Chapter 4
Four
always confirm the bed situation before you arrive
Dylan
This is going worse than I’d anticipated, and for someone with a mild-to-moderate affinity for catastrophising, that’s saying
something.
Max has his back to me while he’s talking to the front desk, giving a few uh huhs and yeah, that makes senses as he scrolls his own phone in his other hand. By the time he hangs up with a chirpy thanks for your help, I’m feeling hopeful.
He turns slowly and smiles. ‘So, funny story, you’re really gonna laugh. Turns out I forgot to ask for the bigger cabin. Look,
the email is in my drafts, I just never pressed send.’ He turns the cracked screen of his phone towards me, as if I needed
to see proof.
I do not, in fact, laugh. Instead, my brain goes into overdrive. I agreed to this trip because we’d be in separate bedrooms,
doing our separate things, not to live fully on top of a practical stranger.
My voice is desperate when I ask, ‘Can’t they move us into another cabin?’
‘They’re retrofitting their two larger cabins at the moment as part of this whole accessibility initiative they’re working on, which is cool, actually, they’ve updated all the footpaths and—’
‘Max.’
‘Right.’ He sees something in my expression that forces him back on track, though he still looks far less rattled than I feel.
‘Anyway. Both the bigger cabins are kind of a mess because of the renovations. They obviously wouldn’t have started working
on them if they’d known we wanted one. So no, they can’t move us. But they were extremely apologetic, if that means anything.’
It doesn’t mean anything, not when it was his fault, not theirs, but I inhale deeply and try to keep calm.
‘Good news, though,’ he says, perching against the back of the sofa and patting the cushions. ‘This is actually a bed.’
‘Amazing,’ I say, relief flooding me as I step towards him, eyeing the sofa. It’s not massive, and I’m sure it won’t be the
comfiest thing in the world, but it’ll work. ‘I’ll take it.’
‘What? No.’ He flings an arm out to stop me coming any closer. ‘No way. I will.’
‘You should take the bedroom.’ My voice is breezy. ‘You’re taller. You need the bigger mattress.’
‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed,’ he drawls, ‘but you’re not exactly short.’
‘It’s your trip; I’m just tagging along. You take the bed.’
‘As my guest, and because the mix-up was my fault, I’m saying you should take the bedroom.’ Both his arms are out now, like
he’s worried I’m about to hurl myself on the sofa and fall asleep on it right this minute. His tone is taunting when he says,
‘We could always share the bed?’
I inadvertently step back, my response immediate. ‘No, thank you.’
‘Thought so.’
I can’t let him take the smaller, less comfortable mattress when he’s the one whose trip I’m crashing. If I weren’t here,
he could’ve had an entire cabin to himself and starfished across the bed to his heart’s content. And I know that any normal
person would just take the bed, but I can’t inconvenience him and owe him any more than I already do.
‘If you’re trying to be a gentleman, you don’t need to.’
‘I assure you, Dylan, I am never trying to be a gentleman.’ The heated look he gives me makes my brain short-circuit, and
while I’m trying to collect myself, triumph unravels on his face. ‘I want to sleep out here, and you should respect my wishes.
It’s easier for me if I have direct access to the front door so I can go outside if I need to.’
Maybe he’s a sleepwalker. Or sleeptalker, and he’s worried he’ll, what? Come into the living room and spill all his secrets to me? Or maybe he intends to leave the cabin for some very specific two-person nighttime activities. That feels more likely.
‘Why?’ I ask anyway.
He shrugs. ‘I had a minor health thing a few years back that wrecked my sleep, so sometimes I need to walk around at night
to tire myself out.’
‘A minor health thing?’ I repeat. I can’t tell if he’s messing with me.
‘Slightly more than minor, if we’re being honest. But look, believe me or don’t. I’m sleeping out here regardless.’
This still doesn’t feel right because I shouldn’t even be here, but I have nowhere to go and he’s evidently as stubborn as his sister, so I accept with a reluctant, ‘Fine.’
He chuckles to himself. ‘Been a while since I played the bad health card.’
Backing me into a corner and using mysterious health issues feels like a low blow, but then, Max doesn’t strike me as someone
who plays fair. I lift the handle of my suitcase and start pulling it towards the bedroom.
‘Hey, look at that,’ he says, patting the sofa cushions twice. ‘I’m a problem solver.’
As I pass through the bedroom doorway, tugging my case across the uneven wooden floor with a creak, I can’t help but mumble,
‘Solving a problem you created.’
His voice is extra loud. ‘Sorry, what was that?’
I don’t reply, but I can’t deny that after years of biting my tongue, letting myself retaliate–even under my breath–has sent a thrill through me.
The following hour is spent unpacking, going through the welcome pack that was left for us, and seething. This is why I don’t let other people plan things. That’s when stuff goes wrong, and you end up sharing a one-bedroom cabin with
a man who you were already nervous about sharing a two-bedroom cabin with.
When I’m ready to leave, I find Max still sprawled across the sofa where I left him, chin tucked to his chest while he scrolls
his caseless phone, too-long legs bent at the knee. His still-unpacked bag hasn’t moved from where he tossed it earlier.
I clear my throat and he glances up without moving his head. His mouth immediately pulls into a smirk when he sees me, re-dressed
after my shower in a pair of leggings and a baggy T-shirt, jumper slung over my arm for later, water bottle in hand.
‘There’s space in the wardrobe if you want to hang anything up,’ I say, hoping he’ll take the hint.
He sits up and twists his neck from side to side. ‘I’ll probably have a floordrobe.’ Fantastic. Six weeks of wading through
piles of his mess every day. He catches something in my expression and asks, ‘Are you a tidy person, Dylan?’
‘Oh, you know.’ I wave a nonchalant hand that is ostensibly not nonchalant. It’s non-nonchalant.
‘Do I?’ His grin stretches.
I can’t exactly tell him what to do with his stuff in here. This is technically his bedroom. But would it be wrong to hang his clothes in the wardrobe while he’s out one day? Could he get mad
at me for that?
I clear my throat to ask, ‘Are you coming to the beach barbecue?’ At his furrowed brow I add, ‘The one David mentioned on
the bus? And is on the itinerary?’
‘Shit, I forgot. You go, I’ll follow you down.’
Upon stepping outside, I immediately understand why women in the olden days were prescribed trips to the seaside when they were unwell.
There’s something about the way the breeze picks up the tang of salty air and the tinkle of wind chimes.
It collects my swirling thoughts with it, turning them into something manageable.
With every step, I wish more and more that I could’ve brought Tahlia along. But a few years from now, I’ll be a chartered
accountant, earning enough to help my mum move somewhere nicer, to help Tahlia when she needs it, and to take us all on holidays
like this one. Tahlia won’t have to turn down trips and concerts and dinners with friends like I did.
I’m lost in my thoughts when I hear my name.
‘I thought you were ignoring me,’ Jude says, a little out of breath. She’s changed clothes and has somehow turned joggers
into An Outfit.
‘Sorry, I was in my own world.’
‘Daydreaming about Max? Happens to the best of us. Don’t beat yourself up about it.’
Once again, I get the feeling there might be something between the two of them, but I don’t ask, because it’s none of my business.
She catches my expression and adds, ‘I’m kidding. Count yourself lucky you have separate rooms. He’s not as bad as he used
to be, but oof, at one point he was one step away from installing a turnstile.’ She winds her finger in a circle. ‘How’s your cabin, anyway?
I hope you claimed the best bedroom.’
We pass one of the larger cabins, and through the window I see that the insides have been stripped, various pieces of equipment
filling the otherwise empty space. I let out a disgruntled sound and mumble, ‘Actually, Max forgot to request a two-bedroom.’
She grabs my arm and her eyes light with glee. ‘Does that mean you’re sharing a room?’
‘What happened to me counting myself lucky we had separate rooms? No! No. I have the bedroom. He’s taken the sofa bed.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘Boring.’
I think I like Jude, but we have very different interpretations of what’s boring.
‘I wanted the sofa,’ I explain. ‘I feel bad about making him sleep on it when I’m the one crashing his trip, but he was adamant
I take the bed.’
‘Listen, Max has camped on, like, Ben Nevis. A sofa is luxury to him.’
‘I guess.’
‘He’ll be fine, seriously. Let him do his thing, and you do yours. Your only job for your time here is to have fun. Whatever
that fun may look like. And, y’know, it might look six-five with pretty eyes and weird tattoos.’ At this, her mouth twitches,
and I look straight ahead. Of all the new things I will be doing while I’m here, that will not be one of them.
But when I let her words settle, I know she’s right. About the rest of it, anyway. If I’m going to experience this, I might
as well make the most of it. I need to bank these memories for a grey day when I lose sight of what I’m doing and why.
‘You’re right,’ I say through a sigh. ‘Consider this a promise that I will try to have fun.’
‘I hereby promise to join you in your fun-having as much as possible.’ She raises her eyebrows suggestively. ‘As long as it
doesn’t involve being yours and Max’s third.’ She lets out a sharp burst of a laugh at the half-hearted glare I send her way.
‘I’m kidding. Well, no, I’m not, I’ve never had a successful threesome. Trust me, I’ve tried.’
‘There will be nothing like that, I promise.’