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Page 38 of The Next Chapter

‘First of all, thank you, I would be honoured to be Elton’s guardian. Though if the geriatric cat outlives you, something has gone seriously wrong.’

My shoulders drop somewhat at Seb’s words.

‘But you do know you’d have plenty of people who’d be willing to help. You’re busier than any person I’ve ever known. You have a personal discount code for the balloon arch place, that’s how many balloon arches you order. You get that that’s not normal, don’t you?’

‘I know I have a lot of acquaintances…’ I start, struggling to put into words what I mean. ‘I’ve just – I don’t know; I haven’t missed many of them.’

My WhatsApp hiatus is possibly the only thing I don’t feel guilty about. It’s an absolute revelation, not being quite so easily contactable.

‘Ooh, I saw a reel about this. Apparently, your thirties are when your friendships get really meaningful. You’ve got to ditch the hangers-on.’

‘But who would that leave me with? You, obviously. Maybe Mr Cains. Phil and Clementine. I can’t have four friends!’

‘Why not? I only have you. Though you’re very needy.’

I roll my eyes.

‘I’m not saying ditch them all. Just don’t put so much pressure on yourself. These things should be about balance.’

‘Who are you and what have you done with Seb?’

‘It’s all the therapy I’m having.’ Seb has been in therapy for as long as I’ve known him. ‘I’ve had to double my sessions since we hired Clementine.’

His eye twitches.

‘You didn’t tell me what she’s done this time?’

‘I had a call from the crematorium, apparently she’s been touting for business at a couple of funerals.’

It’s so inappropriate, but I burst out laughing. ‘You’re the one who decided to pay her on commission.’

‘Yes, but as I had to explain to her, once people are actually dead, they aren’t really in a position to buy the fucking diamond package, are they?! She’s turning me grey.’

‘Well, kudos to a grey hair if it makes its way through all of the Just for Men.’

‘Please.’ He runs a hand through his hair. ‘This is completely natural. I reject that entirely.’

I can’t help but laugh.

‘I miss you,’ I tell him, serious all of a sudden and fully expecting him to take the piss.

‘I miss you too,’ he says. ‘What are the chances of you leaving us all to go gallivanting around the world with Noah? You get that that’s how this should end, right?’

Should it?

‘Slim to none.’ Of that, I’m certain.

‘I’d be happy for you, you know. I wouldn’t even sack you. You can do our job anywhere.’

‘I know you wouldn’t.’ I sigh. Honestly, I am starting to wonder how incompatible Noah and I really are.

He has a favourite mug, for instance. It’s blue and it says ‘it’s a hill, get over it’ on the front.

Plus, aside from the cramp in the pool and the crawling up the mountain, I’ve enjoyed our adventures together so far.

He’s tapping into my as yet untapped adventurous side, and I don’t hate it.

I like it. It still doesn’t change the fact that he’s leaving for Italy at the end of summer, though, and on however many other adventures after that.

I want to settle down with Colin mark two, do my job well, have a couple of kids, see if I can get a white picket fence shipped in from somewhere.

I shuffle about. Because even though that’s what I always thought I wanted, since I’ve been here on Skye, I’m just not sure anymore. Definitely something about this island air.

‘What if another Colin won’t cut it now?’ I ask Seb, my voice quiet.

‘Then we’d all thank the good lord for that. I had nightmares about his fingernails for months. Colin’s, not God’s.’

‘They were fine, you’re ridiculous.’

‘They were too long! Never trust a man who has long nails, that’s what I always say.’

‘I’ve literally never heard you say that in your life. Anyway, I’ve got to go,’ I say, ‘I need to get the pizza in the oven.’

‘Are you cooking for Noah again?’

I nod. ‘We have a rota.’

‘Okay, and I assume you’ve warned him that your pizza is not actually pizza.’

‘Er, yes it is. And no, I haven’t warned him of anything. He’s eaten everything I’ve cooked so far.’

‘That poor, poor man. That pizza you made for me didn’t even have cheese on it.’

‘It had cauliflower cream.’

‘Exactly. In what realm is cauliflower a cheese? Wasn’t the crust cauliflower too? Why are you obsessed with making cauliflower into pizza?’

‘It’s really good for you!’

Seb’s eyes darken. ‘You haven’t made the cauliflower pizza for Noah, have you?’

‘No.’ I eye the small oven like it’s about to betray me and reveal to Seb what I’ve actually done.

‘Lily…’

‘I added some spelt flour to the base, that’s all!’

‘And…’

‘And a couple of vegetables to the topping.’

My pizza is more vegetable than pizza, but Seb doesn’t need to know that.

‘You know you’re on holiday, right? You can relax a bit.’

‘I’m not on holiday, it’s a working break.

Like a sabbatical. And when do I ever relax?

I am incapable of relaxation, it’s a fundamental flaw.

We’re going out to build a pagoda for Lola after dinner.

She needs to make more of her outdoor space.

’ There’s a chance my voice has ventured into the realm of ‘shriek’ again.

There’s a knock on the cottage door.

‘Got to go,’ I tell Seb.

‘I see how it is. You just dump me as soon as he comes knocking.’

‘We’ve been on Zoom for an hour and a half!’

‘Fine. Bye. Message later if you want to FaceTime Elton.’

I slam the laptop closed and dash to the door with the enthusiasm of a woman who is doing a terrible job of keeping her wayward feelings in check.

At least when I slide the door open to find Noah in a white vest and navy shorts it’s easier to remind myself that it’s an impossible situation.

Because people who look like him couldn’t do anything other than leave a trail of broken hearts behind them.

‘Pizza might be a while still,’ I tell Noah. ‘Do you want to sit outside?’

Noah disappears and returns with a glass of wine for me. I leave it on the small counter while I get on with the cooking.

It’s all very domestic. Too domestic, surely, for a fling?

When I asked ChatGPT about it, there definitely wasn’t much about dinner rotas or sharing pens.

Noah said he had the perfect pen, a Dialogue 3 fountain pen that cost over a hundred pounds, and I have to say there’s no accounting for the thrill of a high-quality pen.

So no, none of those things are in the casual sex handbook.

I’m lost in my thoughts. Serving pizza on autopilot. I carry it outside on the little wooden chopping board I’ve found.

I catch sight of myself in the reflection of the doors.

I looked wrecked. I’ve taken to pinning my fringe back as par for the course every morning now, but parts of it have escaped and are stood on end.

But it’s not just that. I don’t look like me. I look like a version of me who’s been forced to live in the wilderness for weeks or survive the zombie apocalypse. I’m on my way to being Tom Hanks at the end of Castaway . My cheeks are flushed, and I’m covered in a thin layer of sweat.

How can this have happened? I’ve been here three weeks. Three. And I have a shower (when it works) and a flushing toilet and everything.

Maybe all the lies are aging me.

I force myself outside, because standing there dwelling on the fact that I look like a woman whose life is falling apart is not a precursor to a productive evening.

‘Pizza’s ready!’ I say with false cheer.

I plonk it down on the little white table, my arm shaking from carrying everything while I stared at myself in the window.

‘Looks great, thanks for cooking.’

Noah always says thank you, even though we take turns. It’s a travesty to womankind that he comes with manners and tattoos but an aversion to staying in one place.

‘Oh, it’s nothing, my pleasure. I’ll go get the salad.’

‘There’s pizza?’ Harper appears from behind us. I wonder if I should be worried about how much time she spends alone in the forest. At least we know how to lure her out. I guess we can add pizza to her calling card. Alongside Pringles and Spotify.

‘I made plenty, help yourself.’

I go to get the salad, remembering as I’m heading back outside that Harper heard me and Seb on Zoom talking about Noah. How have I not panicked about that more? There’s just so much to worry about here, it’s making me miss stuff.

Either way, I need to get her on her own and warn her against saying anything.

I speed up, bursting out of the doors with a very enthusiastic ‘Salad!’ that makes Noah smile and Harper narrow her eyes.

‘What the fuck is this?’ she asks, turning to look at the pizza. We have three chairs around the table now, one borrowed from Noah, because Harper spends a lot of time here too.

‘It’s a pizza.’

‘Where’s the cheese?’

‘Underneath the vegetables.’

I sit down as Harper takes a slice and starts picking the vegetables off the top, leaving them like a little vegetable mountain on the table.

‘It’s really nice,’ Noah says around a mouthful.

He hasn’t picked any of the vegetables off his pizza.

And maybe that’s a thing we have in common, alongside the pen thing.

Pens and vegetables. Pity I’ve never heard either of those things mentioned in a wedding speech (and I’ve been bridesmaid nine times.

Obviously having never said no to an RSVP.

I can recite that love speech from Captain Corelli’s Mandolin by heart).

‘You should count yourself lucky,’ I tell Harper. ‘I could have made cheese out of cauliflower like I do at home. But I didn’t. At least you’re digging towards real cheese.’

‘You’re sick in the head.’

I don’t disagree. Instead, I take a big drink of wine and pile salad and pizza on my plate.

All the while, I hold Harper’s gaze, tilting slightly to Noah and then shaking my head with wide eyes.

Hopefully, the movement acts as some sort of code for don’t tell Noah you heard me declaring that I love him earlier.