Page 23 of Barging In
Spinning her chair around, her gaze fell on the orange blob of a boat directly opposite her office window, a grisly reminder that there might not be a second birthday to celebrate. Through the small, rectangular windows, she could make out a figure moving inside the boat. When she squinted, she caught sight of a swaying ponytail. It had to be Clem. She was unlikely to have staff on such a small narrowboat, even if she could afford them. It was too small for one person, let alone two.
Victoria had only been on a narrowboat once, for a girls’ holiday at university, and it had been the longest, most uncomfortable week of her life. What possessed them to think cramming six women into a sardine can was a good idea, she couldn’t recall. The feeling of being unable to breathe, however, had stayed with her, not helped by a particular friend who also took her breath away. In the end, she spent most of the trip perched on the stern orstretched out sunbathing on the roof, pretending she was anywhere else.
Still, the experience had proved worthwhile in that it confirmed confined spaces weren’t for her. It also reinforced her architectural education, teaching her the value of flow — specifically, how people moved through a space, how light shifted during the day, and how too much clutter could choke the life out of even the most beautiful design. Whenever she reimagined a period home or transformed neglected buildings, she always began with air, light, and movement.
Noticing Clem was no longer bobbing back and forth inside the boat, Victoria found herself scanning the windows, then the stern, waiting for her to reappear. There was something about the woman that pulled at her. She was intriguing, no question. Curiosity whirred inside Victoria, a need to understand her new neighbour despite the stress she’d brought to her door.
She considered going over and clearing the air. Acting in haste and lashing out weren’t typical for her. She was someone who took her time, weighing options, analysing outcomes, and visualising the bigger picture. These were, after all, the skills of an architect.
What had come over her on Friday? Was it the unfamiliar sensation of feeling under threat that had kicked her survival instincts into gear? Touching someone else’s property, let alone engaging in a tug of war over it, had been a bad idea, and she knew it.
She yawned and rubbed her eyes. One thing she felt for certain was her growing discomfort at the thought of Clem perceiving her in this way. With every passing minute, that impression was likely solidifying, and the very thought made her uncomfortable. Confrontation wasn’t something she gravitated towards. It was the part of her job sheloathed the most, handling staff issues and awkward conversations, but with Clem, it felt suddenly necessary to have a proper conversation. A chance to apologise, to sit down and work things out.
Her defence mechanisms kicked into gear. What was there to work out? Clem was a threat, and threats needed eliminating. A sharp, frustrated huff escaped her lungs. If she couldn’t even get her thoughts to align, how on earth was she going to deal with the situation?
A fast-moving figure on the bridge caught her eye — Clem. Victoria sat bolt upright, watching her as she strode towards the wharf, only to stop abruptly, turn around, and head back towards the towpath.
What is she doing?
Clem halted again, turned once more, and retraced her steps back across the bridge to the wharf, eventually vanishing from view.
Victoria whipped a compact mirror from her top drawer and gave her face a once-over, only to toss it back in the drawer.
What amIdoing?
Clem was unlikely to be coming to see her. More likely, she was doing exactly what she and Jasper had done: checking out the competition. Victoria could have told Clem herself: The wharf’s cakes were no match for hers.
Pushing away the urge to spy any further, Victoria picked up her pen, determined to focus on her work and put the woman out of her mind. She dropped it not two minutes later as a knock at the door made her jump.
“Come in.”
The door opened, revealing Clem.
She hovered in the doorway, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes scanning the room. A faint crease formed between her eyebrows.
“Clem.”
“Victoria.”
The use of her name took Victoria by surprise. Clem must have done her research.
“The woman at the reception desk told me where I could find you,” she said. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”
“No, not at all,” Victoria replied with a smile, instantly regretting her level of enthusiasm. She was relieved to be on her own turf and nowhere near the canal whilst talking to the newcomer.
“I found your jumper in the canal,” Clem said, stepping forward to hand it over the desk before moving back again. “I hooked it out for you and washed it — hand-washed it,” she added quickly.
Victoria caressed its softness between her fingers. The jumper felt better than it had before it went in. She pressed it to her nose, inhaling a lavender scent that was far more pleasant than the smell of canal water she’d expected.
“Thank you,” she said softly, surprised but touched by Clem’s efforts.
Clem fidgeted, her hands twisting together as if she wanted to say something but struggled to. Finally, she spoke, her voice quiet, almost reluctant. “I’m sorry about the whole dragging you in the canal thing. I was hoping to regain my balance.”
Victoria arched an eyebrow and smiled. “Well, perhaps we did get off on the wrong foot — quite literally.”
Clem smiled back, and Victoria noticed how it shifted the whole geometry of her face, making something flutter inside her in the process.
“I hope you managed to get the smell off you,” Clem said.
