but really, you have to do something.’
‘I have to go to the supermarket,’ Summer said, backing towards the door.
‘Well,’ Valerie said, sploshing the mop into the bucket and then sweeping it in a wide, soapy puddle over the floor, ‘that’s a start.’
By the time she returned from Ely with carrier bags full of cake ingredients and crusty white and wholemeal rolls, the hatch at the side of the boat was open and Valerie was leaning out, handing blue cardboard coffee cups to a young couple togged up in woolly hats and gloves. Summer hurried aboard, her eyes widening at the transformation.
The floor was clean, the tables and chairs back in place and crumb free, waiting for repairs and decoration. The counter was gleaming, the Jammie Dodgers nowhere to be seen, and the smell coming from the coffee machine made Summer yearn for a spiced latte.
‘Wow.’
‘They were our first customers,’ Valerie said. ‘Appeared as soon as I opened the hatch. I’ve cleaned up a bit, but the offerings are pretty paltry.’
‘Hopefully this will help,’ Summer said, holding up her bags. ‘Let’s get the bacon on, I can sort out some rolls and then mix up some brownies.’
‘Ooh,’ Valerie said, her voice taking on a dreamy tone, ‘you and your brownies. Maddy always said they were the best thing she sold.’
‘Hardly,’ Summer said, but she felt a smile tug at her lips – until she saw the state of the kitchen.
‘I haven’t had a chance to come back here yet,’ Valerie said.
‘That’s OK,’ Summer murmured. She glanced at the door that led to the cabin, her mum’s living quarters compressed because of the café taking up half the length of the boat. She’d watched countless films on the sofa, curled up alongside her mum, the boat undulating softly.
Summer never got over how snug her mum’s living space was, but her mouth dried out at the thought of stepping in there now. How could it have any warmth to it when Madeleine was gone? She thought of Valerie’s words, about how her mum’s presence was strong, and imagined her sitting on the sofa staring at the blank television screen, her pale face devoid of emotion.
She shook her head angrily – she was not about to indulge Valerie’s ghostly beliefs – dropped her bags on the floor and stared at the scatter of plates, spoons and mixing bowls covering every surface and filling the sink.
‘Tell me what I can do,’ Valerie said from the doorway.
‘Can you keep serving coffee?’ Summer asked. ‘I need to make this place gleam, and then I can start cooking.’
‘You’re sure you don’t want me to do that?’
‘I’m sure,’ Summer said. ‘You’ve cleaned the café, Valerie, now it’s my turn to get my hands dirty.’ She ran hot water and began piling things into the sink.
It wouldn’t take long to get the kitchen back to its former, polished glory, but Summer knew that wouldn’t be enough to rescue the café, to return it to the sparkling, welcoming place that Maddy had put her heart into. And after getting over the initial hurdle of returning to Willowbeck and The Canal Boat Café, Summer wasn’t sure that she had the will to stick it out.
By eleven o’clock, they were serving their first bacon sandwiches through the hatch on to the towpath. The inside of the café still needed some work – the scratches needed to be fixed, the windows polished and the whole place given a thorough, deep clean – not to mention the personal touches, like flowers on the tables, that Maddy had always taken so much time over. But at least they were open, they were serving, and a batch of brownies was in the oven.
Sweat was running down Summer’s back, and her face was flushed, her wavy hair turning to frizz in the heat from the oven. She had put all her energy into cleaning and then baking, feeling that she could do more behind the scenes than out at the front, talking to customers. Besides, she hadn’t been at Willowbeck for months, the regulars would be more familiar with Valerie – if there were any regulars left.
‘Summer, do you think we should put the blackboard out now?’
Summer wiped her hands on a tea towel and, checking the oven timer, followed Valerie into the café. It looked brighter, despite the smeared windows limiting the amount of sun that was coming in. The counter was clean, the cake domes waiting for fresh brownies, a glass full of snowdrops that Summer had picked on her walk back from the car sat next to the till. Before she’d had a chance to respond, Valerie hugged her, squeezing tightly, her earring grazing Summer’s cheek.
‘Blackboard,’ Summer managed.
‘Look what you’ve done,’ Valerie said. ‘Look what a difference you make.’
‘We’ve done this,’ Summer said, gently wriggling out of Valerie’s grasp, ‘and it’s not there yet. Besides, anyone could have helped – it’s the difference between one pair of hands and two. That’s all.’
Valerie shook her head. ‘Stop being so humble. You were meant to run this café.’
Summer swallowed. ‘No I wasn’t,’ she said quietly. ‘Mum was. This should still be Mum’s.’
Valerie seemed to deflate, the light leaving her eyes, and Summer felt instantly guilty. But she couldn’t help it. Her mum had been robbed of her life far too soon, and when she was living it to the full, too. Summer hadn’t been able to reconcile herself with what had happened, or the fact that she was partly to blame.
‘I’ll do the blackboard,’ she said, grabbing the A-frame from where it was leaning against the counter, and the coloured chalks. Her feet echoed on the wooden floor and the boat swayed slightly as she walked through the café and out on to the deck, and then across to the towpath. She set the A-frame near the open hatch and crouched, pressing her bare knees into the ground, the leather of her boots cracking.
She thought for a moment, and then, in blue chalk, wrote: Keep out the cold with a fresh bacon roll. The writing was bold and swirly. Whenever Summer had worked on the boat with her mum, Madeleine had got her to do this part. Summer was a sign-writer by trade, and it came naturally to her, the lettering looking professional, evenly spaced and not misshapen. Add a coffee or tea, she added underneath in red chalk, for an extra 50p. She’d just started on her final line when she felt