Page 35 of The Book Swap

My hand flew to my mouth and I tried to steady myself. It couldn’t be true. There was no way.

“That’s treatable though, right? You can treat it?”

There was a flash of recognition in her eyes. As though she’d been there. Asked those same questions of someone else.

“I can try. I’m going to try, but they’re not sure if it’ll work.”

“It will.” I was nodding my head. Trying to convince the both of us. “It has to. You’re young. You’re...” I couldn’t find the right word. “Bonnie. The world makes no sense without you.” My voice broke at that. I was trying to hold it together, but it was too hard.

She smiled back sadly, as though she knew something I didn’t, and I started shaking.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice breaking.

I shook my head. “Don’t you dare say sorry.” I pulled her toward me and held on so tight, a group of men walking past us wolf-whistled.

“I’m going to go home to Frome for treatment,” she said, pulling away.

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

It felt too close to a goodbye. I was nowhere near ready. She’d only just told me.

“I’ll come down this weekend,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut because I could hardly see her.

“Great,” she said, forcing a smile, and seeing that broke me. I knew it was for my benefit. That she didn’t have the same belief as me.

“It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

The smile had left her face. She’d already been overtaken by something else. Fear. And pain. She was gone before she was gone.

Philippa told me a lot of people respond in that way when a loved one is diagnosed with cancer. They feel forced to start the grieving process before that person is even gone. They start imagining a life without them. Preparing themselves, and then feeling guilty for being able to even consider it.

Walking to Burgess Park, wrapped up against the late-winter cold, I realize that life without Bonnie is so different to how I thought it would be. I was expecting this huge gaping hole where she once was. That’s what I prepared myself for. It’s the opposite. She still fills that space. She’s still so present in my mind that the aching for her is constant. I told Cassie that at dinner last night and she hugged me tight.

“I can’t imagine it,” she said, not letting go. “The pain of missing her must be exhausting. She was lucky. So lucky to have a friend like you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, fat tears dropping onto Cassie’s thick lime green jumper. She wouldn’t say that if she knew the truth.

Approaching the park, I send Georgia a message. Nothing with any pressure. Just casual.

Erin: How are you?

She replies straight away.

Georgia: Aware what you’re really asking is am I keeping the baby, and the answer is...

I wait, staring at the screen.

Georgia: Tell you tonight. Mum’s birthday. 7 p.m. I’m paying.

I thrust my phone into my coat pocket, tighten my scarf and keep walking.

Once I reach Burgess, I let myself into a little enclosed garden at the edge of the park, sitting myself down on a bench under a tree.

Earlier I copied the questions Mystery Man had written in Emily Brontë’s novel into the back of Jane Austen’s, and now I’m ready to answer them. Excited to. Pulling out my pen, I turn to the back page, already smiling.

1.Why do you write in the margins?

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