Page 4 of Barging In
Open fields stretched out on both sides of the cut. Lambs of all sizes frolicked in the grass, playfully butting their heads against their mother’s bellies to nurse. As Clem neared a small town, the fields gave way to an imposing stone building with a sign on the side readingOtterford Wharf. She had arrived.
A line of narrowboats hugged the towpath opposite the building, so Clem reduced her speed to minimise the wash and not unsettle the other craft. A stone bridge stood ahead, connecting the wharf with the town on the right.
As she approached, an empty mooring right next to the bridge came into sight. It would make the ideal place to attract passing foot traffic visiting the wharf. She gripped the tiller and eased back on the throttle, hoping this would be hers. Then, she saw it — a bold, painted number seven on the bollard, the same number from her commercial mooring agreement. Her lips tightened into a grin — what a result!
With Florence moored, Clem took a moment to survey her surroundings. The building was beautiful, idyllic even. Perfectly proportioned and well maintained for its age. According to her mum, the wharf — once an old corset factory — had been converted into apartments in the last few years. It also housed some sort of heritage centre on the ground floor.
History had been one of Clem’s favourite subjects at school, but a growing interest in marketing had steered her university studies. It hadn’t dampened her love of history, though. She decided she’d wander over for a look sometime and see what the old building had to offer.
It was still early, and with only the occasional dog walker passing by, Clem figured she’d have enough time to film herself baking before opening. She also neededfootage of Florence once everything was set up; with a quick edit, she’d have a video ready to post on her socials.
Whilst she hoped passing trade would bring in customers, building a loyal fanbase on social media was essential for growing her business. Beautiful photographs of her cakes would not only attract people but would hopefully help to spread the word that she was in Otterford.
She believed wholeheartedly in using fresh produce and aimed to bake as much as possible before opening. She’d thought about starting before leaving her parents’ place but realised it made more sense to moor up as early as possible. Even if she wasn’t open, passive marketing was always useful.
Thankfully, traybakes like brownies, rocky road, and chocolate flapjack had been easy enough to rustle up the night before, easing her first morning’s workload. Blueberry muffins, a coffee and walnut cake, and a lemon drizzle were all she needed now. Judging the right balance of stock would be tricky. Baking too much increased her expenses while baking too little risked reducing income. Even if she ended up eating the leftovers herself, there was only so much cake one person could manage — and polishing off unsold stock wasn’t exactly a sustainable business plan.
Heading to the stern, she grabbed her A-board and placed it on the grass beside the towpath. Taking out a chalk pen and her price list from her pocket, she attempted to scrawlClem’s Coffee & Cakesat the top, only to find it didn’t fit well. She even managed to write the ampersand backwards. With a frustrated tut, she went back to Florence for a wet cloth to start over. She returned to her sign to find a youngish, lanky chap in beige chinos and adenim shirt, with long, brown hair and a short beard, inspecting it. He reminded her of a young Ozzy Osbourne.
“Would you like me to do that for you?” he asked, nodding at a chalkboard on the neighbouring boat.
It was elegantly scribed and legible — everything hers was not. She assumed it must be his. The sign read,Vinyl for sale! 70s rock, 80s/90s grunge, and other stuff.
“That would be amazing. Thanks.”
She wiped the board clean, then handed him the chalk pen and price list. Leaving him to it, she retrieved two foldout benches from under the kitchen units and placed them on the grass between Florence and the towpath for customers to use. By the time she put the waste bin out for empty plates and coffee cups, he’d finished the sign.Clem’s Coffee & Cakesbeautifully filled one side of the board, complete with a cute sketch of a coffee cup and a slice of cake. He’d listed her prices neatly on the reverse.
“That’s great! Thanks again. Could you find room on both sides for ‘Open 10 till 3’?”
“Sure thing,” he said, adding her hours with a flourish.
“You’re talented,” she remarked.
He stood back to admire his work. “I have an artistic streak.”
“It shows. I’m Clem, by the way.”
“I guessed you might be,” he said, handing her the chalk pen. “I’m Max. I’ve not seen you around here before.” He smirked as he added, “You got yourself the best spot, too.”
Clem’s cheeks flushed. She wasn’t sure how she’d nabbed the best spot, but she hoped it wouldn’t upset anyone. Making herself unpopular with the other traders on day one had not been part of her business plan.
“This area looks like a great trading spot,” she replied.
“It is. It’s fairly quiet during the week, but weekendscan get very busy. Just watch out for the woman who runs the wharf.”
“Why?” Clem asked, intrigued. It was the second time she’d been warned about someone in the last twenty-four hours.
“She might not appreciate your offering. They have a café inside, you know.”
“If she can’t face a bit of competition, that’s her problem,” Clem said nonchalantly as she shrugged.
Max laughed in reply. “I like your attitude. I wish you luck with it.”
“I won’t need luck; you haven’t tasted my bakes.” To soften the boast, she added, “But you must, in payment for your skills. Coffee and a flapjack?”
“That would be amazing. Thanks.”
She disappeared inside, eager to impress with her new Fracino espresso machine and premium bean blend. Although she’d completed a weekend barista course, the machine they taught on wasn’t the same as hers, and she hadn’t had much practice since picking up Florence. The machine also consumed a lot of energy when switched on, so she had been using the hob or the kettle for her own hot drinks when the stove in her bedroom wasn’t on for heating.
