Page 44 of The Book Swap

“You don’t mind if we do your room, do you? You’re hardly here.”

“No, that’s fine. Can I speak to Dad?”

“Typical of you two,” she says, her voice shifting tone. She hates it when I ask to speak to Dad. She knows I’m trying to check up on her. “No doubt wanting to whisper about me, while I try to do something nice for us all. You two with your nasty little team, trying to ruin my plans. You’re both just holding me back, all the time—don’t do this, don’t do that.” She puts on her worst impression of me. The voice that used to make my skin turn cold. “Well, I’ll do what I fucking like. It’s just a bit of carpet. Why would you stop me from doing that? It’s like you both enjoy hurting me. Putting me down—” There’s a thud, and I can hear Dad saying something before coming to the phone.

“You okay? Sorry about that.”

“Don’t you fucking apologize for me,” comes a voice in the background. “What am I? An embarrassment to you?”

I hear a click as Dad closes a door.

“Nearly time for me to come back, I think?”

“Not yet,” he says. “You won’t believe me, but she’s been all right until just then. I’ll call the doctor. See if we can make some alterations to her medication.”

“Okay.”

“You stay. You’re not long into that promotion. I can cover things here.”

“All right, Dad.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever say that,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

“I just...”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Nothing.”

There’s pounding on the door, and more shouting of words I can’t decipher. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say, forcing the words out.

“Okay. We love you.”

Dad hangs up and I stare at the phone.

I imagine him now, stopping whatever he was in the middle of doing to once again prioritize Mum. Calling her doctor to organize out-of-hours pills. Trying to calm her down while she screams an endless slur of unforgivable things at him. As he wholeheartedly commits to his vows to take my mum for better and for worse, in sickness and in health. You have to love someone entirely to be the husband he is to Mum. For the first time in a long time, among all the fear and anger I have toward their setup, I feel something else. Admiration and respect. Dad makes it work because he loves my mum. Maybe it’s everything I’m experiencing with Margins Girl, but suddenly there’s something beautiful about that.

It’s all I can think about throughout dinner at the Turkish restaurant opposite the Union Chapel with Joel and our dates, Dana and Jodie, as we share a mezze of meats and hummus.

Joel’s taken a definite liking to Jodie and is draping one arm around the back of her chair. He leans closer toward her, laughing at something she said. I’m trying with Dana. She’s really nice—she’s a yoga instructor from Clapham, and she’s interesting to talk to. But as we make small talk about jobs and our favorite south London pubs, I can’t stop the voice in the back of my mind asking myself if I could love her. If she were to get ill, could I give up my life to look after her? That’s become my measure of what it truly means to love someone. Looking after them the way Dad looks after Mum.

We leave the Turkish and walk toward the Union Chapel. A car stops beside us at the traffic lights on Upper Street, windows down and music blaring. My dad’s voice rings out into the air. “Do you know me?”

Jodie starts dancing across the road as Joel’s eyes dart toward me. The car drives off.

“That such a banger of a remix,” she says when we’ve crossed.

“Remix?” I can’t stop myself.

“What? Where have you been, James? DJ Tenderbass? It’s all over the clubs at the moment.” She sidles up to Dana. “Not sure he’s for you, this one. He doesn’t appear to go out.”

Joel catches us up. “Did she just say there’s a remix?”

“Not sure he’s for you either,” Dana says back, nodding at Joel.

“Apparently so,” I say to Joel. Someone’s rereleasing Dad’s song. They’re putting it all back out there. Opportunities could open up to him. It could be his chance to prove himself. To rid himself of the one-hit-wonder title.

The rest of the evening is spent at a gig, mainly trying to make out the quite beautiful harmonies of an emotive acoustic folk duo over the sound of Joel and Jodie whispering to each other. Dana and I sit awkwardly, nodding our heads to the music. I run for the tube the moment it’s over, and when I pop out in Brixton at the other end it’s pissing down with rain. I dash across the road, jumping on a bus which stops close to my flat. If I get off a stop early, I can even pass the library on my way home. Just in case. If it isn’t there maybe I could write Margins Girl a note to find when she puts the books back. Maybe I could even tell her my name. Leave her my number? That’s an idea I’ll definitely regret in the morning.

Taking out my phone, I check my emails, heart jumping as I see the name of the agent I reached out to.

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