Page 84 of Barging In
“For dinner, I thought I’d play it safe with a spaghetti carbonara.”
“Perfect.”
“Did you get everything you needed next door?” Victoria asked, pouring Clem’s wine into a glass.
“Next door?”
“For your mum,” Victoria clarified, sliding the glass across the worktop to Clem. “The photographs.”
“Oh, yes. All sent,” Clem confirmed. She placed the book down, picked up the glass, and wandered around the room, taking it in. “Your house is very different to theirs. You wouldn’t know they were identical unless you saw the outside. You’ve opened it up more than Mum and Dad have. Mum didn’t want it to be too draughty.”
Victoria began arranging the flowers into the vase. “Ah yes, well, I may live to regret it when I’m her age… if I still live here, that is.”
Clem flashed her a tight smile; not wanting to linger on the matter, Victoria continued.
“It had lost a lot of its original features by the time we bought it. Rather than install replicas, I decided to embrace more of the building’s journey and go for a contemporary interior.”
“You’ve done a great job with it. Original features are lovely, but I know they were giving my parents a headache. I suppose no one knows that better than you, with your career and all.”
“Indeed.” Victoria grinned. “Why don’t you sit yourself over there and have a nose through that book while I make dinner,” she suggested, nodding toward her favourite chair overlooking the garden. If Clem watched her cook, she’d probably drop something or cut herself. Her body was barely cooperating now as it was.
“Are you sure I can’t help with anything?”
Victoria nodded. “Yes, I’m sure. You go relax.”
Resigned, Clem picked up the book and curled into the chair. The soft light from the lamp beside her bathed her in a golden glow. She looked good there. Too good.
“Sorry about the view,” she called, trying to sound casual. “The blasted neighbour insists on mooring her ghastly orange boat there. It completely ruins the view of the canal.”
“How unreasonable of her,” Clem played along. “But you know, narrowboats are part of the canal.”
“Oh, I do. Every time one passes my office window, the sound echoes like a foghorn.”
“Okay, I’m not biting.” Clem laughed, kicking off her shoes and tucking her legs beneath her.
Victoria’s breath caught as she watched her. Clem looked so at ease, like she was part of the place rather than a visitor. She opened the book and began flicking through its pages with curiosity. Then she looked over, caught Victoria watching, and smiled. A flutter stirred inVictoria’s chest. She gave a quick smile in return and turned to focus on cooking, heart thudding.
Once the meal was plated, Victoria called Clem over to the dining table. She topped up their wine as Clem took a seat.
“I can’t remember the last time I shared dinner with someone,” Victoria said, sitting opposite. “You’ll have to come again. I always make enough for two.”
“I’d like that,” Clem said, meeting her eye. “Life can be rather dull alone.”
Victoria began digging into the pasta. “And good company is hard to find.”
“It is. I often read a book when I eat,” Clem added. “Sometimes it’s the only chance I can grab fifteen minutes’ peace. I’m so tired by the time I get to bed, and then I have to be up early. I’ll enjoy reading Jasper’s book. Have you read it?”
“No. His books aren’t my sort of thing.”
“Feminism isn’t your thing?” Clem asked, eyebrow arched as she sucked up a strand of spaghetti.
“It’s great and everything, and I get behind anyone who is into that sort of thing or musters the energy to be passionate about it, but I don’t. I guess I see no hope of ever achieving equality. I prefer fiction — at least that way we can pretend we’ve achieved it, depending on your genre choice, of course. Some fiction is worryingly becoming reality, increasingly so.”
“You don’t think an apathetic attitude by too many people might have got us into this mess in the first place?”
“You mean if we all rose up, we could achieve something?”
“If women stopped doing the brunt of the work, or even invoiced for it, the world would be a different place. But we don’t,” Clem said, getting a little animated withher fork. “We get on with it, all the while enslaving ourselves to our captors.”
