Page 76 of The Next Chapter

Before she can reply I’m out of the office and through the back door of the hotel. I’m across the gardens and because it’s only 11am, I’m not cracking open more wine, but I am adding extra beans to the cafetière. I realize my hands are shaking. Have they been shaking this whole time? I’ve no idea.

I pour a drink and then take my laptop outside. At least I have some designated work time for the rest of today. I need that. To get on top of work feels safe. Plus, it’s peaceful and still out here. It’s just me and my overactive brain running a constant loop of Lola saying that some people aren’t meant to be parents, while trying to tackle my mountain of emails.

She must have meant herself.

Her mum too, obviously. Possibly it’s a hereditary defect. I mean, Elton hates me, doesn’t he? Maybe I have anti-maternal instincts oozing out of my every pore.

But then if I think about myself with a child – I think I’d love it. No, I know I would. I’ve always wanted a family of my own. It’s why I don’t do flings. Because I want something serious. I’m desperate for it. My parents showed me how great it could be, marriage, kids, the whole thing. I hope they wouldn’t think me being here with Lola is trying to replace them. Dad wanted me to come, but did he want me to stay for six weeks?!

All I know is that I want what they had. I want a family, it’s one of the reasons that I’m keen to nail down another Colin. With me and Mum and Dad, it felt like us against the world, and I want that. I want to give a child that.

I start work on Lola’s second chapter.

* * *

At some point in the afternoon, Harper appears from the forest. She doesn’t even ask, she just leans over me and clicks on Spotify. We sit in silence for a while until she asks, ‘Are you okay?’

It’s like an accusation almost, as if I’d better be okay or else. I don’t even know why she’s asking until I realize that I’ve been crying a little bit. Okay, maybe a whole lot.

‘I think so,’ I tell her. ‘Or I will be at any rate.’

‘Life’s shit.’ She shrugs. ‘But it’s probably a bit better than being dead.’

Chapter Twelve

‘How was the session with Lola?’

Noah finds me in the garden, hunched over my laptop, typing hard. Harper had left at about the same time as the Pringles I’d bought had run out.

Despite what I said about my brain dying off in the afternoons, today it’s working overtime. And even though, as per my timetable, I should be prioritizing Mr Vandergilden’s cover design, it’s Lola’s memoirs that I’m desperate to write.

‘Really good, thanks. Lola’s a great storyteller, it just writes itself.’

It strikes me, then; I don’t know how much Noah knows about Lola’s past. I mean, he must know that she’s the Lola Starr, but I can’t ask him about it, not until Lola tells me.

My chest tightens at the reminder that I’m basically lying to everyone here.

I hit the full stop key with more force than I need to.

‘Right, I’m done for the day,’ I tell Noah. ‘I think I’ll go for a run.’

I need to do something to escape the jittery feeling.

‘Mind if I join you?’ he asks quietly.

‘Be my guest.’

* * *

Over the next few days, my weekly time plan really comes into its own. It goes some way to calming me the fuck down.

Early mornings, I sit outside and do some work, forcing myself to make a little more headway with Mr Vandergilden’s memoirs. I owe him a draft this summer and something tells me that informing him that it’ll be late while I gallivant around the Isle of Skye and reconnect with my long-lost mother will not go down well. He has a whole chapter dedicated to the anti-woke movement, after all.

After the first day, Noah had come to sit outside too. He works at his little white picnic table; I work at mine. It’s all highly civilized.

On Friday, I do yoga with Lola on the pier. Happily, my yoga-thon for charity means that I excel at this activity at least. I notice that once more, Lola is running the session herself. I wonder if she’s one of those people who doesn’t sleep. Like Maggie Thatcher. Or vampires.

The last few evenings have been tricky. I hadn’t thought to plan for the evenings. So, I don’t know what to do when Noah appears. Harper too, under the guise that she wants to use my laptop. She mainly ignores us, but she does eat an inordinate amount of Pringles each night.