Page 33 of The Next Chapter

I wrinkle my nose.

But I’m just not ready for the off chance that Lola will sing. Heck, I don’t sing. Not since Mum died. It had been a thing we did together, we were in the local choir. And on an evening, we’d play piano and sing. It was as wholesome as it sounds. But ever since she died, I just can’t. I can’t sing without Mum.

I think I’ve always been worried that if I sang, I’d like it a little too much. I’d find out that I was like Lola.

And anyway, even if I could sing, I think that really might be a bridge too far, watching Lola do the thing that she loved more than me.

‘I don’t think I can,’ I tell him. ‘Can you go on your own?’

He heaves a dramatic sigh.

‘I can stick it out for a bit.’

I feel bad. It’s not exactly like I’m doing a stellar job of helping Seb lure Lola into signing up for a memoir with us.

‘No, it’s fine, I’ll come. Or actually, no, I don’t want to. Or maybe I should. Argh, I don’t know.’

‘Wow, your ability to spiral is unrivalled. Stop panicking, it’s fine,’ Seb says. ‘Now let me rest.’

‘Okay, thank you, thank you. I’ll see you later.’

I leave him to nap, heading outside in search of a hammock. It’s another hot afternoon and I’ve unzipped the bottom of my trousers, really living life on the wild side.

I find a hammock in the shade around the perimeter of the gardens and have a good go at getting myself in. It’s not pretty. My massive book throws me off balance more than once. A couple of times I manage to get in, only to roll straight out of the other side, landing in the dried dirt. I start to wonder if hammocks are worth the effort it takes to actually get into them. At least no one but the blind chicken is around to watch.

Finally, clutching my book to my chest, I manage to launch myself in and stay there. My bottle of water is still on the floor, but there’s no way I can reach it. I resolve to just be thirsty for the afternoon.

I’m facing towards the back of the hotel and for a split second, I’m sure I see some movement in one of the upstairs windows. Probably I did. There are about ten people staying here. But whoever was there didn’t linger, which is just as well. I don’t really want anyone to witness quite how at odds with everything I am here.

Of course, now I’m thinking of how at odds I am.

I just don’t fit.

Not in Lola’s life then and not in Lola’s life now. And it’s me, that’s the thing. I’m the one who doesn’t fit. God, even Seb is better on a kayak than me, it’s so patently obvious that I’m the odd one out, the anomaly.

Depressing realizations about my lack of belonging make it hard to concentrate on Oppenheimer, even if it’s one of the things I’ve always liked about history, just how resolutely depressing it is. It’s hard to feel bad about things in the here and now when confronted with the past. I mean, annoyed that you’re not feeling well? Let me tell you about the Black Death circa 1381. Think our leaders are dodgy? Here’s a guy called Pol Pot. It takes serious effort to be miserable about the state of the world now when in lots of ways, we have things so much better than people from the past. Proper mattresses didn’t even exist for millennia, people had to sleep on straw.

Maybe humans are just born to suffer.

But actually, this isn’t helping. I don’t feel better knowing that other people have had it worse than me.

I’m not even pretending to read now. I’m just laid in my hammock, the sky all blurry in front of my eyes.

I feel exhausted again, definitely something about the island air. I close my eyes for a second, ruminating on how we can get Lola to let us write her memoir and when I open them again, two hours have passed.

There’s movement to the side of me, Noah walking through the gardens.

He’s looking my way, so I close my eyes. I don’t know why I do this. But I do. And when I chance opening my eyes again, he’s walking away.

Argh, come back, Noah.

‘Afternoon!’ I call from my hammock.

Noah stops again and comes towards me.

‘Hi, Lily, I’m so sorry if I woke you up,’ he says. ‘I didn’t realize you were asleep.’

The patches of red on his tanned cheeks are back.