Page 30 of Barging In
Victoria strolled along the towpath later than normal, having decided to start work from home. The air was damp and oppressive, but the pops of colour from the bluebells coming into bloom brought a smile to her face. Soon, the woods alongside the canal would be a carpet of rich purple.
She adored flowers. Drew used to buy them for her every week — until they found out he was infertile. Then the flowers stopped. She never questioned why, just let the habit die alongside her hope. Maybe he couldn’t bear the reminder of beauty when something fundamental inside him was broken. Now, with more time to spend in her office, she decided to buy them herself. She didn’t need to wait for someone else. Drew certainly wouldn’t be buying her more, and no one else would either.
The familiar hum of a narrowboat echoed along the cut. She didn’t turn — narrowboats passed her all the time — but as the chugging grew louder, something urged her to glance behind. The bright orange bow told her immediately it was Florence. A groan escaped her as sherealised she was on first-name terms with a boat. At the stern was Clem, her head poking over the top.
Wondering if Clem was watching her, scrutinising her every move, Victoria’s heart began to throb — not faster but harder. Her ankles wobbled slightly as she reached up to check her hair. The best course of action was to keep her eyes straight ahead and focus on not tripping over something.
Picking up her pace slightly, she groaned at herself. What was she doing? Narrowboats were slow, but she couldn’t outpace one. Why was she even trying to? She slowed her stride again, hoping it would go unnoticed.
As the bow came into her peripheral vision, her eyes drifted to it. She cursed them. Her stomach twisted into knots, and her heart hammered even harder with every window that slid past. Any second now, Clem would be level with her. What should she do? Ignore her? That would be impolite. Smile? Too much, perhaps. She decided finally that at least looking Clem’s way to acknowledge her presence was best, so she turned. Their eyes locked.
Clem’s gaze held steady until, with the faintest smile, she turned away. Victoria flashed one back, only to realise she probably hadn’t seen it. As Clem and the noise disappeared into the distance, Victoria was left feeling she’d been rude after all.
Inhaling deeply, she tried to quieten her pounding heart. But why was it even racing? Fear of another confrontation across a body of water? She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but Clem flashing her a smile and not giving her the finger felt like a good sign.
She’d done so well the day before, keeping calm while Clem accused her of writing fake reviews and trying to get her moved from her pitch. She’d bitten her tongue, stayed composed. But then, mid-apology for her part in thealtercation over the sign, Clem had audibly groaned. That had been the final straw. Her temper had slipped, and she’d snapped — something she regretted the moment the words left her mouth. But the damage was done; it had been enough to make Clem want to leave. She knew she should have handled it better. With a sigh Victoria pressed her fingers to her temples. Her head throbbed, fuelled by replaying conversations and overthinking everything she’d said.
By the time she reached the wharf, Florence was nowhere in sight. Her mooring spot sat empty. A thought gripped her chest: Had Clem left? Had she driven her away? An initial moment of joy that at least one of her problems might have resolved melted into a strange sense of loss.
Victoria was growing strangely accustomed to the orange boat outside her window, and the thought of never tasting Clem’s lemon drizzle again left an unexpected ache inside her. But it wasn’t the cake. It was the thought of never seeing Clem again that made her palms sweat and her heart lurch.
Why? What was it about the woman that had gotten so deep under her skin? Why had she forced herself to stay calm the day before — well, up to a point — and then promised to sort things out? She’d always had a strong sense of justice, and Clem had been so distraught that it was only natural for Victoria to want to help, even if it meant facing an awkward conversation with Christine this morning.
The usual sense of peace the wharf offered failed to materialise as she entered its front doors. Victoria’s stomach rumbled — whether from nerves or hunger, she couldn’t tell. She stopped at the counter in the café for a croissant and a peppermint tea, hoping to soothe anyqueasiness bubbling there. As she queued, she glanced around the room. It was a little busier today, no doubt helped by Clem’s absence and the rain beginning to drizzle outside.
She remembered the first time she had stepped inside the old factory. Water had trickled down the walls and pooled across the floor, each drip from the ceiling echoing eerily through the cavernous rooms. Glass crunched beneath her feet from the shattered windows, the gaps allowing a low whistle of the wind to snake through. Old machinery sat abandoned, covered in cobwebs and flaking paint, relics of a bygone era.
The upper floors had been the worst. Holes in the roof let in rain and pigeons, which nested in the strangest places. Warped, rotten floorboards creaked with every step, as though the building resented the intrusion. A damp, musty odour lingered throughout the entire building.
Despite the decay, Victoria found the old factory mesmerising and immediately began restructuring it in her mind. She’d even managed to rescue some of the old machines despite Drew’s attempts to dispose of them all. To him, they held no value, but she knew they would prove useful in the museum — some of the smaller pieces, at least. Jasper had been ecstatic to find them in the outbuilding and decided to restore a sewing machine to working condition so visitors could try their hand at it.
By the time Victoria reached her office in the now thoroughly intact building, rain was pelting at the windows. She’d been praying for a downpour, hoping it would steer weary travellers towards the shelter of the wharf rather than to a long queue outside a damp narrowboat. It was having that effect now as rain-soakedpeople and dripping pushchairs hurried across the bridge towards the warmth of the café.
A lightness bloomed in her chest that there was no competition today, but it only served to remind her of Clem’s absence. Had she checked the forecast and cleverly chosen to skip trading today? Realising how much she was hoping that Clem would return tomorrow, Victoria forced her attention back to her work, only to find it drifting inevitably to Clem’s reviews.
Christine had been on annual leave the day before, meaning Victoria couldn’t tackle the issue immediately. What she’d hoped would be an opportunity to mull things over had instead given her too much time to stew and grow angrier at the injustice Clem was being dealt.
“Knock, knock.”
“Jasper,” Victoria greeted him. The relief in her tone at a welcome distraction was as obvious to her as it was to him.
“What’s up?” he asked, coming in to perch on the edge of her desk.
Victoria swivelled her laptop so he could see the one-star reviews. His eyes skimmed the screen.
“Golly. They are a bit out of line, not to mention patently false.”
Victoria hummed. “And Clem’s accused me of posting them.”
Jasper’s eyes shot to hers. “Seriously? Like you’d do such a thing.” His lips tightened. “Even though youdidwant to sink her boat not long ago.”
“Oh, come on. I wasn’t serious.” Victoria huffed, crossing her arms.
“I could tell her it’s not you if you think it would help.”
“Don’t waste your time. I’ve already told her. Whether she believes me or not, I’ve no idea.”
“Who do you think left them?”
