Page 71 of Barging In
Moving further into the wharf’s reception area, Clem passed a sewing machine on sturdy, cast-iron legs. She’d never noticed it before. Its black enamel still gleamed against the delicate gold trim, and the word SINGER arched proudly across it like a badge of honour. The foot pedal was smooth, no doubt worn out from years of steady use beneath the feet of countless women.
The gift shop offered the usual array of homewares and gardening items. A centre table displayed smaller curiosities. There were corset-shaped cookie cutters, boning-shaped pencils, enamel pins, key rings and postcards bearing slogans likeTightly LacedandMy Body, My Rules. Clem smiled to herself.
Most striking were the bookmarks, fashioned from two pieces of woven fabric and edged with rows of gleaming grommets. Threaded together with fine lacing, they echoed the intricate fastening of a real corset. Another bookmark, made of leather, bore the wordsNo fashion at the cost of freedomstamped deep into its surface.
In pride of place amongst the shelves on the far wall were several books bearing Jasper’s name. She smiled at one titledUnder Pressure: A Feminist History of Corsetry. Others —Unfastened: The Politics of Shaping WomenandThe Queer Understructure —caught her eye. Beneath them satsewing guides on how to make your own corset, alongside mugs emblazoned withNot your waistline,Reclaim the corset, andUnlace the patriarchy. Posters bearing similar slogans adorned the walls. Someone had clearly put a great deal of thought into the merchandise.
She picked upUnder Pressureand turned it over. Jasper’s face stared back at her from a photograph. She’d never known anyone who’d written a book before, let alone an award-winning author, as the cover declared.
A low voice spoke behind her ear. “I thought that one might interest you.”
Clem jumped and placed the book back on the shelf. “Victoria. Hi,” she said, turning to face her.
“So, what do you think so far?” Victoria asked, looking around the shop.
“It’s impressive.”
“And all Jasper’s work. You wait until you see what he’s curated inside the museum. He should be along any minute.”
“Victoria,” the woman at the desk called out, holding up a phone.
“Please excuse me,” Victoria said to Clem.
“Of course.” She was about to dive back into the books when another lower voice came from behind her.
“Ready for a whistle-stop tour through the world of corsetry?”
Clem turned to find Jasper smiling at her.
“I’m looking forward to it,” she said, smiling back. “Victoria had to take a phone call.”
He looked to the reception desk. “Ah.”
“I was just admiring your books. Congratulations on being an award-winning author.”
Jasper gave a modest flick of his hand.
“Corsetry seems to be your life,” she added.
He clasped his hands together, tilted his head, and stared dreamily into the distance. “The first time I laid eyes on one at the Victoria and Albert Museum, at the impressionable age of eight, I became hooked — pardon the pun.”
Clem smiled at his exuberance. He was a breath of fresh air in an otherwise stifling world of conformity.
“But I never dreamed where it would lead,” he continued. “I thought I would end up as a burlesque dancer, but thankfully, I got my head down at school. I didn’t have much choice when the library was the only place for a gay kid to grow up in safety. Fortuitous really, as I don’t have the knees for dance.”
“Same,” Clem said with a grin. “The school library, I mean.” Not that she had the knees for dance either.
Jasper smiled. “As for all this, I have her to thank.” He nodded towards Victoria, but then his expression soured. “And Drew’s investment.”
“Urgh,” slipped out of Clem’s mouth before she could stop it.
Jasper chuckled. “Not a fan either then?”
“Nope.”
“Sometimes I wonder if he only backed the project to get her out of London so he could… pursue other interests.”
“I think that’s exactly what he did,” Clem said, lips tightening.
