Page 29 of The Book Swap

“And that’s your decision to make in the age we live in. But back when Jane Austen was alive, you sort of had to get married. Hardly any women could make their own money. Countdown didn’t exist back then, unfortunately,” I say, trying to keep any amusement out of my voice. Who am I to mock someone else’s dream? At least she has one.

“That sucks.” She glances at the book and back. “So, what if they didn’t want to get married? Then what?”

“They might be forced to, or set up with someone. They might be cut off from their family if they didn’t. It’s sort of...what the book’s about,” I say, carefully, trying to limit the enthusiasm in my voice. “Read the very first line.”

She frowns as though I’m trying to trick her and picks up the book, opening it at Chapter One, her jaw dropping as she reads the words about single men and what they want.

“How did you know that, without even looking?”

I laugh. “The same way you know how to do maths. It interests me.”

She keeps reading, without me even telling her to. There’s a lightness in my chest at the sight of her. Her eyes skimming the words and a slight smile forming on her face. It’s the same feeling I get when Mystery Man replies to my comments in the margins. When he says that I’ve taught him something about what he’s reading.

“And what do you think Elizabeth Bennet’s role is in the book?” I ask Savannah.

She shrugs, looking up. “She’s there to shine a light on how no one should have to marry for anything but love,” I explain.

Savannah nods.

“This is the kind of stuff they’re going to ask you in your GCSE exam this summer. I promise I can help it to make sense, if you’ll let me? We’ve got four months.”

A small smile spreads across her face, making her look younger than when she’s confused or concentrating.

“You’re accepting the challenge?”

“I think it might be the best challenge I’ve ever been offered,” I say, smiling back.

She shrugs, but I see through it. It’s the shrug I’d give Mum after she left Dad and would ask if she could pick me up from school. My shoulders saying I’m not bothered, while the rest of my body is screaming at me internally that I am.

“Fine then.” She picks up the book and places it in my hands, and I swallow down the lump in my throat.

By the time we’re done with our first session, I don’t think I’ve given Savannah any particular love of reading, or English, but I’ve at least helped her to understand what the story’s about. The humor in it. The comments the author was trying to make on society at that time. I’ve made her fall, just a little bit, for Jane Austen, and in one session, that’s so much more than I could have hoped for. I think about my old job. It never made me feel like this. It didn’t give me the sense of achievement that now dances in my chest, nor did it give me the smile on my face. I want to do it again. I want that rush of helping someone to make sense of something I love.

When I get home, I send a message to Cassie—it’s the type of thing I’d usually have sent to Bonnie.

Erin: I taught a Harry Styles–obsessed teen about Jane Austen today. Her room was COVERED in photos. How’s your Sunday?

She starts replying immediately, and just seeing that she’s typing causes heat to radiate in my chest.

Cassie: Erm... JEL. If it were appropriate for me to have Hazza posters all over my walls, believe me I would. You wouldn’t like him though. Apparently he doesn’t read books.

Erin: How do you even know that?

Cassie: I’d love to say it’s because of my youngest sister, but I’m afraid I still read Heat Magazine. It was a fact he gave about himself.

Erin: Well I won’t be passing that on to Savannah or she’ll never read again.

Georgia insisted on booking me in for a therapy session on the day we’ve already arranged to have dinner at a little brasserie in Covent Garden. When I approach the table she’s there, her dark hair in a sleek bob, looking a lot shinier than usual. No doubt she’s just discovered some new serum she’s about to force me to buy on my nonexistent salary.

“Big day,” she says, standing up to hug me.

“Are we talking about my 10:00 a.m. with Philippa, or my 4:00 p.m. dog-walking appointment?”

“Both.”

“Well, the dog was so fat it nearly pulled me into a puddle of mud, and metaphorically it was a similar experience with the therapist.”

Georgia laughs. “That actually sounds positive. You must have discussed something important.”

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