Chapter 11 #3
‘The towpath garden too?’ I repeated. There was no clear boundary between my bit of the garden and Jack’s so it was inevitable that people would spill over into my space, tramping on the herbs and flowers I’d planted with such optimism, and shattering their wine glasses in Hilda’s favourite snoozing spots.
I was going to feel under siege in my own home.
I was used to lying in bed and hearing people walking past on the towpath, but it would be another thing entirely to lie there and hear them rowdily socialising probably only inches away from my head for hours at a time.
I might as well go out to join the party in my pyjamas.
‘Exactly how many people do you think you’ll get in here?’ I asked, picturing hordes of noisy drinkers partying into the night. ‘And does the Oxford Boating Association know about the overflow into the garden thing?’
‘Yes, the Association approves entirely. If you think about it, it’s not really that different from your Blind Date with a Book night, where I seem to recall several people were hanging out on the towpath.
In fact, hadn’t you set up a table for drinks there?
Did you clear that with the Association, out of interest?
’ I remained silent. If he was trying to threaten me, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of appearing worried by it.
He shrugged and continued. ‘As to numbers, there will be maybe a dozen who could fit in the cabin, if people don’t mind getting a little cosy.
’ He lowered his tone. ‘I want to keep things … intimate.’
I scowled at him, annoyed at the involuntary frisson I’d experienced at his choice of vocabulary. I knew he’d only done it to try to get a rise out of me. ‘And what about the other facilities?’ I asked primly, refusing to rise to his bait.
‘I got the bathroom re-fitted before I took possession of the boat. Two heads – correct nautical term for the loo, right? – and a pocket handkerchief-sized shower for me to use. Tiny house living might be all the rage, or tiny boat living in my case, but it’s a challenge to find fittings when you’re six feet tall.
But you’d know all about that.’ He gestured at me.
‘You’re six feet? Really? Are you sure?’ I asked provocatively.
‘I would have put you at more like five nine, maybe five ten on a good day.’ He was definitely six feet, judging by the fact that we were pretty much eye to eye when we stood next to each other, but I wasn’t going to pander to his ego by agreeing with him about it.
I knew from experience that most men were notoriously sensitive about their height.
I went through a period of only wearing flats and hunching my back when I was dating the awful ex, desperately trying to appease his feeling of being threatened by my superior height.
My superior everything, I reminded myself.
I was definitely better off without him.
Jack, however, seemed unbothered by my dig, not even trying to refute my words.
‘The only thing left for me to do on the bathroom front is re-hang the door properly, which I’m hoping will take me all of five minutes. I am on a schedule, after all.’
‘So, you’ll be living on board?’
‘To start with.’
I waited for him to elaborate but it soon became clear that that was as much as I was getting.
‘And when do you intend to open?’ I pressed.
‘Two weeks tomorrow,’ said Leo. ‘That should give me plenty of time to get the rest of the place shipshape. Despite current appearances, I’m confident that between me and the work crew, it’ll be ready in plenty of time.
I’m going to launch with a wine tasting evening, admission to ticket holders only. ’
‘But you can’t launch then. That’s the night I’m going to have my next Blind Date with a Book event,’ I said, before I could stop myself.
‘I don’t think the two are mutually exclusive,’ he said.
‘The noise from your bar opening will spoil the event for my visitors,’ I retorted. ‘They’ll be coming to enjoy an evening of culture, to discuss books and maybe meet someone special. They won’t want to mingle with beer-swilling louts clogging up the towpath and being dickish on your deck.’
Jack’s laugh was infuriatingly dismissive. ‘Let me set the record straight. The Jericho Wine Barge is a wine bar; the clue is in the name. Yes, I’ll sell a couple of beers for those who want them, but be reassured, there won’t be any louts. I’ll put up a “No Louts Allowed” sign if you like.’
‘Stop taking the mickey, I’m being serious. Look, you’re obviously set on your plans for this place, good for you, but could you not launch on any night other than that one?’ I hated even asking him for this favour, but I had to try.
‘I’m struggling to see why you’ve got such a problem with it,’ he said, his exaggeratedly reasonable tone irritating me still further.
‘The Blind Date with a Book night really matters to me. I need it to work. It’s about the only profitable aspect of my business right now.
’ I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth.
It was beyond foolish to expose that particular weakness to a guy who had a proven track record of putting his own interests first and playing dirty. But it was too late now.
‘I need my wine tasting launch event night to be a success too,’ said Jack in a clipped tone. ‘As far as I can see, we’re in the same boat.’
‘We might be physically standing in the same vessel right now, Jack, but you and I might as well be sailing in different canals. And frankly, I really wish you’d do that.’ I threw my hands up in frustration. There was no reasoning with some people.
I clicked for Hilda to follow me and stomped off the Jericho Wine Barge, my fears for the future of the Oxford Bookship stronger than ever.