Page 32 of The Book Swap

12

JAMES

On my way to work, I open up the library doors, scanning the shelves for the familiar spine of Mansfield Park. Once again, it isn’t there. Once again, I’ve totally misread the situation and freaked her out by coming on too strong. I got greedy, wanting more than just her notes in the margins, and if I’d just left it, maybe I’d have another book back by now.

Walking away, I cross under the bridge toward Brixton tube station and call Dad.

“All okay?” I ask when he picks up after a few too many rings.

“Great thanks, son. Was just waving off your mum. She’s off to the carpet shop.”

Mum got a job a couple of weeks ago and by the sounds of it, Dad spends the time in between her leaving and coming back just...waiting for her.

“That’s good. How is she?”

“Showing an appropriate level of enthusiasm to decking out the entire house in new carpet, but I’m keeping an eye on it.”

I feel the familiar pang of concern. Sometimes, when Mum starts to get fixated on something, it can be the start of a manic episode which leads to a decline. It’s hard to know at times whether she’s excited about her new job in the way most people would be, or if it’s something more.

“Sounds promising. Could be a good time to line up some more of your motivational talks? ‘How I Made It to the Top,’ by Gareth Parr.”

“Yeah, I’ll give it another week while she settles in and then I’ll get in touch with my agent. I don’t want to disappoint anyone if I have to cancel, so best to be sure first.”

I rub the bridge of my nose. “May as well call now though? They might have some universities that need a talk in the next few weeks. I can always come down to help out if anything does happen, but it sounds like she’s doing well?”

I can hear the kettle clicking in the background. The sound of pouring and then the tink of the spoon against the china.

“She is. And how’s your job going?”

I open my mouth to say what I always say. It’s paying the bills, so it’s good. Except, since I’ve started my writing, I don’t know if I feel that way anymore.

“Keeping me busy. I’m learning a lot.” It’s close to the bookshop, which is another reason I don’t include.

“That’s good. Must feel fun, to learn.”

I laugh. “I suppose it does.” Pausing, I want to check in properly. To ask if he’s really okay. I often wonder how it must feel to Dad when his purpose is taken away. Who is he when he doesn’t have Mum to look after? “So you’re all good then?” I say eventually, but it ends up sounding like more of a statement.

“All good,” he replies, and tears sting my eyes. I don’t even know why.

On the journey to work I immediately pull out my phone, open my notes and start typing. It’s become habit and now I even look forward to it. When I go running, I’m thinking about my characters. Where I want them to go next. They’re falling for each other, the way Erin and I did at school. It’s impossible not to think about us when I write about Carmen and Arthur. It brings all those familiar feelings rushing back.

There were a couple of days, a few months into our friendship, when Bonnie wasn’t in school, because her youngest sister had just been born. We’d only ever hung out as a three, so when Erin came and sat beside me in English, I grinned at her and her face lit up as she smiled back.

“Tell me you’ve read this,” she said, pulling a copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower out of her bag.

My eyes widened and I laughed, pulling the very same book out of my backpack. “Are you joking?”

Her mouth fell open, her warm green eyes dancing. I had thought she was pretty from the moment I saw her, but that was the moment I went from just thinking it to feeling it.

She nudged me on the arm. “What are the chances?”

I had to look away because I knew my cheeks were turning red. The feel of her against me had completely killed my train of thought, and confirmed that I liked Erin in a very different way to Bonnie. I could hardly speak for the rest of the class, which was unheard-of in English. All I could think about was what her touch felt like. How much I wanted her to do it again.

“I want this book added to the syllabus, Mr. Carter,” Erin said at the end of class.

He beckoned her toward him and I followed.

“Every kid in school needs to read it.”

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