Page 36 of The Next Chapter

‘That… cannot be true.’ I laugh.

From somewhere down the side of a sofa bed cushion, Seb’s phone vibrates. He fumbles around for it.

‘It’s Kitty,’ he tells me, unlocking the screen.

‘On a weekend?’

‘Literary agents never sleep. They’re a different breed, honestly. Fuck.’

‘What is it?’

Seb shows me the message.

Kitty: Just heard that the deal we definitely didn’t discuss this week is off. Client has pulled it apparently.

In the distance, the karaoke starts up. The music is faint, we can only hear the beat, but I have to resist the urge to hide under the sofa at the thought of Lola over there.

‘Shit,’ I say. ‘If we don’t get Lola’s memoirs, all that kayaking will have been for nothing.’

I feel like it’s helpful for us to maintain that we’re here for the business and the business alone. Feels less complicated than any other motivations that we could possibly have. Like finally getting to the end of Dad’s death admin list. Or seeing Lola in the flesh for the first time in thirty years.

Seb is frowning at his phone.

‘Maybe I came on too strong earlier. I should have realized she was jumpier than I expected.’

‘Nooo,’ I tell him, even though he was laying it on a bit thick. ‘You’re brilliant at getting clients. What should we do?’

‘I don’t think we should give up. It would be a brilliant memoir.’

I do a nervous laugh. The thought of Lola having it all written down, even if we’re the ones writing it, is terrifying.

‘Noah might tell me more about her. She’s definitely… different to what I expected. Or, I know, he might help us persuade her even!’

‘It’s not a bad idea. I’ll try again tonight. Take a more softly, softly approach. She can’t know that Kitty would message me. Speaking of which, I’d better go. Time and tide, or Lola’s Saturday night karaoke at least, wait for no man.’

‘Have fun touting for business with my birth mum!’ I call as he gets up from the creaking couch. ‘Hey, at least this means that Lola probably isn’t riddled with cancer, if she’s changed her mind.’ It’s a faint silver lining to the thought that we might have driven all this way for nothing, but it’s a silver lining, nonetheless.

Seb rolls his eyes.

‘I’ll see you later, sister dearest.’

‘Knock ’em dead,’ I answer. ‘Not actually dead, though. You know what I mean.’

Seb, halfway out of the door, turns back and looks at me.

‘Wow, every moment of the day really is a trauma for you, isn’t it?’

And you know what, he’s not wrong.

With Seb gone, the small cottage feels distinctly empty. Still in a way that suggests I get to be alone with my thoughts when I’d really rather not be alone with my thoughts. They’re all jumbled up and messy, and like I said already, I hate mess.

I turn on my laptop, thinking that only Gossip Girl can save me now, but instead of loading up Prime, I’m Googling Lola Starr again, thinking that there has to be something I missed. Something that explains how this Lola is the Lola.

There’s nothing.

It’s just the same articles I’ve read a thousand times already. Reams and reams of them. I’ve read them all. The newest ones all wonder where Lola the party girl went. Join the club.

It occurs to me then, that I do now know more than I did all of the other times I searched for her.