Page 25 of The Book Swap

I walk back into his room, my jeans still lying on the kitchen floor.

That afternoon, having applied for a couple of jobs on Nextdoor—including a woman locally who needs some help walking her dog and another who wants some handwritten notes typed up—I make my way to the library. It seems to have taken ages for Mystery Man to return the book this time, and I’m starting to wonder whether he’s given up. I don’t like how low my heart sinks at the thought of it. That last book came at a moment when I really needed it. Now, I feel that way again. Bonnie’s heavy on my mind and I’ve got no idea what I’m doing with Callum. I’ve got no job and I feel like everything in my life is just completely fucked. I’m trying to think the way Bonnie would, but sometimes it’s hard. If I get too down, I can’t seem to get into her mindset. I don’t have the positivity.

Approaching the library, I reach the bridge just as a man’s walking away. I’ve never seen anyone here before. I know they must come, because new books appear and get taken, but I’ve let myself think it’s just me and my Mystery Man. I take in the back of the man walking away. Could he have just left something? Could he be the person I’m writing to?

Pulling open the door I see my copy of Wuthering Heights sitting there. With shaking hands, I take it out and turn straight to the back page. When I see the handwriting, my heart leaps to my throat. Meet me in Mansfield Park? I smile. It’s an interesting choice. Instead of Pride and Prejudice, or Sense and Sensibility, or Emma, he’s gone for the Jane Austen novel that divided the public, and I like him more for it. I can see the indent of more writing through the page, and turn it over. There are questions laid out, under the heading Questions for Mystery Book Club. They’re for me.

I slam it shut, desperate to get home to the comfort of my own bedroom so I can take it all in. Instead, I turn back to the shelves to pick up my Austen. I can’t see it where the other book was. Can’t see it on the other shelves either. Pulling them out, I start littering the pavement with every book from the library.

“Sorry, Eileen. I’ll put them back,” I say, scanning the titles but it isn’t any of them.

You fucking well better, I imagine Eileen replying.

I replace them all, picking up my book. What are the chances that...?

Closing the door, I turn around and start running in the direction of the man I just saw walk away.

“Excuse me,” I shout, chasing his navy waterproof mac up the road and around the corner, away from the park. “Sorry, excuse me, sir,” I shout, as though I’m in an Austen novel myself.

The man stops and turns around, just outside a little café on the corner of Coldharbour Lane.

My heart’s pounding. Now I’ve reached him, I don’t know how to ask for the book back without sounding weird and possessive.

He’s in his fifties, with piercing gray eyes, his head tilted to one side as he frowns at me.

“Sorry, did you just take a book from the library?” I say, struggling for breath. “I know this is really weird, I just...”

He puts his hand into the large pocket of his coat, and pulls it out. An involuntary shriek comes from my mouth as I take in the cover.

“This is going to sound even weirder,” I say as he holds it. “But please could I have that? It’s part of a...an exchange I’m involved in and I was meant to pick it up earlier, but I just—”

“No,” he says, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry, but my daughter is studying Austen and she’s really struggling with English. These notes look helpful.”

He turns to walk away. “Please,” I shout, frozen to the spot. “I don’t know how to explain, but I need it. I’ll...I’ll teach her about the book myself. Those notes you think look so helpful—they’re mine.” I hold out my copy of Wuthering Heights and flick through it, showing him the notes I’ve actually written. “I have a degree in English Literature from Durham Uni. Admittedly not a first. Have to have some fun, am I right? Anyway... I can help with her studies. I live locally and...” The man is staring at me, his head on one side again. Possibly wondering whether he wants someone who must seem mildly unhinged teaching his daughter.

He reaches into the back pocket of his trousers, and pulls out his wallet, opening it.

“Fine,” he says, removing a business card and placing it on top of the book, before handing both to me. “Email me and we’ll set it up.”

He turns and crosses the road briskly, disappearing into Loughborough Junction station, leaving me with two books, his card and a triumphant flush to my cheeks, the likes of which I haven’t felt in years.

I think you’ve now officially lost it, says a voice in my head, and this time I’m not sure whether it’s Bonnie, or me.

10

JAMES

“Oi, oi!” Joel shouts as he jogs toward me, a tight top stretching across his chest muscles, his hands in big gray gloves.

He’s wearing one of those woolly hats with headphones in the ears and he lifts it up when he reaches me, leaning forward to stretch out his front leg and run his hands down it toward the icy ground.

“All set, running partner?” he asks, rising back up.

He’s met me in Ruskin Park after declaring we need to bring back the running club we started in year twelve. The only time I ever felt safe was when I was out on my bike with Elliot, or running with Joel. The bullies left me alone when we were together, and seeing him in front of me now gives me that same feeling.

“Depends if you can keep up,” I say and he grins, racing away from me, toward the outskirts of the park.

“Helena’s good fun,” he says, when I reach him. “She—”

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