Page 3 of Barging In
Clem inhaled sharply, anger rising inside her, but she let it out slowly before saying, “And yet Ihavea roof over my head. I even own the roof.”
“But you could have set yourself up with a nice deposit on a house with your inheritance.”
“And be a slave to a mortgage the rest of my days? Sounds wonderful,” she replied, sarcasm lacing her tone.
“I just want the best for you, and I hope this works out,” her mum urged. A little pull in Clem’s chest tuggedat her until she added, ”It’s not like you’ve left yourself with any other option.”
Clem rolled her eyes.
“We’ll see you Saturday, love. I’ll cook a lasagna and leave you the leftovers.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
Weekends were bound to be the busiest for her, so not having to cook dinner would be a bonus.
“Call me tomorrow to let me know how it all went, and send photographs of what the builders have done.”
“I will,” Clem assured her, wondering how much monitoring of the builders’ progress her mum was expecting. “I’d best go. I’ve got a lot to do before then. Cakes won’t bake themselves.”
“Bye, love. Good luck tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
With a deep breath, she hung up and pushed herself into motion. Slipping her phone into her back pocket, she headed around the side of the house to the front door. The call hadn’t exactly given her the boost she was after, and now a sense of dread threaded its way through her veins.
Her mum was right. She didn’t have any other option than to make her café work, but hearing it said so starkly made the burden feel heavier. Would anyone come by tomorrow? If they did, would they like her coffee and cakes?
Birds chattered in the large hedge separating Gram’s property from the neighbouring one. The sound would usually have had a calming effect on Clem, but the knot in her stomach only tightened as she realised how much she needed to do. She had hoped to scope out the mooring she would be trading from, but with her grocery delivery behind schedule, her baking schedule was, too.
She slid the key into the lock and opened the front door, a ripple of trepidation washing over her as she entered the red-tiled hallway. A once-dominating staircase ran up one side of the home. It looked less impressive now, with its missing spindles and wallpaper lying across it. It must have come away from the walls since her parents’ last visit.
Clem hadn’t set foot inside the house since her parents had cleared the last of the furniture. On her last visit to Gram in the autumn, the place had felt cluttered and musty. Now stripped bare, it felt like an empty shell, the air somehow colder without her frail-framed, resolute great-aunt to greet her.
As she wandered through the dank, empty rooms, she realised she’d never appreciated the historical features before. Now it was hard to miss the wood panelling, parquet flooring, elaborate cornicing, and moulded ceilings, all of which had seen better days.
Her parents’ plans for the house were courageous, especially given the timescale in play. Their architect had won them over with a proposal for a sympathetic restoration, including a large, Victorian-style conservatory extension at the rear, complete with a roof lantern. They just had to hope the builders would remain on schedule — and budget — and finish by the end of the summer. Considering the house needed complete rewiring and a new central heating system installed, they were cutting it fine. With the new owners ofThe Kingfisher’s Resttaking ownership at the end of August, her parents could end up homeless if things didn’t go to plan.
The sound of gravel crunching pulled her to the window. A grocery van was reversing onto the driveway. Finally, she could crack on with her baking and put the narrowboat’s kitchen to proper use.
After dragging six grocery bags down the garden toFlorence — two of which split on the way, breaking three eggs — she decided she would need to invest in a trolley to get her produce to the jetty in future.
Once she’d cleared her rubbish bags from Florence to the dustbin on the drive and topped up the water tank from the garden hose, she carried two boxes of books and a suitcase of clothes to the garage to store. Now, it was time to strap on her apron and get to work.
CHAPTER 2
Clem welcomed the builders onto the site the next morning, and Billy, the project manager, quickly reassured her that he had everything under control. She fired off a message with photographs to her mum, then steered Florence down the canal, flanked by hawthorn and blackthorn heavy with white blossom.
With no locks along the one-mile stretch to slow her down, she predicted the journey would take about twenty minutes — though she definitely wasn’t counting it as a commute. At a speed of three miles per hour, it had the hallmarks of one, but with the light breeze on her face, coffee in one hand and tiller in the other, the resemblance ended there. The slow pace gave her enough time to gather her thoughts and prepare for the day, all while the morning sun warmed her.
The canals had been part of her life for as long as she could remember, so much so that they were woven into her sense of belonging. Their steady flow brought her a deep sense of calm, and nothing felt better than gliding along quiet waters. She had come into the world on thewater and called it home until she was five. Then her parents had sold Florence and moved onto dry land, determined to give her access to a good school and a garden to run around in. Even then their annual holiday was spent frolicking on the canals, exploring a different network each year on a rented narrowboat.
She’d always sensed her parents regretted their move off the canal, even if her dad continued to repair boats on it. It was quietly confirmed when they sold up to buyThe Kingfisher’s Restas soon as she left to study marketing at university. Now, even that chapter was at an end. They had come full circle once again.
Over the years, Gram’s house had become a kind of sanctuary for the family. Clem spent most of her school holidays there and later her breaks from university since her parents had no home on land by then. During those long, hot summers, she would be in the garden, sunbathing while studying or devouring a good feminist book. One ear was always tuned for the sound ofThe Kingfisher’s Restdrifting down the cut.
Her parents would take a two-week break from their busiest season to coincide with Clem’s summer holiday. By the time they arrived at Gram’s mooring, they had about a week together before they would sail back to the marina to welcome their next guests. In the years after Clem left university, they would meet out of season, her parents mooring up for weeks at a time with Gram and Gruncle.
Clem wasn’t sure how her parents would adjust to retired life. Her dad would likely put his feet up with a newspaper, but her mum was unlikely to settle into a quieter pace. She was the type of woman who needed something to keep her busy. Clem worried that she herself might inadvertently become thatsomethingwhilst living at the bottom of their garden.
