Page 6 of Barging In
“Yep. I hope it’s enough. I’ve got a feeling Florence will turn into an oven in the summer.”
“Guaranteed,” Max said. He surveyed the space once more before pronouncing, “It looks like you have everything, including the kitchen sink and a spare.”
“The small one in the corner is for handwashing only. There are a lot of food hygiene regulations to follow,” Clem explained as she led him through a door into the other half of the boat. “Here are my living quarters.” She opened a door to the right, revealing a newly decorated bathroom with a tiny shower cubicle, sink, pump-outtoilet, and a washing machine all crammed into the space.
“Nice,” he commented.
“And down here is a booth-style seating area that can double as another bed.”
She was unlikely to have guests, but it had seemed sensible to make the table and bench seating multipurpose when the plans for her refit were drawn up. The C-shaped space was compact but cosy, complete with scatter cushions. An adjustable table served as a dining area and a coffee table when she wanted to work or relax there.
“And at the end is my bedroom,” she said, gesturing for him to lead the way.
With a small double bed against the port side; slim-fitting wooden cabinetry on the bow wall; matching, soft furnishing; and vinyl flooring with a fluffy rug, the room felt homely if somewhat snug. A small TV was inset into one of the cabinets to the right side of the bow door.
“She’s gorgeous! Sleek and modern yet still a classic. I love this tongue-and-groove,” Max said, running his hand along the grey panelling that covered the lower half of Florence. “And the flooring’s very stylish. This must’ve set you back.”
Clem looked down. “I inherited some money from my great-aunt.”
“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss,” Max said softly.
Clem kicked at the floor with the toe of her Converse. “Thanks.” Her eyes stung as the weight of the loss settled back in.
“But what a way to spend it, eh?”
“Yep, she’s worth every penny,” Clem said, her voice warm with affection for her great-aunt.
“What are you using for heating and hot water?”
“A Webasto diesel heater.”
Max nodded. “Same as me.”
“But I have the original stove,” Clem said, pointing to an old, cast-iron Morsø squirrel stove tucked neatly in the corner behind him. “It should keep the living quarters warm enough through the winter, and I can always stick a kettle on top for a cuppa.”
She unlatched the bow doors and stepped up onto the small deck. A small wooden table and two chairs were set up, though they barely fit into the space.
Clem breathed in the fresh air. “This is my favourite part of the boat. I love sitting out here with my coffee in the morning, watching the world drift by.”
“My boat’s nowhere near as glamorous, but you’re always welcome to have a nosy,” Max said, stepping onto the gunwale and hopping down onto the grass. “Thanks for the tour.”
“You’re welcome. I’m about to put a batch of blueberry muffins on. I’ll bring one over for you when they’re ready.”
“Yum! I’m going to enjoy having you as a neighbour. Although I might have to increase my exercise.” He patted his stomach and flashed her a smile.
Clem watched Max wander back to his boat, feeling quietly pleased to have made a friend already. She realised the time, though, so she strapped on her apron and got to work. It was going to be trial and error to see what sold well and what didn’t.
As it turned out, everything was popular. She was completely out of cakes by early afternoon and kept herself busy serving hot drinks to a steady stream of customers until closing. Nobody even batted an eyelid at her wonkylemon drizzle — an unexpected quirk of baking in a floating kitchen. She needed to increase volumes for the next day and keep a close eye on supplies to ensure she had enough paper cups, plates, and forks for her customers.
As she folded her A-board and lifted it onto the stern, Max’s voice called out across the towpath.
“Congratulations! First day done.”
He handed her a glass, which he filled from a bottle containing a cloudy, orangey-yellow liquid.
“Don’t worry, it’s not what it looks like.” He chuckled, filling his glass. “Try it.”
Clem sniffed it cautiously. An intense aroma of apples filled her nostrils. She took a tentative sip and immediately coughed as the drink burned the back of her throat. “That’s got some kick to it,” she said, blinking through the cough as she dropped onto one of her benches.
