Page 13 of Barging In

V ictoria clicked the end of her Parker pen in and out repeatedly.

The spa weekend with Jasper had left her feeling temporarily rejuvenated, but she was no less troubled by her problems. A bit of steam and a massage were mere plasters covering cracks in her skin; some ran so deep they stung to her core.

Being jolted awake by the builders banging away next door at a ridiculous hour had only increased her stress levels that morning.

When she popped her head in before work to ask for a little consideration, they said their boss had told them no one was living next door, so they needn’t worry about the noise.

Victoria had growled inwardly at that. No doubt Clem had found it amusing to misinform them.

It wasn’t only the early wake-up call that was making her feel uneasy.

As much as she didn’t appreciate her dunking in that green swamp, what gnawed at her most was embarrassment over how she’d acted out.

If she’d just taken a breath and spoken to Clem calmly, she might not have wasted so much time googling ‘canal-borne diseases’ during her spa weekend.

The fact that she was turning fifty on Saturday hadn’t escaped her notice either.

She’d tried to ignore it, but the looming party — a joint celebration for her birthday and the wharf’s first anniversary — made it impossible.

The last thing she felt like now was a party, but regardless of her feelings about reaching fifty, the wharf’s first birthday did need to be feted.

Christine had ordered all the food from their supplier, and it was due in with their usual Friday delivery.

The decorations and drinks were in Jasper’s office.

With him away at a conference Thursday and Friday — and not returning until after lunch on Saturday — he was in charge of decorating the café as soon as he returned, so that it would be ready for the party at seven.

Spinning her chair around, her gaze fell on the orange blob of a boat directly opposite her office window, a grisly reminder that there might not be a second birthday to celebrate.

Through the small, rectangular windows, she could make out a figure moving inside the boat.

When she squinted, she caught sight of a swaying ponytail.

It had to be Clem. She was unlikely to have staff on such a small narrowboat, even if she could afford them.

It was too small for one person, let alone two.

Victoria had only been on a narrowboat once, for a girls’ holiday at university, and it had been the longest, most uncomfortable week of her life.

What possessed them to think cramming six women into a sardine can was a good idea, she couldn’t recall.

The feeling of being unable to breathe, however, had stayed with her, not helped by a particular friend who also took her breath away.

In the end, she spent most of the trip perched on the stern or stretched out sunbathing on the roof, pretending she was anywhere else.

Still, the experience had proved worthwhile in that it confirmed confined spaces weren’t for her.

It also reinforced her architectural education, teaching her the value of flow — specifically, how people moved through a space, how light shifted during the day, and how too much clutter could choke the life out of even the most beautiful design.

Whenever she reimagined a period home or transformed neglected buildings, she always began with air, light, and movement.

Noticing Clem was no longer bobbing back and forth inside the boat, Victoria found herself scanning the windows, then the stern, waiting for her to reappear.

There was something about the woman that pulled at her.

She was intriguing, no question. Curiosity whirred inside Victoria, a need to understand her new neighbour despite the stress she’d brought to her door.

She considered going over and clearing the air. Acting in haste and lashing out weren’t typical for her. She was someone who took her time, weighing options, analysing outcomes, and visualising the bigger picture. These were, after all, the skills of an architect.

What had come over her on Friday? Was it the unfamiliar sensation of feeling under threat that had kicked her survival instincts into gear? Touching someone else’s property, let alone engaging in a tug of war over it, had been a bad idea, and she knew it.

She yawned and rubbed her eyes. One thing she felt for certain was her growing discomfort at the thought of Clem perceiving her in this way.

With every passing minute, that impression was likely solidifying, and the very thought made her uncomfortable.

Confrontation wasn’t something she gravitated towards.

It was the part of her job she loathed the most, handling staff issues and awkward conversations, but with Clem, it felt suddenly necessary to have a proper conversation.

A chance to apologise, to sit down and work things out.

Her defence mechanisms kicked into gear. What was there to work out? Clem was a threat, and threats needed eliminating. A sharp, frustrated huff escaped her lungs. If she couldn’t even get her thoughts to align, how on earth was she going to deal with the situation?

A fast-moving figure on the bridge caught her eye — Clem. Victoria sat bolt upright, watching her as she strode towards the wharf, only to stop abruptly, turn around, and head back towards the towpath.

What is she doing?

Clem halted again, turned once more, and retraced her steps back across the bridge to the wharf, eventually vanishing from view.

Victoria whipped a compact mirror from her top drawer and gave her face a once-over, only to toss it back in the drawer.

What am I doing?

Clem was unlikely to be coming to see her. More likely, she was doing exactly what she and Jasper had done: checking out the competition. Victoria could have told Clem herself: The wharf’s cakes were no match for hers.

Pushing away the urge to spy any further, Victoria picked up her pen, determined to focus on her work and put the woman out of her mind. She dropped it not two minutes later as a knock at the door made her jump.

“Come in.”

The door opened, revealing Clem.

She hovered in the doorway, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes scanning the room. A faint crease formed between her eyebrows .

“Clem.”

“Victoria.”

The use of her name took Victoria by surprise. Clem must have done her research.

“The woman at the reception desk told me where I could find you,” she said. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

“No, not at all,” Victoria replied with a smile, instantly regretting her level of enthusiasm. She was relieved to be on her own turf and nowhere near the canal whilst talking to the newcomer.

“I found your jumper in the canal,” Clem said, stepping forward to hand it over the desk before moving back again. “I hooked it out for you and washed it — hand-washed it,” she added quickly.

Victoria caressed its softness between her fingers. The jumper felt better than it had before it went in. She pressed it to her nose, inhaling a lavender scent that was far more pleasant than the smell of canal water she’d expected.

“Thank you,” she said softly, surprised but touched by Clem’s efforts.

Clem fidgeted, her hands twisting together as if she wanted to say something but struggled to. Finally, she spoke, her voice quiet, almost reluctant. “I’m sorry about the whole dragging you in the canal thing. I was hoping to regain my balance.”

Victoria arched an eyebrow and smiled. “Well, perhaps we did get off on the wrong foot — quite literally.”

Clem smiled back, and Victoria noticed how it shifted the whole geometry of her face, making something flutter inside her in the process.

“I hope you managed to get the smell off you,” Clem said.

“I happened to be at the spa this weekend, so I think I was successful. I’ve not had any complaints so far. Perhaps I should send you the bill.”

She hoped her attempt at humour would ease the tension, but Clem shuffled uneasily and looked down, plunging her hands into her pockets.

“All weekend?”

“Yes, Saturday and Sunday,” Victoria confirmed, unsure why it was any of Clem’s business. She took a deep breath to calm the exasperation rising within her and studied Clem as she looked around the room again.

“So, the wharf seems like a great place,” Clem said, finally making eye contact.

“Thank you,” Victoria replied, feeling slightly fidgety at all the small talk.

“Great reuse of a building.”

Victoria inclined her head. “Thank you, again.”

“Was it your idea, then?”

“Yes, from a derelict building to this. All me.”

Why was she bragging? It wasn’t all her; she had a team of people who had helped make it happen.

“I bet you have big plans for it.”

“Mmm,” Victoria murmured, unsure exactly which part of the wharf’s set-up wasn’t meeting Clem’s requirements already and what more she expected from it.

Another awkward pause hung in the air until Clem broke it.

“My parents were here for the weekend.”

“Oh,” Victoria replied, somewhat puzzled as to why Clem was sharing that.

“We had dinner on their boat.”

“Well, I expect it will be some time before the house is ready. How long do they think it will take?” she probed, taking the opportunity for a bit of fact-finding.

“Erm, a few months.” Clem blinked as if she had lost her train of thought. “They retire at the end of the summer, so it needs to be ready to move in to then.”

Victoria nodded. “Oh, right.” She desperately wanted to raise the noise issue but worried it might pour water on a situation that felt like it was only just beginning to dry out.

“It’s just,” Clem ventured, “that night… when I left my parents to go back to Florence — erm, my boat — I saw a man in your house.”

“My husband, at a guess,” Victoria said, her nerves twitching at the randomness of the remark. Noticing the door was ajar and unsure where the conversation was going, she got up to close it.