Page 27 of The Book Swap

“Do you need a lift? My car’s right there.” I pointed over to it, just as a traffic warden pulled out his electronic device. “Shit.”

I ran back, shouting as I did, “Sorry. I’m moving it right now.”

“You can’t park it here,” he said, as though that wasn’t obvious.

“Sorry. I know. I’ll move it.”

I jumped in and drove up to the end of the road. When I turned it around and started driving back the other way, there she was, standing on the corner with her thumb sticking out of the end of a jacket that was so vivid, it looked like the technicolored dream coat.

“I’m doing this because I have no choice,” she said, climbing in. “I can’t walk that far, and Mum and Dad couldn’t get today off work.”

“Understood.” I nodded and turned out onto the main road, driving back past the cinema. “Where are we going?”

“Bath Royal United Hospital,” she said, her voice steady.

“The old RUH,” I replied in a voice that sounded a lot like my dad’s, and she looked across at me, shaking her head.

“Well, if I wasn’t sure it was James from school, I am now.”

“If you weren’t sure, it was pretty risky climbing into my car,” I said, smiling as I settled into the chat. “I don’t think most men who pull over at the sight of a woman hitchhiking and fling open their passenger door should be trusted.”

“I think anyone can probably be trusted more than you,” she replied, and my face turned so hot I had to put the window down.

We drove the rest of the way in silence. When I dropped her off, I asked if she wanted me to wait. She said no. I did anyway. It was that or going home, and I was too afraid of Mum. When Bonnie walked back out and saw me still sitting there, she shook her head and laughed, pulling open the door.

“You’re a sucker for punishment,” she said, climbing in and turning slowly around to face the back of the car, before looking at me. “Did you just go out and buy that bag of knives, or was it there all along? And please know that I’m not sure which answer is going to make me feel better.”

I swung my head back to look at the knives. I had completely forgotten they were there. Jumping out of the car, I opened the boot and ran around to the back seat, grabbing the bag and locking it away out of sight.

“You can have the long answer that will take us all the way home,” I said, climbing back into the driving seat. “Or the short answer.”

“James,” she said, smiling sleepily across at me. “We were in English together. All those infamous long essays you used to hand in. You’re a storyteller. Tell me the story.”

Bonnie rested her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, and I told her. I told her everything she missed knowing about Mum after we stopped speaking at school. I’m not even sure she was awake for all of it, but it didn’t matter. God, it felt so good to tell someone. Someone who knew me, but didn’t. Someone who had even cared about me, once. I parked up back at her house, lightly touching her on the shoulder.

“If Erin asks, I haven’t seen you,” she said, climbing out before leaning through the window. “But thanks. Minus the knives. And, James?”

“Yes.”

“I had no idea about your mum. I mean I knew enough, from what you said at school, but it was a lot harder for you than you ever made it sound. That, plus Marky and his mates... You’ve become a much nicer man than you could have been.”

Bonnie walked inside and I watched her disappear through the dark green front door. I watched her disappear through that door so many times after that, but that time is the one I remember.

Now, as I turn up the path toward the top of the park which leads me back to my flat—to see Joel standing and waiting for me without so much as a glistening forehead—I pull out my phone. I need to message Helena, and I need to do it now.

It isn’t that I won’t commit—I just won’t commit to her, and the sooner I tell her that, the better.

On my lunch break at work, I walk to the local bookshop and head straight to the classics section. Wuthering Heights was such a gift to me, and I want to repay Margins Girl with something. I don’t have the knowledge that she does. It feels like both books she’s given me have been carefully selected, but that can’t be true. I picked up To Kill a Mockingbird by accident. It wasn’t meant for me; it was meant for anyone. She couldn’t know that Wuthering Heights would make me feel more energized and inspired than I have in years. Perhaps, without me knowing, my books are helping her as much as hers are helping me.

Scanning through the titles in front of me, I keep coming back to the same one. A book I’ve heard of but never read. I reach up for it, and as I did last time, I open it to a random page, laughing and shaking my head at the first words I read. A character in the book is talking about London: “We do not look in great cities for our best morality.” My mind immediately jumps to Joel and his job, then to me and mine. I pay for the book, wander to the little green that splits Angel in two, and sit on a bench there.

Pulling Wuthering Heights and a pen out of my bag, I open it to the final page of text. Beneath the words “The End” I write Meet me in Mansfield Park? As I go to close it, I can’t help but notice the four blank pages that sit before the final page listing other books by the same publisher. An idea appears and I immediately dismiss it. I’m probably reading way too much into this exchange. Maybe for Margins Girl, it’s just a silly thing that entertains her for a second during the day. She might be put off, even horrified, by me doing something more.

Closing the book, I stand up, then sit straight back down.

If we’d met in person there’s no way I’d do it, but she’s a stranger. A stranger whom I’ve already found myself able to trust, somehow. She replies to my notes. She’s open and honest. She’s funny. I don’t feel like she’s judging me. I have a feeling that maybe, in her own way, she’s as lonely as I am.

I could try it. It’s not like she has to reply, but the notes in the margin don’t feel like enough now. I want more.

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