Page 123 of The Next Chapter

I know the answer before she even finishes the question. Forgiveness is a choice. But for me, forgiving Lola, letting it all go, it’s as easy as breathing.

‘I already have, Lola. How could I not? You gave me all your good luck. Mum and Dad were amazing parents.’

Lola smiles, genuinely happy to hear that.

And then I’m laughing, and Lola is too.

‘How did you find me?’ I ask, only just realizing that Lola had turned up at a random bench in Manchester.

‘Seb,’ she answers. ‘I turned up at the office this morning. I, er, hope it’s all right, but seein’ as he’s your boss and not your brother, I asked if he might let you come back to Skye. Just for a while now. He said y’all need to look at your phone.’

I fish my phone out of my pocket. It’s been on silent ever since my meeting with Mr Vandergilden.

There’s a single message from Seb.

Seb: Go!!!!!!

I laugh. ‘I think he wants me to go.’

And that’s how I find myself repacking my bags for the third time in so many weeks.

I forgo the hypoallergenic pillow this time.

Mr Cains is all too happy to have Elton back under his guardianship. I’m thinking, if I’m going to be spending time on Skye, I might suggest some sort of joint custody arrangement.

‘The van’s by the park,’ Lola tells me as I zip up my spare coat. ‘It’s not far.’

* * *

The drive back up to Skye is possibly a test of Lola’s newfound motherly love. Eight hours is quite a long time. Grand gestures are bound to lose some of their shine in that time. But actually, this grand gesture doesn’t. When my nausea allows, Lola and me, we get to talk about all the things we couldn’t before. I field an absolute torrent of questions about my childhood. She wants to know every little detail.

In turn, I ask her everything I wanted to in the sessions. About her childhood, about Baton Rouge and whether she’d ever go back (‘Maybe, if I had someone willing to come with me.’). About the hotel.

And between all the talking and the nausea we sing. We sing until my voice is hoarse and I can’t sing anymore. Then Lola sings on her own. She really is amazing.

When she begins to hum the tune to ‘Eyes Full of Wonder’, I nod off. Wake up somewhere in Scotland. Swallow around some nausea.

Scotland makes me think of Lola, but it reminds me of Noah too. Of all the things that I’ve been trying to ignore this past week. Noah sleeping next to me, his hair over his forehead. Noah eating vegetable pizza without complaint. Clashing teeth in freezing water. Terrible karaoke.

‘How’s Noah?’ I ask Lola.

She taps her fingers on the steering wheel.

‘He showed me your plan for the hotel. What did he call it?’

‘The three-pronged plan,’ I answer automatically because my mind is tripping over the fact of Noah.

‘That was mighty kind there, Lily. I don’t think anyone ever did somethin’ so nice for me.’

‘It was mostly Noah. And you can’t do it all on your own,’ I tell her. My voice still has some far away quality.

In turn, Lola’s voice is steady. ‘No, you can’t.’

* * *

It’s almost dark as we wind our way to the hotel. The mountains surrounding us are jagged silhouettes against the night sky. It seems almost ridiculous how out of place I was here seven weeks ago. Now, the sight of all the mountains relaxes me.

I’m excited to be here with Lola and to see Noah again. It’s that fluttery sort of excitement that feels like a kaleidoscope of butterflies let loose in your stomach. I want to make it right between us. It’s like Lola said: you have to fight for the things that you want in life. And I gave up Noah way too easily.