Page 20 of The Book Swap
“Well, you might need to change that letter on your bracelet back to a J, because it’s suggesting you become part of the clergy.”
“Right. Well, thank you for wasting minutes of my precious time.”
“Wait... I just chose the funniest. There were others... Artist. Event planner?”
“Goodbye, Georgia.”
“Teacher?”
I hang up just as I reach the library, and pull both books out of my bag, slotting them in.
8
JAMES
The CEO, Dorothy, insisted on opening champagne after work to celebrate my win with At One Pharma, which means I’m late home to meet Helena.
She messaged last week to say she was in London for work for a few days and it would be “fun” to stay at mine, if I was up for it. It was only after I had agreed that she said she “may as well” stay for the weekend. She’s never visited me here before and something about the idea of it puts me on edge. Outside of Frome, our lives are so separate, and I thought we were both keeping it that way on purpose.
She’s sitting on the doorstep with a wheelie suitcase beside her, rubbing her hands to keep warm when I burst out of the park.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I shout, running toward her.
My proposal at work has been taken on as an official part of the training, which means I’m being paid for that on top of the commission. This month’s salary will be more than I’d normally earn in half a year. A few weeks ago, that would have been the best news imaginable, but I keep thinking about Atticus in To Kill a Mockingbird. How much Margins Girl respects him. Would she respect me and my work, or think I’ve sold my soul to an industry which profits off other people’s poor mental or physical health? Don’t answer that.
“All good,” Helena says. “This isn’t the worst view to wait in front of. Is it a common thing to run around the park without your top on mid-winter?”
“Apparently so. Normally just men.” I smile and she laughs and stands up, kissing me on the cheek.
“How was the journey?” I ask.
“Actually, really easy. No wonder everyone’s moving to Frome! You can basically commute to London from there.”
“Let’s not forget that it’s run by Independents and has the tourist attraction of the carpenter who works topless with his doors open.”
“Well, obviously that’s the main reason.”
We smile at each other and I keep waiting for it. That feeling I get when I’ve missed someone.
I unlock the front door and grab her bag, carrying it in.
“I can’t believe I’m here,” she says, following me up the stairs. We’re filling the silences we’ve never really had to fill before.
I put her suitcase in my room, staring, as I always do, at the few things I’ve bought for my desk. The notebook, the fountain pen and a book by Stephen King which every author on Twitter seemed to recommend.
“Nice,” Helena says, taking in the view. She walks toward my desk and picks up the Stephen King book. “On Writing. What’s this for?” She turns toward me, frowning.
I shrug. “Just research. For work.”
On Saturday night, we meet Joel for food at a pub called the Crooked Well in Camberwell. He and Helena weren’t exactly friendly at school, but I’ve invited him along because spending a Saturday night just the two of us feels too intimate somehow. I’ve claimed he’s keen to catch up with her. I’m pretty sure Helena’s seen through it, but she remains polite throughout.
“It’s been a while,” she says, kissing Joel on the cheek.
He takes the seat opposite us and I start sweating a bit at the neck of my shirt. Does bringing Helena out for dinner with my best mate imply a level of commitment, when I was trying to do the opposite?
“How’s life in good old Frome?” Joel asks, raising his hand to the barman and circling the three of us, then clutching at his throat like he’s dying from thirst. This draws a laugh from the waiter, who approaches the table.
Of course Joel doesn’t just dislike Helena for who she was at school. He dislikes that she stayed put in a town that he resented living in.