Page 37 of The Next Chapter

Excited, and wondering why I didn’t think of this already, my fingers fly across the keyboard. Lola Vain, I type, Broadford, Skye.

There are fewer hits this time, only three, in fact, that look relevant. But still, three new articles! I’m giddy with excitement.

They’re all from the local newspaper, The Broadford Echo, about the hotel. One, from 1994, saying that Lola is the new owner. There’s a short Q and A with her where she says that animals and the outdoors are her passions, alongside music. It uses the word nurturing, which is a real kick in the teeth. But onwards I go. Another short piece says that she’d had planning permission to build a barn in the gardens. I guess she never got round to it.

The third article is about a midsummer fête in the town. There are pictures, people! It’s from seven years ago and Lola is there, her hair and her dungarees, and nothing has changed. Except she’s smiling in both the pictures she’s in. In the first one, she’s dancing around a maypole, a flower in her hair. In another, she’s standing next to a man. He’s much taller than her, wiry with dark hair streaked with silver. I read the caption underneath: Local business owners Lola Starr (Broadford Hotel) and James Duncan (vet) smile under the midsummer sun.

And Lola is smiling. I’m not sure I’ve seen her smile like that in any picture I’ve ever seen. All unguarded. She looks happy.

I’m more confused than ever. I think all of this time, I assumed that giving me up, whatever her motivations were, made Lola sad. But perhaps it really didn’t. Maybe it’s straightforward. She had a baby she didn’t want, so she gave me up and moved on with her life.

And that realization… well, not even Gossip Girl and wine can save me from that.

Chapter Six

Tap tap tap

Tap tap tap

‘Lily, there’s a Viking here for you.’

I wake up with a start to Seb’s voice on the other side of the bedroom door and attempt to launch myself out of bed. I hate the feeling of being asleep when I should be awake. My stomach rolls, whether from the booze or the misery or the feeling that I’ve overslept, I don’t know.

Why does this keep happening here?

The process of launching doesn’t quite go to plan. Mainly because I was face down horizontal on the bed and so all I manage is to roll myself up in the duvet and knock the bedside lamp off the little table with my foot.

‘What the fuck are you doing in there?’ Seb sounds rough.

Last night comes back to me in horrifying increments.

Thinking about Noah and wondering whether people who herald from Skye are extra horny.

Googling Lola.

Laughing loudly, really loudly, at Gossip Girl.

Seb coming back and saying that Lola had avoided him all evening.

Announcing that Lola didn’t love me.

I think there was weeping after that. So much weeping.

Seb whacks the bedroom door.

‘Lily? What should I do about the Viking?’

I scramble around, pulling on clothes, and push past Seb. ‘Morning!’ I pull open the patio doors to find Noah on the other side of them looking as calm and collected as an FBI agent. I hold up one finger.

‘Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready for alllll the hiking.’ I aim for chirpy and come off deranged.

A pause. The guy looks fresh as a daisy. And he’s smirking a tiny bit. It’s disarmingly sexy.

‘Are you sure?’ Another smirk.

‘Just give me a minute,’ I say through a gritted smile.

‘Do you want to come and get me, when you’re ready?’ he asks. ‘I’ll wait in my cottage.’