Clement says when I come into the hospital the next day, frowning because my bag got wet on the ferry and the lone bathroom on it was out of paper towels. I curve my mouth into a huge, fake smile, and he laughs and pulls out a cough drop. “Found someone to work in the gift shop starting today,” he says. “Have something you’d like to say to me?” I grin at him. “I hear that eating too many of those things you like so much gives you gas.” He laughs. “My wife would have loved you. Do you like Jaffa Cakes? Harriet loved them. Used to be hard to find them over here, but now the supermarkets have international aisles and you can get anything.” “I love them,” I say, and wonder what the hell Jaffa Cakes are. He grins at me. “Now what are you going to do when I bring you a box of them?” “Tell my parents my new boyfriend is a little older than I am.” Clement laughs so hard he chokes on his cough drop, causing the reception area people to come running with water and offers of help.
