Page 42 of The Next Chapter

I’m reading more of Noah’s book. Again.

Yesterday, after the session with Lola, I’d gone on her mid-afternoon hike.

There’s no reason things like this couldn’t be advertised more.

Like on Airbnb, where they have experiences.

It would be an easy way to bring in more business.

It cannot be a good business model, Lola leading a hiking party of five for two hours.

At least my zippy trousers had gotten another run out.

The whole hike, Lola’s words about she and Noah feeling alone even when they aren’t were at the front of my mind.

Now that she’s said it, there is a lonely quality to his work, like he’s the only person in the world somehow.

My phone buzzes next to me, but I ignore it to keep reading.

In the book, Noah is describing a hike around The Old Man of Storr, a high pinnacle of rock on the Trotternish ridge.

It buzzes again as I finish my paragraph.

Old Man of Storr was likely the result of lava flow and landslips, but legend would tell a different story, that of a giant, encased in earth after he fell and died while wandering in the area.

Seb: You seriously think that this guy is your real dad?

I put down my kindle. Seb has sent a photo of Ashton from his most recent tour.

He’s wearing a black jacket that’s covered in feathers and the leather chaps that he must have found.

He isn’t wearing a shirt, and his tan is of the mahogany variety.

He’s wearing more eyeliner than I’ve ever seen on a human.

Me: I told you. Lola all but admitted it, she said she loved him.

I peer some more at the photo, even though I’m committed to believe that he’s a wanker who has strung Lola along for decades. I zoom in on his hair. That has to be where I get mine from. His is sort of knotted. That’s what mine would be like without my hair care plan.

Seb: I love you, but you don’t see me wanting to dick you down, do you?

Seb: Just saying that made me sick in my mouth.

Seb: But Ashton, I’d dick him down in a heartbeat. I think he’d like it too.

Me: Bisexual people exist you know. And please can we stop saying dick down. It’s 8am.

Seb: All I’m saying is don’t get ahead of yourself. Let Lola’s story play out how she wants it to.

Me: That’s actually really good advice.

Seb: I always give good advice.

Me: No, you told me I could pull off that half-shaved head look.

Seb: I was only saying that for the LOLs. You would have looked ridiculous. But my real advice is golden.

Me: How reassuring.

Seb: Got to go. I have a meeting with Kitty. She wants the first three chapters by the end of summer. Told her you’re all over it.

Me: Yeah. No problemo.

Unease settles deep in my stomach. I’m still sure that given the choice, Lola wouldn’t be telling anyone anything.

But she feels like she has to for the sake of the hotel.

Maybe Noah and I should help her more. We’d made a start on the pagoda last night.

And you know what’s wild? Building a garden pagoda in the dead of night.

But even if the three-pronged plan was a success and Lola didn’t need to sell her story, Your Life would still lose out.

I have my laptop open next to me on the bed having just ordered my business plan to be printed, bound and sent with a courier. Because at the point at which you’re doing some mild construction work, it’s time to present your plans more fully.

An email comes through from Mr Vandergilden. He’s chasing me and becoming increasingly impatient, even though I’m exactly on schedule.

Urgh, he’s impossible sometimes.

Speaking of impossible, Noah sticks his head around the bedroom door.

‘You ready?’

‘Am I ever!’ I overcompensate with my levels of enthusiasm. ‘Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?’

Noah makes a zipping motion across his mouth. Lovely mouth. ‘It’s a surprise, but I think you’ll like it.’ Noah said that about the cave, and I did like it. But just to be on the safe side, I narrow my eyes. ‘It’s not paragliding, is it?’

He laughs. ‘Nope.’

‘Okay, good. Obviously being the adrenaline junkie that I am I would absolutely be down for that, so just checking.’

Another laugh. ‘Come on.’

We head to the car park at the front of the hotel. That vet guy, James, is there, chatting to Lola.

Lola looks a little flushed, if you ask me, which obviously no one is, but still.

‘James has come to check on Bertie,’ Lola tells us as we pass.

‘Bertie?’ I ask them all.

‘The chicken,’ James answers. ‘He keeps walking into walls. I’ll get him right, though.’

If this James can sort out Bertie, Bertie the bald, blind chicken, he’s not a vet, he’s a miracle worker.

‘Okay, well enjoy!’ I send a quick wave to them all. Lola has her tool belt around her waist. Right on time, Scout the Labrador, the daft chicken and a small pig come out of the hotel doors. It is very, very bizarre up here.

‘It’s a little bit of a drive, so get comfy.’

I use Noah’s words as an excuse to hug his middle a bit tighter.

I’m an old hand at this motorbike malarky now, so at least I’m not wearing a long dress.

I’m in denim shorts and what I use interchangeably as a nighttime T-shirt.

It’s one that I got for taking part in some sponsored run.

Basically, I’ve given up fighting the fact that Isle of Skye me looks like she occasionally lives in a bin.

We set off and the sweet, sweet numbness that comes from feeling like death is just a hair’s breadth away takes over while I cling to Noah.

Fields and mountains blur around us as we pass them, the hills becoming slightly smaller in scale, greener than the dark, jagged mountains around Lola’s hotel.

Eventually, we join a short row of cars waiting to turn into a driveway.

‘Technically, this isn’t a hidden gem,’ Noah twists round to tell me. ‘But I think you’re going to enjoy it.’

We edge forward in the queue, and I see the purple sign by the entrance.

‘Welcome to Dunvegan Castle.’

Now, some people get excited about boxes of chocolates. Flowers, jewellery even. Noah gets turned on by naturally occurring phenomena. But me, historical landmarks are my kryptonite. Nothing gets me going more than a good castle.

I almost fall off the bike, letting go of Noah to flap my hands around.

‘I love castles!’ I say. ‘Like, seriously love them. I once had this idea about going around all the castles in the country. I made a map and everything.’

‘That sounds like a plan I could get on board with.’

‘I don’t think you understand, Noah, you have to really love castles to commit to a plan like that. Seb came with me to three and then said that they were all the same. And he calls himself a historian.’

Noah laughs some more as we park up.

‘Well, this castle has an extra surprise in store too,’ Noah says.

It’s then that I see it. Taking away from the majestic beauty of the castle, a little red plane with ‘Skye from the Sky’ painted on it.

Oh no.

‘Er, what’s that?’ I ask Noah, leaning back on the bike because I don’t trust my legs to support me.

‘It’s just that you went on and on about how it was such a shame that you wouldn’t get to skydive, I thought I’d give you the chance.’

Noah must see what is, no doubt, sheer terror written all over my face.

‘Obviously, you don’t have to. There’s no, like, obligation.’

I swallow.

This feels like punishment. For all my lying. But seriously, if one of my lies was going to catch me out, of course it would have to be the skydiving one. Couldn’t have been any of the other lies, could it?

Possibly, this is a test as to just how deep my people-pleasing tendencies run. Will I throw myself out of a plane rather than admit to not wanting to do something and risk disappointing the lovely Noah? Unlikely.

But here’s the thing. A tiny part of me does want to be the sort of person who does this. Who rocks up to a castle and embarks on an impromptu skydive. I want to be the person Noah believes that I am. A part of me wants to be the person I am on Skye. At least some of the time.

‘I’ll do it,’ I say.

Steve, my tandem flyer, at least takes health and safety very seriously. He could tone it down a bit, if you ask me. He’s very reassuring, though. Apparently, our chances of dying are ‘negligible’.

I send a quick ‘last will and testament’ WhatsApp to Seb, just in case. Hopefully, it’ll hold up in the coroner’s office if it comes to it.

Noah is laughing and joking with his diver.

‘It’ll be fine,’ Steve says. He’s having to hold me up at this point. We’re strapping ourselves into the plane. And isn’t that a ridiculous thing to have. Seat belts in a plane we’re about to leap out of.

‘Excited, Lily?’ Noah asks. He’s positively glowing as we take off from a patch of grass, leaving the perfectly lovely castle beneath us. I knew he’d look good on a plane. And he’s filling out his jumpsuit very well. I look like a child in a sleeping bag.

This is Noah in his natural environment. I can see, now, the kick he gets out of travel. It reminds me how different we are and makes me wonder why exactly I’m about to throw myself out of a bloody plane to impress the guy.

‘Sooo excited,’ I answer feebly.

‘That there’s Loch Dunvegan.’ Steve points to an open body of water to the side of the castle. Brilliant. More water. I’ve started to shake.

‘And what do we do in the event of a water landing?’ I ask, my teeth chattering.

‘Nah, there won’t be one of those, like.’

How reassuring.

We don’t seem to be climbing anymore. In fact, the pilot is giving us an okay sign from the front of the plane. And that doesn’t seem very technical, does it? How do they know we’re at the right place? I think that they should think some more about it. Go around again, perhaps.