Page 52 of The Next Chapter

I plug my headphones in, ready to listen to Lola talk through the early years of her childhood again. I know what’s coming now, can brace myself for hearing that Lola was the black sheep of the family, according to her own mum. I mean really, being born in a storm, like a baby can help that. I was born on a Wednesday, and no one ever held that ‘full of woe’ thing against me.

‘Do all old people talk to themselves? Or are you just extra weird?’

Harper is stood a few feet away, on the edge of the forest, looking like that dead girl from The Ring when she climbs out of the well. She’s watching me from the perimeter of the gardens between cottage and hotel. Scowling.

I pause the recording that has literally just started and pull out an earphone. ‘I was muttering to myself. It’s totally different. And I’m not old.’ I laugh to cover the fact that maybe it isn’t that different. Harper scowls some more. Despite the heat, she’s wearing her ripped skinny black jeans and a black long-sleeved hoodie. Her hair, as usual, is poker straight and covering a fair bit of her face.

‘Is everything okay?’ I ask. Because I notice that she seems angrier than usual, which is really saying something. Her hands are balled into fists that hang by her side and her lips are pressed into such a tight line, they’re almost invisible. It’s as if she’s vibrating with rage. Which means she doesn’t answer me.

‘Do you want to come and sit down?’ I gesture to the other chair, closing my laptop to show her that I’m not too busy. ‘I can make you a drink.’ I extend my final peace offering.

She eyes the chair like it’s personally wronged her and doesn’t move. ‘I still don’t trust you,’ she mutters.

‘Okay, but remember, you came to find me today. You’re pretty safe if you want to sit down.’

I hope she knows that I mean not just in the sense that I’d never do anything dodgy. I once lost a whole night’s sleep after I accidentally forgot to pay for a cabbage in Sainsbury’s. It hadn’t had a sticker and I’d meant to speak to a cashier about it at the end but forgot. I’d gone back the next day to pay, but the whole night I’d been convinced that I’d end up with my own spot on Crimewatch. I annoy myself sometimes.

I’m wondering about relaying any of this to her when she snaps, ‘Fine,’ storming over to the other chair without committing.

‘I’ll go and get some lemonade,’ I say, standing up as Harper continues to glare straight ahead.

I move back into the cottage, pouring some of the fancy lemonade I’d brought from home into two glasses.

Heading back outside, I’m pleased to see that Harper has actually decided to sit down.

‘Here you go,’ I tell her, passing her a glass.

She takes it but doesn’t have a drink. I have an urge to feed her, which is odd. She’s just so thin. ‘Do you want this sandwich?’ I ask her. ‘I can make another.’

Her face morphs from anger to outright disgust. She wrinkles her nose and recoils away from my lunch.

‘What even is it?’ she asks.

‘Hummus and rocket, it’s really good for you.’

‘Grim.’ She pretends to puke on the grass. That settles that, then.

We sip lemonade for a minute, neither of us talking. My mind is still reeling from everything Lola said. And now Harper. And Noah. This little patch of Scotland might be secluded, but it certainly brings its fair share of drama.

‘Is everything okay?’ I ask Harper after a few minutes. She’s looking off into the forest that surrounds the cottage on three sides.

She shrugs and I think that’s all I’m going to get until she says, ‘Blake’s gone for a walk with them.’

I remember that Blake is her brother. ‘He’s gone with your foster parents, you mean?’

She nods.

‘Okay, how did that make you feel?’ I ask her, ridiculously out of my depth. I think again about how even Elton doesn’t respect me and reckon that my chances of getting Harper to open up are slim to none. I won’t know what to do if she does.

Another shrug. But this one seems less angry. Even if she’s still facing towards the forest, her shoulders are starting to slump. To curve forwards. ‘You wouldn’t get it,’ she says.

‘Try me.’

Something about the way I say it must ring true, because Harper turns to face me then with some sort of question in her wide eyes. I resist the urge to look away.

‘I just feel so fucking angry,’ she says, finally defeated. I figure that now isn’t the best time to pull her up on her using the odd fuck or ten. Plus, pot, meet kettle.

‘With Blake?’ I ask.