Page 17 of Barging In
V ictoria strolled along the towpath later than normal, having decided to start work from home. The air was damp and oppressive, but the pops of colour from the bluebells coming into bloom brought a smile to her face. Soon, the woods alongside the canal would be a carpet of rich purple.
She adored flowers. Drew used to buy them for her every week — until they found out he was infertile.
Then the flowers stopped. She never questioned why, just let the habit die alongside her hope.
Maybe he couldn’t bear the reminder of beauty when something fundamental inside him was broken.
Now, with more time to spend in her office, she decided to buy them herself.
She didn’t need to wait for someone else.
Drew certainly wouldn’t be buying her more, and no one else would either.
The familiar hum of a narrowboat echoed along the cut.
She didn’t turn — narrowboats passed her all the time — but as the chugging grew louder, something urged her to glance behind.
The bright orange bow told her immediately it was Florence.
A groan escaped her as she realised she was on first-name terms with a boat.
At the stern was Clem, her head poking over the top.
Wondering if Clem was watching her, scrutinising her every move, Victoria’s heart began to throb — not faster but harder. Her ankles wobbled slightly as she reached up to check her hair. The best course of action was to keep her eyes straight ahead and focus on not tripping over something.
Picking up her pace slightly, she groaned at herself. What was she doing? Narrowboats were slow, but she couldn’t outpace one. Why was she even trying to? She slowed her stride again, hoping it would go unnoticed.
As the bow came into her peripheral vision, her eyes drifted to it.
She cursed them. Her stomach twisted into knots, and her heart hammered even harder with every window that slid past. Any second now, Clem would be level with her.
What should she do? Ignore her? That would be impolite.
Smile? Too much, perhaps. She decided finally that at least looking Clem’s way to acknowledge her presence was best, so she turned. Their eyes locked.
Clem’s gaze held steady until, with the faintest smile, she turned away. Victoria flashed one back, only to realise she probably hadn’t seen it. As Clem and the noise disappeared into the distance, Victoria was left feeling she’d been rude after all.
Inhaling deeply, she tried to quieten her pounding heart. But why was it even racing? Fear of another confrontation across a body of water? She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but Clem flashing her a smile and not giving her the finger felt like a good sign.
She’d done so well the day before, keeping calm while Clem accused her of writing fake reviews and trying to get her moved from her pitch.
She’d bitten her tongue, stayed composed.
But then, mid-apology for her part in the altercation over the sign, Clem had audibly groaned.
That had been the final straw. Her temper had slipped, and she’d snapped — something she regretted the moment the words left her mouth.
But the damage was done; it had been enough to make Clem want to leave.
She knew she should have handled it better.
With a sigh Victoria pressed her fingers to her temples.
Her head throbbed, fuelled by replaying conversations and overthinking everything she’d said.
By the time she reached the wharf, Florence was nowhere in sight. Her mooring spot sat empty. A thought gripped her chest: Had Clem left? Had she driven her away? An initial moment of joy that at least one of her problems might have resolved melted into a strange sense of loss.
Victoria was growing strangely accustomed to the orange boat outside her window, and the thought of never tasting Clem’s lemon drizzle again left an unexpected ache inside her. But it wasn’t the cake. It was the thought of never seeing Clem again that made her palms sweat and her heart lurch.
Why? What was it about the woman that had gotten so deep under her skin?
Why had she forced herself to stay calm the day before — well, up to a point — and then promised to sort things out?
She’d always had a strong sense of justice, and Clem had been so distraught that it was only natural for Victoria to want to help, even if it meant facing an awkward conversation with Christine this morning.
The usual sense of peace the wharf offered failed to materialise as she entered its front doors.
Victoria’s stomach rumbled — whether from nerves or hunger, she couldn’t tell.
She stopped at the counter in the café for a croissant and a peppermint tea, hoping to soothe any queasiness bubbling there.
As she queued, she glanced around the room.
It was a little busier today, no doubt helped by Clem’s absence and the rain beginning to drizzle outside.
She remembered the first time she had stepped inside the old factory.
Water had trickled down the walls and pooled across the floor, each drip from the ceiling echoing eerily through the cavernous rooms. Glass crunched beneath her feet from the shattered windows, the gaps allowing a low whistle of the wind to snake through.
Old machinery sat abandoned, covered in cobwebs and flaking paint, relics of a bygone era.
The upper floors had been the worst. Holes in the roof let in rain and pigeons, which nested in the strangest places. Warped, rotten floorboards creaked with every step, as though the building resented the intrusion. A damp, musty odour lingered throughout the entire building.
Despite the decay, Victoria found the old factory mesmerising and immediately began restructuring it in her mind.
She’d even managed to rescue some of the old machines despite Drew’s attempts to dispose of them all.
To him, they held no value, but she knew they would prove useful in the museum — some of the smaller pieces, at least. Jasper had been ecstatic to find them in the outbuilding and decided to restore a sewing machine to working condition so visitors could try their hand at it.
By the time Victoria reached her office in the now thoroughly intact building, rain was pelting at the windows.
She’d been praying for a downpour, hoping it would steer weary travellers towards the shelter of the wharf rather than to a long queue outside a damp narrowboat.
It was having that effect now as rain-soaked people and dripping pushchairs hurried across the bridge towards the warmth of the café.
A lightness bloomed in her chest that there was no competition today, but it only served to remind her of Clem’s absence.
Had she checked the forecast and cleverly chosen to skip trading today?
Realising how much she was hoping that Clem would return tomorrow, Victoria forced her attention back to her work, only to find it drifting inevitably to Clem’s reviews.
Christine had been on annual leave the day before, meaning Victoria couldn’t tackle the issue immediately. What she’d hoped would be an opportunity to mull things over had instead given her too much time to stew and grow angrier at the injustice Clem was being dealt.
“Knock, knock.”
“Jasper,” Victoria greeted him. The relief in her tone at a welcome distraction was as obvious to her as it was to him.
“What’s up?” he asked, coming in to perch on the edge of her desk.
Victoria swivelled her laptop so he could see the one-star reviews. His eyes skimmed the screen.
“Golly. They are a bit out of line, not to mention patently false.”
Victoria hummed. “And Clem’s accused me of posting them.”
Jasper’s eyes shot to hers. “Seriously? Like you’d do such a thing.” His lips tightened. “Even though you did want to sink her boat not long ago.”
“Oh, come on. I wasn’t serious.” Victoria huffed, crossing her arms.
“I could tell her it’s not you if you think it would help.”
“Don’t waste your time. I’ve already told her. Whether she believes me or not, I’ve no idea. ”
“Who do you think left them?”
They looked at each other again, and as if reading her mind, Jasper answered his own question. “Christine?”
“It’s likely.” She glanced at the clock. “She’s due in any minute.”
“What will you do?”
Victoria twitched her shoulders. “I’ve never gelled with the woman, but she is efficient.”
“But could someone else be more efficient?”
She hadn’t considered it from that angle before. She didn’t want to lose Christine — she did a good enough job — but would someone else do it better?
“What would you do?” she asked.
“Sack her,” Jasper answered without hesitation.
“Really?”
“Yes. I’ve never liked her.”
“Why didn’t you mention that when we hired her?” Victoria demanded, leaning back into her chair.
“ You hired her. We agreed I’d run the museum, and everything else was your domain, including the hiring and firing.”
“You are welcome to give your input, you know.”
Jasper shrugged. “Well, I have now.”
“You know disliking someone isn’t a reason to sack them,” she said — as much as Victoria wanted it to be.
She hadn’t liked her much either, but Drew had suggested Christine would be the most qualified candidate when he’d sat in on the interview.
She would have preferred one of the more personable applicants.
“So get her to admit it,” he said, “and then sack her for gross misconduct.”
At the sound of the café door opening in the corridor, Victoria’s gaze shot to Jasper .
He raised his eyebrows. “If that’s her, then there’s no time like the present.”
Spotting her catering manager passing by her door, she nodded at Jasper to confirm his suspicions.
“Oh, Christine,” the curator sang out. He flashed a grin at Victoria as he got up. “Good luck,” he whispered, then added in a louder voice, “Let’s do lunch,” as he squeezed past Christine in the doorway.
Victoria shot him a look — half scathing, half pleading — but he simply winked in response and vanished down the corridor.
“Yes?” Christine said abruptly.
“Come in and close the door, please,” Victoria said, resisting the urge to stand and pace. She shifted in her chair.
With a cautious eye on her boss, Christine shut the door and helped herself to the seat opposite.
“I’ll get straight to the point,” Victoria said, interlacing her fidgety fingers. “Did you post some bad reviews about Clem’s business?”
Christine’s forehead creased. “Clem now, is it?”
“Yes, it’s her name.”
“I was only doing what I thought best to help this business,” she answered, folding her arms.
“By writing fake reviews?” Victoria questioned.
“You gave me free rein for my ideas.”
“I did not. I stipulated it should be better than the last one, and it has not been! That was underhanded, and so was this. What on earth possessed you to escalate things and try to get her removed from her mooring? I assume that was you, too?”
Christine turned her head away, fixing her gaze on the ceiling instead .
Victoria took a deep breath as silently as possible, then murmured, “I never agreed to any of it.”
“That offer idea was yours, remember,” Christine accused.
“It was. A bit of competition is healthy, but I fight fair, not dirty, like you.”
“Dirty!” Christine protested. “It’s your business at stake, not mine.”
“What exactly did you do?” Victoria demanded, hoping to get to the truth of the matter.
“I rang the landowner,” Christine admitted. “Said she was blocking the towpath and picking fights with neighbours.”
“She only fought back as you gave her something to fight against — by blocking her sign in the first place! What was she supposed to do?”
Victoria tried to suppress her creeping sense of guilt.
Her initial instinct had been to retaliate, too, and block Clem’s sign with the wharfs, but she’d been angry.
She didn’t intend to do it. At most she had tried to move Clem’s to one side.
Then one thing led to another, and they had tussled over it.
“How did she find out it was us, anyway?”
“You, Christine, not us,” Victoria said wearily. “I don’t know. She didn’t share the particulars during her tirade. You have put me in an extremely difficult position, spreading lies that trace back to my business — and to me.”
“Well, if you want to sit around here and watch her take all our customers, that’s up to you, but I’m not going to. Anyone would think you like having her out there.”
Did she? Victoria wondered.
Yes , a voice answered instantly .
“And don’t bother firing me. I resign. Effective immediately,” Christine said, getting to her feet.
“What?” Victoria blinked. She hadn’t expected that. “Well, you’re already fired anyway,” she snapped back.
Christine narrowed her eyes. “You need to get your priorities straight or you’ll lose this place. Shame. It has so much potential — just needs a real leader.”
Victoria scoffed, but the sound caught in her throat. A real leader. As if she wasn’t trying.
As Christine swept out of the room, Victoria shouted after her, “You’d better take those reviews down or you won’t get paid!”
She knew she couldn’t withhold her final wages, but it was worth a try.
What had Christine meant by so much potential ?
The phrase echoed Clem’s words to Victoria, that she must have big plans for the place.
But what more did people want? She’d created something remarkable.
The café was versatile and inviting — except for the chemical cakes — and Jasper had worked wonders with the museum.
What was she missing? She may have brought the building to a position where it could be something, but was the rest pure fantasy?
Would everyone be better off if she brought someone else in to run it whilst she returned to what she was actually good at?
The wharf needed a manager who could hire and keep good staff, who could implement changes — a real leader .
Reality hit her hard. She was now without a catering manager, and there was the wharf’s birthday party to cater in three days.
Victoria slumped in her chair and instinctively swivelled it to face the window.
The vacant mooring before her was a stark reminder that Clem was missing — perhaps never to return .
A pinch in her chest took her by surprise. Why was she so concerned about the café boat owner’s whereabouts, and why did she feel like a truck had hit her ever since she got pulled out of the canal?