“He really does,” agrees Jillian. “Idon’t know that Ifully believed it before, or even that he really did. We’d had no cause to give our love any thought, and Iwouldn’t have predicted how far he’d be willing to go for me. Idon’t know if Iwould if the tables were turned.”
“What if he’d been preyed upon by a therapist from Yelp, though?” asks Clemence.
“Even then,” says Jillian. “I’d probably be furious that he’d been so stupid.”
“Ibet Jeremy’s actually relieved that you’ve been stupid,” says Clemence. “Your otherwise perfection can be intimidating. It’s a lot to live up to. It’s almost like you’ve done him a favour. Levelling the playing field, you know?”
“That’s certainly one way to spin it,” says Jillian.
“He won’t admit it,” says Clemence, “but deep in his heart he knows it’s true.”
“Plus, after years of all your friends thinking you’re out of his league, Jeremy is finally getting a bit of sympathy,” says Naomi. “The poor guy.”
“Iliked it better when you thought Iwas perfect,” says Jillian.
“Oh, that was never us,” says Clemence. “Imean, we know you. You’re our friend.”
“She’s right,” says Naomi. “If you were perfect, you’d be impossible to stomach. Plus, with the two of you turning into hard-core fuck-ups this year, Iget to be the stable one in our friendship. Icould get used to that.”
Twenty-Seven
Although so much has softened between them, Toby still doesn’t put his book down when Clemence enters the bookstore the following day.
“Idon’t need to,” he tells her. “There are jingle bells on the door. And Iknow it’s you. Who else would it be?” Crampton, beside him at the counter, is unruffled by Toby’s attitude, because Crampton has never expected Toby to be anything other than exactly who he is.
But Clemence is feeling less generous. She’s thinking of what her friends said, of what they’d think if they saw him now, even of what judgment could lie behind Crampton’s neutral expression as she watches Clemence accept Toby’s rudeness. Clemence has also come looking for reassurance, and this isn’t it. “Don’t you think you could still say hello?” she asks. “Isn’t that just common courtesy to greet a fellow human being?”
“Arbitrary rules.” He waves her off. “And anyway, Iwasin the middle of a scene.” He slouches back over the book.
“Don’t you worry that he’s putting off the customers?” Clemence asks Crampton.
“Well, he’s certainly not putting you off. You’re here, and this isn’t even your shift.”
“But it might be the last time you ever see me,” says Clemence. “I’ve come to say goodbye. Ihave a meeting with someone called Mary-Ann Arbuckle today.”
Crampton’s brow furrows, but a different furrow from her usual furrow. Her entire face is rearranged. “Now why would you go and do that?” It’s the most shaken Clemence has ever seen her.
“So you know Mary-Ann Arbuckle?”
“Does she ever,” says Toby, speaking without being directly addressed, so this must be a special occasion.
“Mary-Ann Arbuckle is the only person in all of history to be impeached by the Business Improvement Association,” explains Crampton. “Adark time in our history.”
“Is she the one who’s been calling you racist?” asks Toby.
“It was actually ‘fascist,’” says Clemence.
“Well, of course it was,” says Crampton. “Mary-Ann is passionate, but not very bright. She’s the one who came after me about my cleaning my windows. You know, before you did.” She’s pointing at Clemence, who feels unfairly implicated. “She wanted online entrepreneurs to be able to join thebia, which made no sense. She kept calling me a ‘girlboss,’ and wanted me to teach her how to—so she said—‘build an empire.’ And when Itold herthe key was inherited wealth, she didn’t like that, and she started callingmea fascist, but really she was just angry that Iwouldn’t pay for her online course, something about funnels. She had it in for me after that, but Ithink she’s also politically confused. She was using one of the storefronts as a gallery space, but she never paid the rent, and refused to resign from theBIAexecutive, so we had to take matters into our own hands. She started up the artisan market after that, and Iguess the drama continues.”
“She’s accused us of trying to steal her vendors,” says Clemence. “But it’s borrowing, really. Ithought it might help our profile to feature some artists beyond whoever it was who’d made all those toilet-paper covers with the doll heads that somebody donated three boxes of. Plus a couple of people selling succulents signed on.”
“So more of an homage, then,” says Crampton, “than outright thievery.”
“Right?” says Clemence. Toby keeps on reading, and she envies him this obliviousness, and his knack for avoiding entanglement in the lives of other people—at least until she came along. But his oblivious makes her furious, too. “It’s not unreasonable,” she says.
“It’s not unreasonable,” Crampton agrees. “But Mary-Ann Arbuckle is far from a reasonable person. Ihope you’re not meeting her alone.”
“I’ve got my landlady coming,” says Clemence. Toby still hasn’t looked up. “And the reverend.”
