Page 32 of Barging In

V ictoria opened one eye, then the other, squinting against the bright sunlight. Where was she? Fragments of memory from the previous night flickered back, pulling her upright — Florence. She’d fallen asleep on Clem’s boat.

She checked her phone, but all she saw was her reflection in the dark glass.

A faint clatter from the other end of the boat told her Clem must be busy in the galley.

Scanning the bedroom for a mirror and finding nothing obvious, she noticed a line of books.

Victoria examined them with interest, spotting The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir, A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf, The Female Eunuch by Germaine Greer, and Want by Gillian Anderson.

Knowing Clem read these kinds of books made her smile.

Weren’t they the kind of books all women should read?

A slight feeling of shame that she hadn’t caught her off guard.

Taking another look around the room, she saw her purse peeking out from under the blanket. Clem must have covered her with it. Fishing out a compact, she did the best she could with what she had.

She spotted the chairs on the bow and recalled sitting there late into the evening.

Clem had said something about being with someone you could enjoy a bottle of wine with at the end of the day.

The words had stuck with her, much like Clem’s company had.

She was so easy to talk to. Well, not always easy.

Clem had a knack for drawing out things Victoria didn’t always mean to share.

Things that were outright embarrassing, like how she didn’t own a single thing in this world.

But perhaps that at least gave Clem some idea of what she was up against — how hard it was for her to walk away.

As she tried to recall what else they had discussed, she remembered Clem had called her beautiful.

That had hit her square in the chest. It had been a long time since someone had said that to her.

They had also spoken of love. Victoria denied needing it, but that was a lie.

She wanted that kind of love more than anything, and when Clem mentioned it, she hadn’t thought of anyone else — just her and the way she made Victoria feel.

She wondered if Clem felt the same. She had caught Clem gazing in her direction enough times during the party, only to see her quickly look away.

At any rate, Victoria had noticed, and it had made her feel wanted.

Desired. Had she been doing the same to Clem?

The thought caught in her chest. Jasper had certainly noticed her watching the other woman.

Their connection was undeniable — at least to her.

It felt as though an invisible thread ran between them, weaving their lives together in ways Victoria hadn’t expected.

Clem’s words echoed in her mind: I see all of you.

What had she meant by that? And why had she gotten so angry over her situation?

Victoria still wasn’t sure. Clem hadn’t explained, only pressed harder, asking why she wasn’t angry.

But Victoria had long since buried that anger.

Time had dulled it. At least she thought it had, though she gave it a second thought as she recalled the tears that had fallen from her eyes.

It had been late, and it had been a long day, she reasoned. She'd been tired.

She rubbed her eyes, still tired. None of it mattered anyway. She was a married woman, and unlike Drew, their vows still meant something to her. She wasn’t like him — selfish, faithless. She had standards. Morals. Even if those morals sometimes felt like a cage of her own making.

Finding her shoes and grabbing her purse, she made her way down the corridor and opened the door at the end.

The galley was alive with motion. Clem flitted among work surfaces, pulling things from cupboards.

Cakes stood cooling on the side, filling the space with a sugary scent and stirring an unexpected hunger inside her. Clem must have been up for hours.

It suddenly struck her — where had Clem slept?

“Oh, morning,” Clem said, finally spotting her. “How are you feeling?”

“Surprisingly rested, though a little hazy. Did you—” Victoria shook her head, stopping herself. It didn’t matter if they had shared a bed or not.

“I made up the other bed. Don’t worry, I’m not in the habit of corrupting straight, drunk women on my narrowboat. It’s not exactly a den of iniquity.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything.

” Victoria scrunched her face, annoyed with herself.

“For the record, I’m not straight, you know.

” The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Why had she said that? Whatever her reason, relief flooded her, making her legs tingle and weaken.

She had to lean on the worktop to steady herself.

“No? Oh! Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.” Clem rubbed the back of her neck, her gaze flicking towards the floor for a moment until she looked up and smiled warmly. “But thank you for telling me. It’s good to know.”

Victoria tilted her head in question. “Is it?”

“Erm, err, yes,” Clem stammered. “It’s always good to know when you’re in the best company. Coffee?”

“Please.” Victoria was dying to know what she meant exactly. “I assume that’s an upgrade from average company.”

Clem chuckled, busying herself with the large espresso machine. “You know what I mean. There’s something about being around other queer people.” She paused, looking at Victoria. “Oh. Is it okay to say that? I know some older people struggle with the word.”

Victoria raised an eyebrow. “Older… people?”

“Oh, sorry!” Clem replied, scrunching her face again. “I just don’t want to offend.”

“And yet you class me as an older person.”

“Well, you kind of are.” Clem smirked as she placed a paper cup under the spouts. “As am I — compared to the youngsters, anyway.”

Victoria smirked at Clem, watching her dig a hole and try to climb out again. When she noticed that Clem had begun to fidget, she rested a hand on her arm.

“Clem, it’s fine; use whatever words you want. What were you trying to say?”

“Oh, I just meant that when you’re around other queer people, you know you’re safe and they won’t judge you.

You’re in your tribe — people who share similar experiences.

Most of us know what some of us have been through — shame, isolation, fear, rejection, erasure, discrimination, inequality.

.. The list is endless, isn’t it? But they are the things that shape us into whatever form we end up in. ”

Victoria hummed her agreement. Even if she felt that being a closeted bisexual in a straight-presenting relationship had shielded her from some of it. She had still felt the fear. It still shaped her.

“It’s such a different experience from straight people,” Clem continued, turning to her with the paper cup full of coffee in hand. “They can never truly understand how we feel, even if they are allies.

“Most people don’t even realise we have a different experience.

They go blissfully through life, assuming we’re all the same, that we’ve all had the same upbringing.

And yet some still go out of their way to highlight our differences, with name-calling, controlling us, setting rules we have to live by, not seeing our relationships as equal. ”

Victoria nodded, trying to take it all in, but she found herself more caught up in the way Clem spoke, drawn in by her passion and the conviction in her voice.

Clem looked down at the cup she was still holding. “Oh, sorry. Espresso, right?” Her eyes twinkled as she handed the paper cup over. “I’m sure that’s what you had with your lemon drizzle that first time.”

“Correct. Thank you,” Victoria said, taking it.

Their fingers brushed against each other. The touch was too brief to mean anything, but too deliberate not to. It was enough to send something light and electric skimming down her spine.

“Anyway, how are you finding it?” Clem asked. “The boat, I mean. You mentioned once you weren’t a fan. In fact, I seem to remember you said something about vowing to never set foot inside one again.”

“I believe I said I wasn’t in a hurry to repeat the experience of being inside one, not that I wouldn’t go inside one,” Victoria corrected her matter-of-factly .

Clem smirked. “Well, in any case, I’m glad you’re here.”

A warm glow spread quietly through Victoria — that feeling of someone wanting her; well, her company at least.

“Me too,” Victoria replied, rubbing at her throat, hoping to relieve some of the tension in it that was telling her she should probably leave soon. To get away from the woman who was stirring emotions she had no right to entertain. But she didn’t want to. “I’m sorry that I stole your bed.”

Clem shrugged, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s fine. So, what are you up to today?”

Victoria sighed, glancing out the window towards the wharf. “It’s supposed to be my day off, but I think I’d better go help Emma.”

“Wouldn’t she be best helped by hiring a new catering manager?”

Victoria smiled faintly and blew on her coffee. “Emma wants the job. I’ve given her a two-week trial.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. Why did you say that?”

“She just seems young.”

“She’s enthusiastic and passionate about the wharf,” Victoria countered firmly.

“Is she qualified?”

“Not really, but then, when have qualifications been essential to someone who is already doing most of the job?”

Clem shrugged. “Fair point. I should get you home then. You can’t work like that — not that you don’t look totally cute first thing in the morning.”

Victoria’s cheeks flushed. She tried to hide it by taking a sip of coffee but failed spectacularly. Clem thought she was cute.

“Are you sure?”

“That you’re cute or that I’m giving you a lift?”

Victoria’s breath caught at hearing the words again.