The book exchange

“Oh shit, I guess it’s your birthday huh?” Nick’s stepdad said, after he’d shoveled down his breakfast.
Nick knew better than to reply. He kept quiet and watched as his stepdad pulled out his wallet. Maybe, at last, he would have enough money. All Nick needed was 75p more. At the other end of the table coins were being counted out.
“Let’s see. Here’s 10p, 5p, another 10p. Hey! A whole pound. You ain’t gettin’ that. 20p, 10p, 5p, 5p. And a bunch of copper. There ya go, happy birthday.”
The coins were shoved across the table, some falling to the floor. Nick’s stepdad stomped out the door leaving behind a vacuum of love.
Nick hurriedly counted the rest of the coins, which added up to 14p. It was enough. After a year of waiting, seeking coins on the street, hoping that the shop wouldn’t sell out, he had enough.
Several days had passed since Nick had last walked past the shop and peered through the window to check that what he wanted was still on sale. It had been, but would it still be there today?
He had to wait until after school before answering that. All day he carried his haul of coins, terrified that he’d lose them, or that they’d be taken from him. With all this anticipation it was hard for him to believe that, later that day, he was actually standing at the checkout, handing over his money.
“Saved your money to buy some shelves huh?” the cashier said as she counted the change.
“It’s a bookcase, or at least it will be.”
“I see. Well, enjoy.”
The bookcase was enclosed on three sides, and not particularly large. It was made from cheap wood and inside there were just three shelves. Such a simple item, but to a boy who possessed so very little it was the most precious thing in the world. Nick took it back to the tower block where he lived. Now for the risky part.
His stepdad shouldn’t be home for another hour, more if he’d decided to make a regular visit to the pub. Nick therefore should have enough time to find the toolbox, grab a drill, wall plugs, hammer, screws and screwdriver. With those put in his bag, Nick rode the elevator back to the ground floor. There, in a sheltered spot outside the front door and just about visible from the street, he got to work.
School hadn’t taught Nick how to use power tools but, on very rare occasions when he’d been able to visit the library, he’d accessed the internet where there were plenty of handy tutorials. It wasn’t long before four holes had been drilled into the brick, the plugs hammered in, and the shelves put into position. Despite learning how to undertake this task, doing so in real life was proving slow.
The hour was almost up and the first screw had only just been twisted in. With the second screw the shelf unit could just about hold itself up, and Nick took this opportunity to look behind him. No sign of his stepdad yet. The third screw proved tricky, and Nick was halfway putting in the fourth when he glanced behind and noticed a familiar figure.
Quickly gathering up the tools, Nick fled to the elevator. The doors were just closing as his stepdad entered the lobby. Luckily they lived on the 17th floor and so it would be a couple of minutes before the building’s one elevator returned to the ground. Just enough time therefore, for Nick to pack away the tools and toolbox, close the cupboard door, and dash for the kitchen where he pretended to be halfway through making dinner.
“What’s for dinner?” his stepdad asked, angry at being made to wait for the elevator to travel all the way to this floor and back.
“Sausage, chips an’ beans.”
“My favourite. ‘Urry up then, I’m starvin’.” Any pretense of birthday benevolence had evaporated during the day.
Nick served up the meal, only a few minutes later than it usually would have been. This task done, he went to his bedroom and counted the remaining coins in his possession. Only one more item to buy.

In this part of London the high street was lined with charity shops. This was good news for Nick, as it meant a huge choice of secondhand books. Books which usually cost at least 99p, but today were on sale for half price. There was just 53p left in Nick’s pocket. He carefully selected a book and handed over the money.
“The Tall Man of Spiritworld, lovely book that,” said the elderly man at the counter.
“Oh, yes, I’ve ‘eard a lot about it.”
“Gave it to my grandson last Christmas and he’s now desperate for the author to finish the second book.”
“The Lightning Towers of Spiritworld? I’d love to read it too.”
“Whenever it comes out, eh? There’s going to be a lot of people keen to buy it,” the cashier said.
“Yeah, whenever it comes out.”
Nick made one stop at the library before returning home. A librarian loaned him a pen, and, onto a sheet of paper he’d taken from a printer, Nick scrawled a sign, which read:
BOOK EXCHANGE
When he reached the bookshelf outside his tower block’s door he placed the sign on the lower shelf and found a stone to hold it down. That night he stayed up late as he began to read The Tall Man of Spiritworld. He was captivated.
The next day Nick raced home from school to read more of the book. He was disappointed to see that no books had been donated to the book exchange, but soon he was lost to the realms of fantasy. So lost that he forgot to get dinner on, only remembering when his stepdad banged through the door.
“Oi! Where’s dinner?”
“Sorry, I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“You little idiot. I’m starvin’.”
“I’m sorry.”
A few minutes later Nick limped to the kitchen and began preparing another simple meal. Once his stepdad had been fed, Nick slunk away to his bedroom and escaped to Spiritworld. Rain tapped against the window as a storm passed over the city. Nick didn’t notice.

The old man at the charity shop had been right; there were a lot of people keen to read The Green Stones of Spiritworld. Having just finished the first Spiritworld book, Nick was now one of those people. All he could do, however, was place the finished book on the shelves of his exchange and hope that this would at last inspire people to leave their own books.
For the next week Nick passed through the tower block’s entrance with a sense of excitement that more books would appear. This excitement was replaced with disappointment, which eventually turned to resignation. Then, one day, he noticed that The Tall Man of Spiritworld was no longer there. It had been swapped with another book; Rivers of London.
Nick had read this book before, when he’d had time to squirrel himself away in a small nook of the library. Now his life revolved around school and keeping house — by the time his evening tasks were complete the library was always closed. He decided to leave Rivers of London on the shelf and this, apparently, was the secret of the exchange’s success.
On his way to school a couple of days later Nick barely glanced at his book exchange, having learned not to expect anything from it. He was amazed, therefore, to see that it had been filled. There wasn’t any space whatsoever on the shelves, which were crammed with books of various genres. The BOOK EXCHANGE sign was no longer visible, but it didn’t need to be. It was now obvious enough to all who passed exactly what its purpose was.

Another storm took up residence over the city. Nick was in his bedroom, contemplating his future. He had just learned that his stepdad had been jailed. Nick was left all alone in the 17th floor apartment, the long absence of his mother not having been noted by the authorities.
Money. He would need money. To buy food, to pay the bills. Rather than tackle that problem — a rather overwhelming one for a 14-year-old boy — Nick buried himself in another book. His book exchange had become self-sustaining, there was now an endless supply of stories.
There was a minor problem, which became more apparent as the weeks went by. People were taking books and not replacing them. The shelves of the small bookcase were slowly becoming visible again. When they were just one third full Nick began to believe that the book exchange would never work. Human nature meant that an enterprise based on sharing and honesty just wasn’t sustainable.
Shortly after his stepdad had been sent to jail, Nick thoroughly searched the tiny flat. At last he found cash hidden away in one of his stepdad’s drawers. On the point of starvation, Nick took some of the cash and bought food. He kept returning to the cash whenever supplies got low, but knew that the money would eventually run out. Despite this, he decided to spend 50p on a book when he saw that the charity shop was having another sale.
‘Diana Wynne Jones. Excellent author. The films aren’t bad either,’ said the cashier, the same kind old man who had sold him The Tall Man of Spiritworld.
‘I ain’t seen them. Don’t have a tele.’
The cashier paused and looked more carefully at Nick. He quickly reached a decision.
‘You know that you don’t always have to buy books?’
‘Ain’t got time for the lib’ry. Gotta sort the flat out, an’ look for money. an’ I got school.’
‘I’m glad you’re going to school. But, wonderful though they are, you don’t just have to go to libraries to get books. There’s a book exchange near here, outside the entrance of a tower block. The block’s called Bowness, I think.’
‘Yeah I know it. S’my block, s’my book exchange, I put it there.’
‘You did?’ said the man, genuinely surprised. ‘I’m very impressed. But why can’t you get books from there?’
‘People keep stealin’ ‘em.’
‘Oh. I see. Well keep checking, maybe they will eventually get replaced.’

Sure enough the book exchange was replenished. Nick suspected that it was the charity shop man who had added more books to the shelves. He decided to pay him a visit after school.
‘Was it you who put them books in my exchange?’
‘It was. When I first walked past months ago I saw one lonely book there. Rivers of London, I think. Anyway, once I noticed that book I realised what the idea was. A book exchange. You really are a remarkable young man.’
‘Fanks. Someone bought a load of books again, recently. Was that you an’ all?’
‘Yes. We have so many, you see. Our storeroom is overflowing with them, people love to donate books. Just can’t sell enough of them, unfortunately. That’s the crazy thing; we are desperate for money, have hundreds of books to sell, but can’t find people to buy them. So I always have plenty for your exchange.’
‘You got a computer I can borrow?’ Nick asked.

The next Saturday morning, and on every Saturday morning since, Nick pays a visit to the charity shop. He sits behind the shop’s computer in the storeroom with huge piles of books all around him. He logs the new books which have come in, and those which have been sold on the website he created.
For every £2 book sold on charityshopbooks.org, £1 went to the charity shop, 50p on delivery, and 50p to Nick. Just enough were sold to provide sufficient income for the teenager’s bills and food receipts. Local bookshops were invited to advertise for free; the cashier thought it very important to support the beginning of this book chain.
All of the charity shop workers liked Nick hugely. When they learned that he was living alone, with such little income, they battled with the authorities to get the rent on the flat paid. They also helped him win emancipation from his stepfather.
Even though he spent his Saturdays surrounded by books, Nick still smiled whenever he passed his book exchange. Perhaps he was helping other people escape the dreariness of the estate. And, whenever stocks got low, a benevolent elderly charity shop worker made sure that the shelves were soon refilled.