Page 23 of Barging In

F ollowing a later-than-planned start and a relentless lunchtime rush assisting Emma in the café, Victoria seized a quiet lull to begin prepping the party food.

As she bent to retrieve chopping boards and baking trays from under the island, her body protested.

If she could snatch another half hour’s nap before the party began, it might just take the edge off her aches.

It had been a struggle to keep her eyes open since she’d woken a little later than planned, which had in turn put her behind schedule to open the wharf for Clem.

It wasn’t a great look, turning up fifteen minutes late while someone was doing you a favour.

When Clem insisted that she would crack on alone, Victoria hadn’t argued.

Exhaustion pulled her to the sofa in her office, where she’d fallen asleep instantly.

Waking to find Clem only inches from her face had felt oddly comforting.

For a brief, dazed moment she’d believed she was dreaming.

The idea that Clem wasn’t real had gripped her chest with a strange ache.

Then, once she realised Clem really was there, she’d immediately felt vulnerable and exposed.

Embarrassment nagged at her hours later despite her attempts to brush it off.

It was just sleep, after all; nothing worth feeling awkward about.

Clem’s mouthwatering creations had lingered in Victoria’s mind all morning, too, but at least both thoughts, the embarrassing and the tantalising, had proved a welcome distraction from having turned fifty.

Despite her underlying nerves about the party, Victoria was counting down the hours until she could finally sink her teeth into a slice of cake.

A glance at her watch made her heart jolt — it was two p.m. Only five hours until the party started, and she would need to get home to shower and change before then.

Would Clem even come back like she’d promised?

Victoria’s hand slid to her arm, where Clem had squeezed it earlier.

Strangely, she could still feel her there, like she’d left a trace of herself behind.

Was it simply tiredness playing tricks on her?

She flexed her fingers around the spot, hopeful it might disperse the feeling.

It didn’t. Maybe the feeling sat deeper inside her.

“Hey. Emma said to come through.”

Victoria startled at the sound of Clem’s voice. “Hi. I’m relieved to see you.”

“Did you think I’d change my mind?” Clem asked, smiling smugly.

“Perhaps,” Victoria admitted.

“I don’t break a promise. Now, where do we start?” Clem asked, rolling up her sleeves and washing her hands in the sink. “Shall I do the sausage rolls whilst you butter the bread? Then I can help you fill the sandwiches.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Victoria said, heading to the fridge.

She opened the door, giving the cakes a loving look, then extracted the sausage meat and ready-to-roll pastry.

As she turned to place them on the worktop, she bumped straight into Clem.

“Oh. Sorry,” she muttered, dying a little inside from the fresh wave of embarrassment.

“No problem. Let me take those.” Clem reached for the items.

“Thanks,” Victoria replied, her heartbeat growing stronger, as though it knew something she didn’t.

“I have a confession to make,” Clem said, arranging everything on the worktop.

Victoria braced herself as she stacked slices of bread, ready to butter. “Confess away.”

“It was my mum who washed your jumper.”

That she wasn’t expecting. Although thinking about it, Clem didn’t strike her as the type of woman who knew the intricacies of caring for cashmere.

“Ah, I see. Won’t break a promise but will steal credit for someone else’s handiwork. I’m on to you,” Victoria said, prodding Clem with a cucumber.

“Hey,” Clem laughed, squirming away as she tried to open a packet of pastry. “Give me some credit. I fished it out of the canal, and I endured the stench whilst it soaked in my bathroom sink.”

“Then thank you. I will have to remember to thank your mum one day, too,” Victoria said, handing her a rolling pin.

“Mmm. Maybe shout it at her from a distance.”

Victoria chuckled as she peeled a layer of butter away from its container with her knife. “I gather your parents aren’t my biggest fans. Can I assume that’s due to me asking them to stop blocking the road?”

“That and they know why your jumper was in the canal. They might still be under the impression that you were the one who tried to get me moved on. I should set them right.”

“Yes, please let them know I had nothing to do with it. If we’re going to be neighbours, I’d rather they didn’t believe I’m the she-devil who tried to sabotage their daughter’s business.”

“Even if I tell them, I can’t guarantee they’ll believe me,” Clem said, chuckling as she began rolling the pastry.

“I only wanted to get to work, but their van was in the way. Then I tried to make polite conversation.” Victoria snorted. “Big mistake.”

Clem’s amusement eased some of her discomfort with the situation. If she was laughing at her parents’ reaction to Victoria, then it couldn’t be all bad. Victoria was unlikely to see her neighbours often, so it hardly mattered.

They fell into a brief silence, busying themselves with their duties and instinctively working around each other. When Victoria found the silence too awkward, she broke it.

“So, are you going to tell me why your cakes are so good?”

“You expect me to divulge my secret recipes?” Clem asked, tilting her head playfully. “Planning to poach them, are you?”

Victoria recoiled in faux horror as she opened a packet of ham. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Baking is not my forte, so fear not, your secrets are safe with me.”

“Okay,” Clem relented, laying the sausage meat in long lines along the pastry.

“Between you and me, the key is to keep it simple. Blend key flavours. People like their cake traditional, so don’t mess with it.

Once you add the flour, don’t over-beat the mixture, and always weigh it into the pans before they go in the oven.

Basic things, really, but they make all the difference.

Oh, and I use Jersey butter where I can because it makes the cakes taste amazing and has a nice yellow colour.

I think you noticed that.” Clem’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

“I might have,” Victoria admitted, biting her lip as she tried and failed to keep a straight face. “Where did your passion for baking come from?”

“Gram. My grandparents both died when my mum was young, so her aunt and uncle adopted her. I spent a lot of time with them when I was growing up. Gram loved to bake, and I loved cake, so we were a perfect match. She taught me everything I know.”

Clem fell into silence, her gaze drifting off into the distance. Victoria scrambled for the right words to respond with. As Clem began rolling the pastry around the sausage meat, something came to mind.

“It’s strange to think of you spending so much time next door another lifetime ago.” Feeling immediately foolish for saying aloud what should have been a private thought, she added, “Sorry. That sounded weird.”

Clem flashed her a warm smile as she cut the pastry into individual sausage rolls.

“It wasn’t exactly a lifetime ago, but since I left university, work kept me away more than I would have liked.

In recent years, after my great-uncle died, Mum and Dad would pick up Gram on their boat.

We’d spend time pottering around the canals.

They have a much bigger one than Florence and run it as a hotel.

I think it was the only time she left the house in the last few years. ”

“I never saw much of her. Renovating the house and the wharf kept me fairly occupied.”

Clem pulled a wry face. “Shame. She was the best.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to know her,” Victoria mused. She tucked that regret away alongside so many others .

With the sausage rolls in the oven, Victoria set Clem to work layering egg mayonnaise onto the bread.

“This party seems pretty important to you,” Clem said softly.

“It is. It’s the wharf’s first birthday. Everything has to go well. At this rate, it could be a farewell party rather than a celebration.”

“Are things really that bad?”

“Yes,” Victoria said, exhaling. “Drew’s development company owns the wharf. Well, the individual apartments are sold off, but he owns the building itself and the entire ground floor. He’ll turn that into apartments, too, if we don’t start making money.”

“I’m sorry.”

Victoria flashed her a flat smile.

“You said once that this was all you,” Clem continued.

“Yes,” Victoria confirmed, amazed Clem had remembered. “I was an architect. Redesigning this entire building was my biggest project.”

“ Was an architect? I’m pretty sure you still are. You don’t just stop being one, do you? It’s not like you hand your pencil and ruler back in.”

A smile tugged at Victoria’s lips. She hadn’t thought of it like that. “No. I don’t suppose you do.”

“So, how did you come by the wharf?”

“There was a time in my life when I needed a distraction from” — Victoria paused, searching for the right word — “everything. I began looking into my family history and discovered my three-times-great-grandfather was a corset manufacturer.”

“Ahh.”

“My research led me here, to his factory, and I immediately felt a connection to it. An overwhelming urge to save it. ”

“Understandable.”

A familiar pang of worry settled in Victoria’s chest as it often did. So often, in fact, she wondered if it was making itself at home. Had she saved the factory? Was she still saving it? When would she know if she’d saved it?

“Where does Jasper come into it?” Clem asked, interrupting Victoria’s spiralling thoughts. “Max said he’s the country’s leading expert on corsets.”

Victoria lifted an eyebrow and turned to Clem. “Max has done his homework.”

“Oh, he has. Probably a little more than is healthy.” Clem chuckled.