Page 42 of The Next Chapter

It looks like Noah is going to say more, but then his eyes flick to behind me, surprise registering in them.

‘Lola,’ he says.

‘What about her?’ My brain is scrambled from his revelation.

‘She’s here.’

‘Where?’

I don’t even have time to school my reaction properly as I twist around.

‘Lola,’ I say, sounding more winded from the sight of her than the climb up the mountain. ‘What are you doing here?’

Chapter Seven

There’s an awkwardness as the three of us stand motionless, staring at each other. Lola’s wearing a floaty white shirt, with leggings that have giant sunflowers all over them. They’re the sort of clothes that you can’t help but admire someone being brave enough to wear.

I go to say something, anything vaguely normal to my birth mother, at the same time that Lola tries to talk.

‘Y’all came,’ she tells us, looking out at the view. Which is stating the very obvious. Maybe oxygen really is in short supply up here.

‘We did. And you were right, the view is amazing. I was just thinking about how meaningless life is in the face of it, actually.’

What am I saying? Noah laughs, while Lola twists to look at me. Her eyes are such a deep, dark blue.

‘You know, I think I agree.’ She takes a deep breath and then turns her face to the sun.

We’re all so still. Like no one wants to shatter whatever is happening up here on the top of the mountain. I have to remind myself that I’m still angry from everything I’ve learned in the last eighteen hours.

We know that Lola loves it up here, she was the one who told us about it. And now here she is interrupting what could have been a useful bit of intel gathering.

I swallow down the irritation with well-practised ease, fixing a smile on my face.

‘It’s really beautiful,’ I say, only having to work a little at keeping my voice even.

Lola looks at me. ‘I can show y’all the way down if you like?’

I mean, the path is right there. And I have every intention of using it. No more long grass for me.

And there’s no good way to tell someone that you want to walk down the only path in existence separately because, actually, you’re their daughter and being in their company makes you question everything about who you think you are. That’s a bit much on any day of the week, let alone a Sunday morning with a hangover.

Instead, I just say, ‘Sure, that would be nice, thanks,’ and then when Lola asks if we’re done and we assure her we are, we’re following her across the summit to the path and setting off down it.

The whole thing is very, very strange. I have a ridiculous urge to lean on Noah. Or hold his hand. But as it is I need to put both my arms out to help my balance down the steep path, which isn’t as sturdy as I thought it might be on account of the fact that several of the stones are loose. I’m having to concentrate hard, which does at least take my mind off the whole Lola thing.

Lola and Noah are not, incidentally, walking with their arms out. They’re as sure-footed as mountain goats.

‘Seb was telling me about your work, Lily, it sounds mighty interesting,’ Lola says, actually jumping over a gap in the path.

Noah helps me over with a hand and I mouth a ‘thank you’ to him. I remember Kitty’s message, saying that Lola had pulled the memoirs idea and wonder why she’s bringing it up again now.

Still, I’m not daft enough to look a gift horse in the mouth. I don’t have Seb’s pitching skills, but I know I need to give this my best shot.

‘Oh,’ I say, not particularly adept at talking and walking. ‘Yeah, the personal memoirs business we run, er, together. I really love it. It’s a… um… real privilege. Having people tell you their story.’ Like I said, my ‘bringing in new clients’ spiel is not half as polished as Seb’s.

I need to get my shit together.

‘There’s just something really special about it. There’s always something we don’t know about a person. Like, however well we think we know our family, we can’t know or remember all of it. But it’s there, recorded for whoever they want to know their story,’ I say.