Page 78 of The Next Chapter

I’ve glued myself to Noah’s back. My arms are wrapped so tightly around him, it’s a miracle that he can draw breath.

‘Almost there!’ I hear him say above the noise of the wind we’re creating. My eyes are still screwed tightly shut. Because if I’m about to go careering to my death, I don’t want to watch it play out.

Finally, we slow down. We’ve been stopped for quite some time before I chance opening my eyes to see Noah standing at the side of the bike, looking down at me. That at least makes my heart cease and desist its efforts to batter its way out of my own chest. It settles on a nice simple swoon instead.

I smile, even though my mouth is super dry from the ride. It’s a strange sensation, that of your own lips being pulled back across your teeth.

‘We could have taken the van.’ Noah helps me off with my helmet and tucks some hair behind my ear, where it stays for approximately a nanosecond before springing right back out. He has another go and then gives it up as the lost cause that it is.

‘You know what, I think I enjoyed that actually.’ I hop down, my sentiments undermined somewhat by the fact that my legs are like jelly and I have to prop myself up with a hand on the motorbike seat.

Noah looks suspicious. His frown has lessened, but it’s still there.

‘So where are we?’ I ask, looking around. As per, we seem to be in the middle of fucking nowhere. Just the usual fields and mountains. I’m a bit over fields and mountains.

‘Camas Mor,’ Noah answers, pulling his rucksack out of the bags over the back of the bike. ‘Come on, it’s about a twenty-minute walk. This way.’

I catch up to Noah as he sets the pace across a field, pleased to see that we seem to be walking across as opposed to up today. Zero elevation and the beautiful clifftop walk towards the ocean is exactly what today needs.

We walk quietly for a little while, still heading towards the edge of the cliffs. The landscape here, a mere ten minutes away from the hotel, is different. It’s expansive and bare, full of open fields. We’re mid-field when I say, ‘Wherever we’re going is definitely a hidden gem.’ I’m pleased that I opted for my walking shoes today. The sole is so cushioned, it’s like walking on air. ‘There wasn’t even a car park!’ We’d left the bike at a small indent in the road, next to a fence. Imagine a land where you’re not paying £2.50 an hour to park a car. It’s like Narnia.

‘We’re going down there.’ Noah has his sunglasses on again. Those things should be illegal. He nods his head towards the cliff edge.

And oh no, is he going to make me scale a cliff? It looks steep. So very steep.

‘It’s something I didn’t consider when I pitched for the commission, how maybe it would be better if these things remained hidden. I wonder if one day there’ll be nowhere left for us to discover. Especially with climate change, you know.’

As someone with zero wanderlust in their body, not a single dose of the stuff, nowhere left to discover doesn’t seem quite the tragedy to me as it does to poor Noah. Not that I want the planet to burn or anything. I wash out my glass jars like we’re meant to. But for Noah, it sounds like it would be a disaster. I guess because the man does have a compass tattooed on his shoulder. He’s obviously a very committed explorer.

‘I get what you mean,’ I say, trying to look to the edge of the cliff for a path down. ‘It’s like you say in your book, it’s all a lot more fragile than we hope it might be.’

He groans and goes red, and I’m delighted with myself.

‘I still can’t believe you’re reading that.’

‘Why not? That’s the whole point of writing a book, Noah, for people to read it.’

‘Not people I know!’ he protests.

‘Especially people you know. We can cheer you on. I’ll buy a copy for everyone I know for Christmas.’

He laughs. ‘Okay, well, in that case, thank you, Lily.’

I hum. ‘You’re welcome. Actually, it’s a little bit like history really. Not having anything left to discover. We know so much about modern history, it doesn’t hold the same mystery as, like, the Middle Ages. But then, I think that we can never know history fully, because we can’t ever go back there. And anyway, people who were there experienced it differently. So maybe it’s like that. Even if there’s nowhere left to discover, it’ll still be a discovery for new people who go there, because they’ll see it different to other people.’

He stops walking to look at me.

‘That’s actually… really profound.’

I grow a couple of inches taller and smile at Noah’s praise, I’m sure. And also, I did sound quite profound. Possibly it’s the leftover adrenaline from the bike ride. Everything is heightened when you’ve just narrowly escaped death.

‘Have you always liked history?’ Noah asks.

‘Yep, I studied history at Manchester. Dad got me into it.’ Thankfully, I don’t recount the same Oppenheimer tale I’d told Lola in the kayak.

‘That’s cool. I was more of a geography man myself.’

‘Well, that’s just blasphemy.’