Page 15 of Barging In

C lem lifted a banana loaf out of the oven, followed by a ginger cake. Both felt heavier than usual. A restless night — courtesy of her run-in with Victoria the previous day — had left her mind whirring and her body achy. This morning, she felt well and truly pissed off with the world.

The galley wasn’t improving her mood either.

The kitchen in her old flat hadn’t been large, but at least it was square, allowing her room to move.

Florence offered no such luxury. Clem couldn’t even look in the oven head-on; it was all swivelling hips and shuffling, which had resulted in her bashing her elbow against the worktop.

Despite trying hard to convince herself that there was plenty of space and that the whole idea hadn’t been a mistake, worry coursed through her.

Her gaze drifted to Victoria’s office window directly opposite — another worry.

Why did every conversation with that woman feel like it was destined to escalate?

Victoria was infuriating. Infuriating but also hot , a little voice in the back of her head teased.

The thought only unsettled her further. As much as she wanted to push it away, the more the tingling in her gut pulled her towards it.

As Clem restocked the paper cups and plastic lids beside the espresso machine, she decided a woman could be both attractive and infuriating.

Telling Victoria what she’d witnessed had brought her no peace.

It stewed inside her and even made her feel sorry for her despite Victoria’s reaction.

But really, what had Clem expected? Of course the woman was going to be defensive.

It couldn’t have been easy hearing something like that from a stranger, especially not from one you’d already fought with.

Still, something about Victoria’s reaction suggested the news hadn’t come as a complete surprise. Did she already suspect it?

Despite the aches, the gloom, and an anxious undertow holding her hostage, Clem soldiered on.

She lifted the loaves out of their tins onto the cooling rack, untied her apron, and picked up her phone.

It was time to do her usual checks on social media, post some cake photos, and look for any new reviews.

The last item on her to-do list usually gave her a lift, so she started there.

Three new written reviews popped up, making her feel better — until she saw they were all one-star. Her heart pounded as she began to read.

“Overrated and overpriced. Dry sponge and coffee that tastes like dishwater! No, thanks!” —Karen C.

“Stopped by on a rainy afternoon, hoping for a coffee and a good slice of cake. Got a bitter Americano and an overpriced sliver of cake with gritty icing. The owner looked annoyed that I was even there. Don’t waste your time or money here!” — Bob H.

“I really wanted to like this place, but unfortunately, it missed the mark. The coffee was weak and bitter, and the ‘freshly baked’ cakes tasted like they’d been sitting out for days. I heard the café in the nearby wharf has much more to offer. Go there instead!” — Lee W.

“What the actual fuck? ‘Go there instead!’” Clem hissed. This was all she needed. Taking deep breaths, she tried to convince herself they didn’t matter, that they wouldn’t affect her. She had so many five-star reviews, these barely made a dent in her overall rating. Still.

Then she noticed something odd: All three reviews had been posted around the same time last night.

Suspicion took root. Could it be? Would Victoria really stoop low enough to post shitty reviews about her competitor’s business?

Yes , was Clem’s immediate thought. She wouldn’t put it past the woman, not after her underhanded stunt with the signage.

Clem set the phone down on the worktop and stepped away from it. What she needed now was a moment of calm. She headed to the bow, sat down, propped her feet on the gunwale, and closed her eyes. Gritty icing. She sieved her icing sugar meticulously, and her cakes didn’t sit around for days. Ever.

These were genuine fake reviews. The question was: What was she going to do about it? She could report them, but it was unlikely to get her anywhere. Would confronting Victoria about them just lead to another slanging match? Then again, did she even care if it did?

Her phone rang from inside Florence. Straining to catch the ringtone, she recognised it as the one she’d assigned to her dad. Clem sprang up from the chair and ran inside to retrieve it.

WHACK !

Her knee collided with the edge of the bed, sending pain shooting through her leg.

“Fuck!”

Hobbling down the narrow corridor to the kitchen, she seethed — at the reviews, at Victoria, at her bad luck. With her level of spatial awareness, what the hell had she been thinking of buying a narrowboat?

“Hi, Dad. Is everything okay?” she asked quickly, her voice tight as she silently panted through the pain.

“Oh yes, we’re making good progress. It’s just… I’ve had a call. You know how I sorted all your permissions for trading at the wharf? Well, I forgot to mention that I went to school with the landowner.”

“ Forgot to mention.” Clem groaned, leaning over to rub her knee. “Is that how I managed to get the best spot?”

“That’s not important right now.”

She was about to argue that nepotism was important when he added, “Someone asked him to revoke your mooring agreement.”

She shot upright. “What? Why? Who ?”

“They wouldn’t give him their name, but they told him that you were being physically violent and causing a health and safety hazard — something about your sign blocking the towpath.”

“What?”

“He sent them packing,” her dad added quickly.

Clem exhaled with relief. She didn’t need a name; she knew who was behind this.

“Victoria,” she muttered, her eyes drifting towards the woman’s office window.

“You think it has something to do with her?” her dad asked. “I’ll be having words when I see her next.”

“Seriously, Dad? I’m forty. I’ve never needed you to fight my battles. ”

“You did at school when that boy nicked your pencil case.”

“I was six! And for the record, I didn’t need your help. I kicked him in the shins, and he never bothered me again.”

Her mum’s voice cut in through her dad’s fading chuckles. “That woman needs putting in her place.”

“It’s fine, Mum. I’ll handle it.”

“Just wait till I see her again,” her mum snapped. “She’ll be getting a piece of my mind for messing with my daughter.”

“I can handle Victoria Hargreaves,” Clem stated. “In fact, I’ll do it now.”

“Well, you give her what for.”

“I will, Mum.”

Clem hung up and squinted across at Victoria’s window, trying to see if she was in her office.

Right on cue, Victoria spun her chair around, putting her straight in Clem’s eye line.

Clem quickly stepped back. She had caught Victoria nosing at her the day before, and she wasn’t about to get spotted doing the same.

She removed her apron and stepped outside. Max was sitting on his chair, so she called over to him.

“I’m going to be a bit late opening. Could you keep an eye out for any customers, please? Let them know I’ll be back soon.”

He jumped to his feet. “Better still, I can open up for you.”

Grabbing a sign propped against a plant pot on the top of his boat — Vinyl Bought — he flipped it and placed it on his chair. The reverse read, Pay at Clem’s Coffee it was such a charming, inviting space.

She could think of so many uses for it. Shame it belonged to someone so determined to make herself unlikeable.

Victoria’s door was ajar. Clem didn’t hesitate before marching straight in. If the door hadn’t been, she would have thrown it open. Or kicked it, the same way she’d kicked that boy’s shin at school.

“Clem, how can I help you?” Victoria said, drawing herself upright in her chair.

“Help me?” Clem growled. “You’ve done enough of that already — like helping me get moved off my trading spot. You do realise you don’t own the waterways, right? The towpath and traders have nothing to do with you or your precious wharf.”