Page 25 of The Next Chapter

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.