Page 46 of The Next Chapter

‘I mean, I’m not staying. I need to get back to the office. I’ll come back for you in six weeks.’

‘What?!’ I almost shout and then remember that Noah could hear us. ‘What?!’ I ask again as an angry whisper. ‘You expect me to stay here on my own? You’re abandoning me?’

‘It’s cute that you think everything is about you. I’ve spent the whole weekend pretending to be your brother, you’ve used all your best friend tokens. And anyway, it’ll do you good to have some time on your own.’

I disagree with his last point, but he’s right. He has gone above and beyond. I close my eyes. ‘I don’t know if I can do this.’

‘I have absolute faith that you can. Now come and tell me about Noah. What did he look like going up the mountain?’

I move to sit next to him on the sofa bed.

‘Really fit. He just propelled himself up it with thigh power alone. It’s hard to tell, because he gets shy, but I think we’re flirting. Like, he said he wanted me to stay. But then he mentioned his research and, I don’t know, maybe he really does just want help with his article.’

‘You could be an adult about this and ask him.’

‘Please, no one does that.’

‘True. Just remember, you have more to offer than you give yourself credit for.’

I give Seb a look.

‘But when you’re at home. Yeah, out here, god knows what he sees. What has happened to your hair?’

I burst out laughing. I look like I’ve been electrocuted.

‘I’m kidding. You’re a dark horse and we both know it. Hey, remember when I found those handcuffs in your bedroom drawer.’

I groan. ‘We promised never to mention that again! I told you, me and Colin were trying to spice things up.’ Not that Colin had been on board with this suggestion, he seemed to think I was some sort of sexual deviant. Needless to say, they haven’t seen the light of day since then.

Seb pfts. ‘Please, a punnet of Scotch bonnets couldn’t make Colin spicy. I bet Noah has his own handcuffs,’ Seb ponders aloud. ‘Just think of all the no-strings holiday sex you can have over the next six weeks. I’m jealous.’

‘I don’t think that is what’s going to happen.’

‘Not if you keep wearing those things on your legs, it won’t. Just don’t ruin it before it’s even gotten started.’

That does sound like something I would do.

For something to do that isn’t thinking about Lola or Noah, I pull out my phone, wincing as I realize there’s now an angry red thirty-seven next to my WhatsApp. They’ll all want something. I just know it. No, that’s not fair. It’s none of our faults that we’re like this. My head is just all over the place.

Get it together, Brown. Okay, won’t be calling myself by my surname in my actual head again.

It’s just that if I’m really doing this, I need to get on top of my messages and rearrange everything in my diary for the next month and a half.

Six weeks. Do I even have enough stuff with me for six weeks? (Chances are, I brought enough for a six-month expedition.) And there’s a washing machine in the hotel. It’s on the information sheet with the schedule.

Maybe being here longer term will help me feel a bit more grounded and not in one long out-of-body experience.

‘Seriously, you don’t have to do it,’ Seb says finally, ‘but I think it would do you good.’

I get up and walk to the kitchen, just to keep myself busy. I start pulling out more cheese… and extra cheese (I really do need to go to the hotel shop), because after the morning I’ve had, nothing else will do.

‘I think I want to. It’s just confusing,’ I answer honestly. ‘I don’t know how to feel. I built Lola up as this monster, almost, in my head. Like, who abandons a baby for fame? But now she’s here, decidedly not famous, probably a bit poor, and I wonder if I’ve got it all wrong.’

Seb hums but doesn’t say anything. I’m slicing brie with such concentration, Heston Blumenthal would approve.

‘But then the thought of going over it all,’ I carry on, ‘because I guess Lola will include the baby she had but didn’t want in her story, it’s terrifying. What if she says that she had me, took one look and thought, nah, not for me?’

I’ve stopped slicing now, I’m just gripping my knife, staring down at my white knuckles.