Page 32 of The Next Chapter

No, that’s not fair. I like art, as in, it’s nice to look at. I can feel things when I look at art. I’m not a monster. And Mum was super arty.

It’s just the practical application that I struggle with.

Art was the only subject I was actively discouraged from pursuing at school. My art teacher said I was A* for effort, which is code for ‘struggles with stick people’.

I think the issue is, there are so few rules with art. And beautiful art is subjective.

Which is why, when Lola calls from behind her own easel that we should ‘paint what we feel’, a little bit of me dies inside.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s no doubt about it, the backdrop is beautiful. There are shimmering lochs and dark craggy mountains for as far as the eye can see.

Plus, the loch, with the mountains reflected in it, it’s just beautiful. No wonder Noah worries he won’t capture it in his writing.

And no doubt about it, I’d rather be painting the loch than actively on it. Or worse, skydiving over it. Lola’s hotel can crumble to the ground, a burning pile of financial ruin, before I throw myself out of a plane.

I remind myself that I’m here to gather intel on the guest experience, and that it doesn’t matter that my trees look like a three-year-old has painted them.

It’s all about the guest experience.

And so far, the guest experience has involved us driving a mile or so away from the hotel in the rickety hotel minibus, standing in a field and being instructed to paint.

A little bit of extra guidance wouldn’t go amiss.

It was the same with kayaking. Lola maybe needs to realize that most people are trying this stuff for the first time.

‘That’s an interesting perspective, Harper.

’ Lola is doing the rounds. There are only five of us here.

Harper and her foster family, and me. Lola definitely needs to be doing a bit more marketing.

No reason that people from town couldn’t come to this.

There are loads of artists on Skye. It’s that sort of place.

Harper is next to me. She’s painted the whole thing in black and red. It’s like a massacre on canvas. On my other side, Blake has painted Spiderman. Or what I think is Spiderman. The watercolours have sort of run together so he looks to be melting. Whatever it is, it isn’t a scenic mountain vista.

I plough on, doggedly determined to produce one noticeable feature of the landscape.

I swish the paintbrush across the bottom of my canvas, flooding it with blue. It’s more turquoise than the deathly dark blue of the loch. It looks like I’m painting a tropical bay.

‘You could concentrate on adding more of the reflection, see there, how the trees are mirrored in the water?’ Lola points to the distance, over my shoulder.

I do see it, the trees reflection on the lake. It’s lovely. Really beautiful. But Lola must be out of her mind if she’s looked at my painting and thought that I’m a person capable of replicating that on a canvas. My sun has actual yellow beams coming off it.

‘I’ll give it my best shot,’ I say, through gritted teeth, thinking that once again, a little more instruction wouldn’t go amiss. Maybe Lola could get an actual artist to run the session.

Lola nods and goes to move on, but before she can I say quickly, ‘Just checking that you’re still okay for another session tomorrow morning?’ I drop my voice in case she doesn’t want anyone to hear.

‘Yes, Lily, that’s fine.’ She looks away.

‘Great,’ I say, jabbing my brush at the canvas in an attempt to create a tree reflection. It looks shit. ‘I’ll come to the office, shall I? Usual time?’

Lola nods and moves on.

It’s only when she goes that I realize how fast my heart is beating.

I’m waiting for my second session with Lola.

It could be that my limbs are just puddles of goo and I can’t quite summon the energy to be stressed, but a part of me feels less tense than the first time we met. I don’t know what I’d expected, but hearing about Lola’s childhood definitely made her seem less scary.

This morning, Lola is ready, waiting for me in the lobby. That’s good. I don’t need to be hanging around thinking. Thinking is bad. Given thinking time, I might relive last night with Noah, which was strained and a little awkward.

We had at least produced a programme of work for the hotel.

Programmes of work might be my idea of foreplay, but they’re no one else’s.

We’ve planned out everything we can fit into five weeks.

Noah, who seems to be able to turn his hand to basically anything, is going to do most of it.

Then, I’d shaken his hand and practically thrown him out of my cottage.

At the time, it had felt like a win. This morning, not so much.

‘Breakfast is done.’ Lola interrupts my thoughts.

Today her dungarees are khaki green. She’s wearing a loose purple shirt underneath, her hair in its usual long plait.

I catch a glimpse of the pair of us in the mirror that hangs on the wall opposite the reception desk.

She’s so tan compared to me. We’re like chalk and cheese, the tanned and pasty version.

I follow Lola into the back office, not even protesting when she sits on the stool again. At least there’s no giant dog this time. I pull out my phone. ‘Same as last session, if that’s okay?’ I ask her.

She gives a little staccato nod. It’s reserved Lola today, then.

Now that I’m here, I realize that I’m desperate for her to start.

‘Whenever you’re ready,’ I tell her, hitting record. ‘Just pick up where you left off.’

Another nod.

She sits on her hands.

And starts to talk.

I was about twelve, the year that Da left. Almost ready for high school. I think for about a year, Ma didn’t accept that he’d really gone. Sometimes, I’d catch her in the garden, looking down the path like she expected him to come bumbling along it like he used to. Except he never did.

It was a hard time for Ma. She had all these kids and I don’t know that she was that fond of any of us by that point.

Six kids is hard work for anyone. Six kids when you’re dirt poor and on your own is extra bad.

At first, she started selling stuff just to get by.

I thought for sure that she’d sell Pa’s guitar, though she never did.

After a while there was nothing left worth selling so she got a job fixin’ people’s hair in a salon in Baton Rouge.

Long shifts and an even longer bus to get there.

She wasn’t around much and when she was, she’d look at us all, even Jessie, like she didn’t know how she got to be here in this crappy house stuck with all of us.

It was the 1980s then and it felt like the whole world was changing around us.

I started high school and learned about all the things Pa had cared so much about.

Civil rights, nuclear war, that sort of thing.

Except sometimes I wondered if the world had forgotten about our family, left us behind, like.

I started to hate everything, and I don’t know, maybe that’s the way of teenagers, but I was just so angry all the god damn time.

I started to get in trouble at school, fell in with the wrong crowd.

Other kids would pick on us because our shoes had holes in and rather than turn the other cheek like they’d taught us at church, I’d get into fights.

I remember once, Ma got called into the principal’s office and while I was waiting outside I heard her tellin’ him that I’d always been difficult. That I was born in a storm.

Needless to say, I spent a lot of time in detention. But rather than makin’ me see sense, it just made me angrier and angrier. It’s not healthy living with so much anger, it makes a person bitter. I needed some outlet for it or else I was going to explode, least that’s how it felt.

I can’t remember what started it, but one-night, I must have been about fifteen, me and Ma got into this blazing argument.

We never did the gardening together anymore, all we ever did was bicker and snap.

I think looking back I blamed her for Pa leaving, for keeping us in this rubbish house that the rest of the world forgot.

So, we’re having this enormous argument and callin’ each other all sorts of bad names.

I’d learned a lot of new swear words from the crowd I hung around with and I felt real grown up to use them.

Well, one of the names must have been bad enough for Ma to finally lose it because she told me to get out, said that I couldn’t stay there anymore.

That I’d always been trouble and now I’d gone too far.

I didn’t even think about the fact that I had nowhere to go. I just up and grabbed Pa’s guitar. It was covered in dust. I took it and I walked out of the house.

I vowed then that I’d never rely on anyone again. Thought I needed to make my own way in the world, away from the Ma who never seemed to want me.

I never went back there again.

‘Could we stop there?’ She breaks off suddenly. ‘It’s a lot, you know?’ Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. It might be hard to get a proper handle on Lola, but I’m almost certain that if she cries, she only does it in private.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I tell her. ‘I can’t believe your own mum threw you out.

’ It’s completely unprofessional to pass judgement on what a client has just told us.

It’s not about us, after all. But the boundaries between me and Lola are blurry at best, even if Lola doesn’t quite realize it.

I just could never picture my own mum doing that. She wouldn’t have done.

Lola shrugs. ‘Some people just aren’t cut out to be parents.’

It’s impossible not to wonder whether Lola is talking about herself. I guess she must be.

‘I’ve heard that,’ I tell her slowly, hating that my voice has a little wobble to it. ‘My parents are amazing.’ I scrunch up my eyes at how insensitive I’m being. ‘Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’

‘It’s okay, Lily.’ Lola has her head tilted slightly to the side. ‘I’m glad you have that.’

I stand up suddenly. This is not what I’m meant to be doing. We’re not meant to sit around and swap life stories with the clients.

‘I think I’d better go,’ I tell Lola, even though I’m already stood up and holding my phone. ‘We don’t need to meet again until next week. There’s plenty of time left yet. I scheduled sessions, for the summer, I mean. I’ll send them to you. Or just tell you them. When I see you.’

‘Course, Lily. Y’all just let me know when you’re ready to meet again.’

I nod. ‘Of course. It’ll be good to have a couple of days to work on the material you’ve given me so far anyway.’ And I need a break, I think but don’t say.

‘Alrighty, then. What do you say if the weather’s nice still, next time we do this outside? It’s awful stuffy in here.’

Outside seems like a bad idea. I don’t like the idea of Lola feeling all free and easy and getting to say things like some people aren’t cut out to be parents whenever she feels like it.

But then what choice do I have? That’s not a valid reason for saying no.

And as I remind myself for about the millionth time (this whole episode is making me very egotistical) this isn’t about me.

‘Sounds good to me,’ I say. There, I’m breezy. So incredibly breezy. I’m just going to breeze on out of here and then go find a stiff drink. Or ten. ‘See you, Lola.’

Before she can reply I’m out of the office and through the back door of the hotel. I’m across the gardens and because it’s only 11am, I’m not cracking open more wine, but I am adding extra beans to the cafetière. I realize my hands are shaking. Have they been shaking this whole time? I’ve no idea.

I pour a drink and then take my laptop outside.

At least I have some designated work time for the rest of today.

I need that. To get on top of work feels safe.

Plus, it’s peaceful and still out here. It’s just me and my overactive brain running a constant loop of Lola saying that some people aren’t meant to be parents, while trying to tackle my mountain of emails.

She must have meant herself.

Her mum too, obviously. Possibly it’s a hereditary defect. I mean, Elton hates me, doesn’t he? Maybe I have anti-maternal instincts oozing out of my every pore.

But then if I think about myself with a child – I think I’d love it.

No, I know I would. I’ve always wanted a family of my own.

It’s why I don’t do flings. Because I want something serious.

I’m desperate for it. My parents showed me how great it could be, marriage, kids, the whole thing.

I hope they wouldn’t think me being here with Lola is trying to replace them.

Dad wanted me to come, but did he want me to stay for six weeks? !

All I know is that I want what they had. I want a family, it’s one of the reasons that I’m keen to nail down another Colin. With me and Mum and Dad, it felt like us against the world, and I want that. I want to give a child that.

I start work on Lola’s second chapter.

At some point in the afternoon, Harper appears from the forest. She doesn’t even ask, she just leans over me and clicks on Spotify. We sit in silence for a while until she asks, ‘Are you okay?’

It’s like an accusation almost, as if I’d better be okay or else. I don’t even know why she’s asking until I realize that I’ve been crying a little bit. Okay, maybe a whole lot.

‘I think so,’ I tell her. ‘Or I will be at any rate.’

‘Life’s shit.’ She shrugs. ‘But it’s probably a bit better than being dead.’