Page 45 of The Book Swap

Hi James,

Please do send over three chapters and a synopsis when it’s ready. I’d love to read it.

All the best,

Sophia

I scan the words over and over, unable to stop smiling. I’ve told her that it’s something new—nothing like the chapter she read and enjoyed from the competition, but she’s still said yes. I’m half-filled with excitement and half with total terror.

At the next stop, the bus starts filling up with people and someone squeezes in next to me, apologizing. The soft cushion of a Puffa jacket squidges against my arm, at the same time as I take in the familiar scent of perfume, trying to remember where I recognize it from.

The person beside me shifts, moving their arm so a rainbow tote bag swings from their shoulder and onto their lap.

My chest tightens. I can’t take my eyes off that bag. My forehead starts sweating, and I turn away to look out of the window as I try to calm myself. It’s her. The jacket. The bag. The scent. I have to see her face. I can’t even control my body as I turn back, a smile forming as I lift my head to lock eyes with her: my girl from the margins.

17

ERIN

It’s only after I’ve squashed down next to him that I realize who it is. James Parr.

I’m closer to him than we ever sat in English class. Closer than we’ve ever been, except that one time I touched his hand back at school. Our shoulders are touching. I can feel the warmth of his breath and the strength of his gaze as he realizes it’s me.

His eyes widen, reflecting the shock I feel. He must have got caught in the shower too, because his light brown hair’s slicked back with rain and tiny droplets cover his thick lashes. His jaw’s covered in a stubble I’ve never seen before and it sends my brain spinning in a way it didn’t at Bonnie’s memorial. It’s James, but so much older. He’s a man now and it’s like I’ve only just realized it.

He swallows, his Adam’s apple moving up and then down. He keeps glancing at my arm and back to my face, before he holds his hands up, edging toward the steamed-up window behind him and creating a space between our shoulders. “Hi, Erin,” he mumbles, swallowing. He runs his eyes across my face and shakes his head, a smile dying on his lips.

In my last session with Philippa, James was the main subject. She made me relive what happened between us, and go over my reaction to him at Bonnie’s memorial. How strong my response was, after so many years. How it might have been a shock to him, in the same way this chance meeting appears to be. It’s like this is some kind of test, and I feel like I’m failing, because I can’t move on and be civil. One look at his face and I’m back in my childhood bedroom. The room I didn’t leave for weeks, after what happened. I just lay there, staring at the wall, wishing my life could go back to the way it was before.

My heart is filling with pain at everything I lived through as a result of what James did.

I can feel my body starting to shake, and I move my tote bag farther onto my lap, gripping it so hard my fingers go white. I turn my face away and into the arse of the man who’s blocking my exit. Shrinking backward, I stare straight ahead, checking my watch. It’s too late at night to walk, but I can’t stay on this bus. Can’t sit this close to him, feeling the heat of him against me. A flash of memory appears, hitting my cheeks. We were at a house party, back in the days when we were close. I had got myself locked in the bathroom. I was pulling at the door, but I couldn’t get it open. Someone was on the other side trying to help. It was so loud, I couldn’t hear who it was. I pulled extra hard just as they pushed—and the door flew open, James catapulting his way toward me, slamming hard against me, against the wall. Both of us widened our eyes in surprise. I remember liking the feeling of his weight on me. Instinctively lifting my head toward him. Wanting, more than anything else, to know what it would be like to kiss him. Then Bonnie burst in, cackling about someone being sick on the kitchen floor.

Swallowing, I press the button once, twice, three times, just as the bus stops at a red light. James’s eyes are on me.

Why is he even here? I thought he was in Frome. It’s one of the reasons I love being in London. I hate going back there, and the thought of bumping into him—and yet somehow I’ve managed it, just meters from home. How?

My legs are shaking. Heat is pulsating through me. I need to take my jacket off but there’s no space. James glances across at me again and opens his mouth. Whatever he has to say, I don’t want to hear it. I just need air.

“Excuse me, mate,” he says, reaching past me to tap the man who’s blocking me on the arm. “Would you mind moving? I think this lady wants to get off the bus.”

“Sorry,” the man says, his voice gruff. He pushes farther back and opens up a space which I immediately jump into.

“Thanks,” I mutter, squeezing through the row of people, taking as many breaths as I can until I reach the wider area for wheelchairs and strollers. The bus lurches forward and I slam into the window, holding out my hands to steady myself. Out of the corner of my eye I see James jump up, before he sits again. Why is he so obsessed with trying to help me? First the cut on my foot. Now a tumble on a bus. If he wanted to save me, he should have done it back when he had the chance.

I wait so long in the rain for the next bus that by the time I reach the flat, I’m soaked through and leaving puddles of water with every step. Closing my bedroom door, I strip off my clothes, fingers shaking—from the cold or from James, or both.

Bonnie is in her chair, reading Beloved. She looks up at me, long blue hair over one shoulder.

“All right, love?”

“No,” I say, pushing my hair away from my face, panic rising in my voice. “I just saw James.”

She frowns. “In London? Why?”

“I don’t know why. He’s here, apparently.”

She screws up her face. “Gross.”

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