Page 23 of The Next Chapter

‘There’s a lot of animals here,’ I say, stating what is completely obvious.

‘Lola rehomes them,’ Noah tells us, twisting round to look our way. ‘If there’s a waif or a stray out there, Lola will find it and give it a home.’ He laughs a little self-consciously while I try and mostly fail to process this information.

I spot another two chickens, though this pair seem to have all of their feathers, and their eyes for that matter. And I’m sure there are more insects here than at home. More than one bee buzzes around me, though I’ve always thought they were overly attracted to my Frizzease. And the butterflies… they look like they’ve taken steroids. Why are their wings so big?

Clearly, all those journalists got it wrong. Lola wasn’t off swotting up on the art of scientology; she was up here prepping to man her own chicken-heavy version of Noah’s ark. Complete with an actual Noah.

Past the hotel, the space opens up into the gardens, to patchy grass scattered with picnic tables. There are hammocks tied between the trees that line its edges.

‘It’s pretty nice up here.’ Seb has stopped walking and is looking up beyond the tree line at the back of the hotel to where a mountain range rises from seemingly nowhere. They’re all dark and shadowy in the evening light, with mist swirling around their tops.

Pretty nice doesn’t quite cover it, I don’t think.

There’s an ethereal quality to Skye. It doesn’t feel like it could possibly be a real place. Except it is.

‘Most beautiful place in the whole world, I’d say,’ Noah answers. We’ve all stopped to look at the mountains now. Noah begins pointing out the names of some different peaks and oh my god, Noah! Writer Noah. That’s why I remember his name. Is this the Noah who writes books about Skye?

‘Are you Noah Adair?’ I blurt out.

He twists around, his cheeks turning hot and red.

‘That would be me, how did you, er… how did you know that?’

Okay, yes, definitely sounded like a stalker.

‘I love your books on Skye. You write so beautifully.’

Probably best not to admit that I’ve studied his entire body of work.

‘Thank you for saying so.’

He’s redder than ever.

I don’t have time to worry about the distress I’ve caused to the lovely Noah. I’m busy doing my best to concentrate on breathing like a normal person and also ignoring Seb cursing as he tries to drag his cabin-sized suitcase along the loose gravel path that winds through the gardens.

At the back, tucked out of sight of the main house by more trees, are two cottages sat just in front of a wooded area. The cottages are made of dark stone, but I’m guessing that the UPVC doors are not original. Each cottage has its own white plastic dining set outside the front, complete with two chairs.

‘This is you.’ Noah comes to a stop in front of one of the cottages. ‘I’m right next door, so shout if you need anything.’ Noah’s cottage is very, very close to ours.

‘We will do, thanks, mate,’ Seb says, despite the fact that I have never in my life heard him describe anyone as mate.

‘I’ll be on the kayaks in the morning, helping Lola. You should check it out,’ he tells us.

Neither Seb nor I are suited to kayaking. I have my fear of open water and Seb is, well… Seb. But I hear myself say that we’d love to.

How does a person say no to something they don’t want to do at any rate? I’ve never figured it out myself. Though if someone suggests a nice spot of skydiving, I’ll be giving ‘no’ my best shot.

Right, well, if nothing else, it’s a way to spend some time with Lola and keep up the ruse that we’re here on holiday. It’s not like we could just rock up and ask for the rights to her memoirs all in one go. We need to, like, drop hints about what we do. Gradually lure her in. Possibly I’m evil now.

‘Great, I’ll see you both then.’ Noah smiles and heads to his own cottage, three feet away.

Except when he gets to his door, he turns to look our way again.

Unfortunately, this means that he catches both Seb and I staring at the poor guy.

In our defence, he’s lovely to look at. But it forces us to jump into action, fiddling with the lock to the doors.

The cottage inside is small, and if I’m being unkind, a bit decrepit, but cute.