Page 11 of The Next Chapter

How does a person say no to something they don’t want to do at any rate? I’ve never figured it out myself. Though if someone suggests a nice spot of skydiving, I’ll be giving ‘no’ my best shot.

Right, well, if nothing else, it’s a way to spend some time with Lola and keep up the ruse that we’re here on holiday.

It’s not like we could just rock up and ask for the rights to her memoirs all in one go.

We need to, like, drop hints about what we do.

Gradually lure her in. Possibly I’m evil now.

‘Great, I’ll see you both then.’ Noah smiles and heads to his own cottage, three feet away.

Except when he gets to his door, he turns to look our way again.

Unfortunately, this means that he catches both Seb and I staring at the poor guy.

In our defence, he’s lovely to look at. But it forces us to jump into action, fiddling with the lock to the doors.

The cottage inside is small, and if I’m being unkind, a bit decrepit, but cute.

In the living area there’s a couch and a TV unit with some DVDs stacked underneath.

There’s a side table with a lamp and a welcome note on it and at one end of the room, facing the back of the cottage, there’s a small kitchenette.

It’s only a single row of units with an under-the-counter fridge, but there’s everything we’ll need here.

I’m pretty sure there’s a load of craft type people living on the Isle of Skye.

I read about it. How it’s a centre for that sort of thing.

But all Lola’s furniture looks like it came from IKEA.

I’m not against IKEA, obviously their meatballs are excellent.

It’s just that IKEA doesn’t exactly scream rich and famous, does it?

‘I’ll get your bags, don’t worry,’ Seb complains to himself, dragging my stuff in from outside. ‘I’m your fake twin not your slave.’

He’s busy piling my luggage down by the end of the couch so I walk into the other rooms. There’s a compact bathroom and a bedroom with a double bed and a single set of drawers.

Someone has put some red tulips in a jug on top of them.

The walls are all the same – exposed stone painted white – and the floors are wood.

There’s a window that looks across to Noah’s cottage.

That’s probably his bedroom right there.

The cottage is quiet. Decrepit or not, if I were here on a genuine mini-break, it’s the sort of place I might come to feel relaxed in. If I was a person who knew how to relax, that is.

I walk back into the living area. Seb has pulled the couch out into a sofa bed. It almost fills the place, the end knocking against the rickety TV unit. He’s been forced to move the glass coffee table practically into the kitchen.

‘Everyone is super-hot here,’ he says.

I ignore him.

‘I’ll take the couch,’ he says. ‘You know I can sleep anywhere.’

There is tacit implication in that statement that I, on the other hand, could not sleep anywhere. I eye my hypoallergenic pillow, wondering if this weekend is already going to be stressful enough without adding in trying to sleep on a lumpy sofa bed.

‘Okay, if you’re sure.’

‘I’m sure.’ He peers over at my cool bag. ‘Do you have anything other than seaweed thins in there?’

‘Yep.’ I smile, loving the fact that I’m being useful and prepared right now. ‘I brought some breadsticks and dips and stuff.’

‘Tell me there’s wine.’

‘Of course.’

‘Perfect. I’m going for a cigarette.’

Seb slides back out of the double doors and I’m suddenly alone. I don’t know how I feel about being alone right now. I move, taking my special pillow to the bedroom, eyeing up the note that Lola has left on the drawers.

Lily and Seb! Welcome to Broadford. I hope you have a lovely stay. Lola x

It’s probably something she does for everyone staying in the hotel. But it just makes me think, she can obviously wield a pen, so why didn’t she write to me these past few decades? She’s nicer to her hotel guests than she is to her own daughter.

And suddenly, it’s all too much.

I slip out of the double doors and into the rapidly advancing evening. ‘Just going to check out the woods,’ I call to Seb where he’s off at the edge of the cottage gardens. Thankfully, Noah is nowhere to be seen.

I don’t give Seb chance to reply, I just march behind the cottage and into the tree line, stomping my way through the leaves and grass of the forest floor.

Once I think I’m far enough away from the cottage, I look up at the tree canopy.

It’s darker in here still, cooler. My eyes fill with tears.

Whether they’re for myself, for Lola or the fact that this would all be so much easier if Mum and Dad were still here, I don’t know.

I just stand there, then, my face still tipped up and cry. For Mum, for Dad. For me and how wrong I seem to have been about Lola all these years. I’m throwing myself the mother of all pity parties and I don’t care, because it feels good to let it out.

There’s a whisper of a breeze and I feel it across the wet streaks down my cheeks.

But I don’t stop. I cry these great heaving sobs that make it hard to breathe in.

It’s cathartic. Hopefully it’s cathartic.

It’s not stopping. It’s causing havoc with my eye make-up, but it’s still going strong.

Hopefully, it’ll stop soon.

Slurp.

I open my eyes finally.

‘Don’t mind me.’ A teenage girl approximately three feet away from me stands, drinking the last remnants of a bright blue drink. ‘It’s meant to be peaceful in here, but please continue to wail like a banshee while some of us are trying to enjoy some peace and quiet.’

She swallows the final bit of her drink, her lips now fully stained blue, and throws the plastic cup on the ground by her feet.

And that’s bad, isn’t it? Littering is always bad, but it’s extra bad when it’s somewhere lovely like this.

I look from her to the cup, my weeping mercifully dimming to small hiccups.

The teenager has really pale skin and jet-black hair that’s so poker straight it looks like it might snap.

And at the risk of sounding ancient, her clothes seem to be hanging together by a couple of threads and sheer force of will.

‘Would you like me to put that in the bin for you?’ I ask, looking towards where the plastic cup is still strewn on the ground.

‘It’s a free country.’ She glowers at me. I get the impression that picking up that cup would be tantamount to an act of war.

I don’t move. I’m not going to leave the cup there forever, obviously. If I have to sneak back into the woods in the dead of night to get it, I will.

‘I’m Lily,’ I tell her.

‘Why are you telling me your name, weirdo?’

‘I’m here for the weekend.’

‘I don’t understand why you’re still talking to me.’

Because I’m allergic to confrontation and convinced if I’m nice to her, she’ll be nice back.

‘How long are you staying for?’ I ask, ignoring her snapping at me.

And anyway, the last question apparently appeals, because she rolls her eyes so dramatically that she could give Seb lessons and says, ‘Seven fucking weeks, in this absolute shit hole. And I can’t get my phone to work with the crap Wi-Fi.’

I mean, the beautiful island setting is likely no one’s definition of a shit hole, but my phone buzzes in my hand and I look down. There’s a WhatsApp from Mr Cains.

Mr Cains: Just sitting down to watch a Western like real men.

There’s a picture of Elton sprawled on the couch, his mouth turned down as usual and his admittedly large stomach on full display. I make a mental note to make a physical note about seeing the vet for some more of the prescription food that he hates.

I laugh, and then because the teenager is still looking at me, I say, ‘My eighty-year-old neighbour is watching a Western with my dead dad’s cat.’

Her eyes go wide. ‘That’s some seriously weird shit.’ She sounds grudgingly impressed.

‘Yep. Plus, it looks like my phone is working just fine.’

She leans towards me, some internal battle going on between continuing to talk to me and the promise of a phone with 5G. But then from just behind her Seb shouts, ‘Lily, are you done crying? I can’t find the corkscrew.’

The teenager takes off like a startled deer, turning around and darting back towards the hotel.

I pick up her plastic cup and head towards Seb’s voice.

‘Sorry, I just needed some air. I didn’t think you’d be able to hear me.’

‘You were ten meters away. Plus, look at you.’

There’s no way that my face has returned to normal after all of the crying. I know fine well it’ll be a patchwork quilt of mess, but Seb doesn’t say anything else.

He just waits for me to follow him inside where I move to the cool bag and start pulling out the breadsticks I brought. I probably should go to the hotel shop, but honestly, I can’t risk running into Lola again.

I leave the open packets on the kitchen counter for Seb to make up his own plate.

We sit on the sofa and for a while, we eat in silence. Both lost in our thoughts.

‘So, what do you think, about Lola?’ Seb asks eventually.

I shake my head. ‘I don’t know. She just…

wasn’t what I thought she’d be. She seems…

caring. Like with all the animals and stuff.

And it makes it even more confusing, why she never got in touch again.

I know why I didn’t, she never replied to my letters and after Mum died it felt like I’d be replacing her or something.

But why didn’t Lola try again? None of it makes sense. Plus, have you seen this place?’

He nods. ‘It’s a bit of a dump.’

‘Do you think that’s why she wants to sell her memoirs, for the money? At least she didn’t look sick.’

Seb twists to look at me.

‘I’ve been worried that she wanted to sell her story because she was dying.’

‘Ah,’ he says. ‘I don’t think sick people look sick the whole time, do they?’

‘Not helping.’

Seb rubs at his temples. ‘Maybe it is for the hotel, then. But she must get like royalties and stuff, mustn’t she? They still play her songs on the radio.’

‘Yeah… I don’t know how it all works to be honest.’

There’s no denying that the hotel is run down. And maybe a bit empty. I’ve seen two other guests so far. Noah and the scary teenager.

‘I say we stick to the plan. Start dropping in tomorrow about what we do. Just be chill about it.’

I wrinkle my nose. ‘I’m never chill. Ever. You know this. Do you think it’s bad that we’re lying to her?’

‘Oh yes, because you’ve been nothing but honest so far, dearest sister of mine.’

‘Yeah, but that was a one-off lie, not a long-term lie. There has to be a difference, in the sin stakes.’

Seb ignores me. ‘Her memoirs might be worth even more money than we’d realized, you know. Who would have put her here, of all places? It’s quite the story.’

‘The business would be secure for ages.’

‘Exactly. I think now that I’ve seen her, I’m even more desperate to know why she disappeared, aren’t you?’

‘Mm hmm,’ I answer. ‘I thought she was on to me for a second back there, I’m sure she was looking at me funny. I think that’s why I said you were my brother, to throw her off. Obviously, she’d know that she didn’t give birth to two people.’

‘I guess that means we’re kayaking tomorrow,’ he says finally.

‘I guess we are.’

‘We’ll get to see Noah in a kayak. I bet he really glides through that water. Do you think he has a kilt? Did you see his biceps?’

I pretend that I hadn’t noticed.

‘It’s a pity Ashton is leaving.’

I scoff. ‘Yes, please continue to use my family trauma for your lewd fantasies.’

Seb sighs, putting his plate down already. Honestly, he doesn’t eat enough.

Suddenly, I’m exhausted. I unfasten my now redundant neck fan at last.

‘Thank you, Jesus.’ Seb eyes it as I yawn. ‘Why don’t you go and get an early night?’

Normally, I’m anti-early night. All that time when I could be being productive, it seems like such a waste to spend it asleep. But I am drained. Exhausted in a way that’s not purely physical.

‘Would you mind?’ I ask Seb.

‘Nah, go for it. It’s been a day.’

I stand up.

‘It really has. But thank you, for driving us here and you know, pretending to be my brother.’ I say the last part in a strange comedy voice that I’ll never use again. ‘You’re a good friend.’

‘I know, I’m amazing. Best friend in the history of best friends. Now go to bed. I’ll wake you up for our early morning kayak. Wow, there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.’

I stumble towards the bedroom, so worn out that I barely manage to turn my white noise machine on.

I don’t even use my lavender spritz.

No, on the day I’ve seen the woman who gave birth to me, for the first time in thirty years, I collapse face first into my pillow and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.