Chapter 7
Seven
always listen to your sister
Dylan
My second morning goes much the same as my first. Wake to a messy, empty cabin, walk, eat breakfast, do an activity. By the
third, I feel like I’m building a routine. I get ready for the day–the toilet seat is up again and my toothpaste lid seems to have disappeared–and Max gets in from his run, shirtless again, calling out a ‘Morning!’ and
heading straight to the shower.
Less than a minute after I put my socks on, I step in a puddle by the kitchen sink, and all I can do is breathe through the
simmering irritation while I change them.
But on my way to grab my shoes, I trip on a cable that Max has left in the middle of the floor, and my full water bottle drops
directly on to my toe with a loud thunk. The bottle rolls away as I clutch my foot, hissing through my teeth, and any remaining shreds of patience roll away with
it. All these wet towels and dirty dishes and endless piles of stuff have me so close to the edge I’m pretty sure I’m experiencing
vertigo.
Max pokes his head out of the bathroom, hair soaked, shoulders glistening. ‘You all right? I heard a thud.’
‘Just dropped my water.’
‘But are you all right?’
‘Yeah. Thanks.’ For leaving all your stuff everywhere so that I can trip on it.
He peers at me for a few wordless seconds like he’s expecting me to say something else, then shrugs and closes the door again.
I seethe quietly while I wind through the resort and walk along the nearest bluff, my toe still pounding. This walk, at least,
is keeping me sane. The crisp air filling my lungs and the sight of the Atlantic spreading out into the distance.
My phone buzzes with a text from Tahlia as I wander back, shoes crunching over the rocky path.
Tahlia: morning!!! sorry to bug you, but where’s the box of plates and stuff you’ve been collecting from charity shops?
A pang thrums through me. It’s only been a few days, but I miss her, and home. Waking up to the sound of her practising for
whatever musical she’s auditioning for. The little notes Mum leaves us in the kitchen when she comes home from a night shift
while we’re still asleep. Curling up with them both, watching a film, three bodies under one giant blanket, keeping each other
warm. My home for the next six weeks feels the total opposite of that.
When I get home, she’ll be gone, and so will that old routine of ours. But until then, she still needs me. I video call her
and she picks up immediately.
‘It’s on top of my wardrobe,’ I explain, my heart warming at the sight of the curls she’s piled into a giant messy bun. ‘But
my stool’s broken, so you’ll need to use the chair from your room.’
‘You can take mine when I move out,’ she says, setting her phone on her chair as she carries it to my room, and for a few
moments, all I see is the moving ceiling.
‘What about when you come home?’
‘I’ll steal it back,’ she replies smoothly, then moves her phone to my vanity, and all I can see is half of her body as she steps on to her chair and reaches for the plastic tub above my wardrobe. ‘How’s Wales today? Seen any dragons yet? How’s Hot Max?’
‘Cloudy. And no dragons yet, but I’ll keep you posted.’ I pointedly ignore the final question.
‘Tragic.’ I hear the slide of the plastic tub she’s looking for and the quiet grunt as she steps off the chair with it. She
sets it down out of sight before folding on to my bedroom floor next, bringing her phone to her face. ‘And how’s the cabin?’
We were too busy going through her accommodation forms the other night for me to talk about the cabin situation, so I tell
her about the booking mishap in as few words as possible.
She gives a ridiculous wiggle of her eyebrows. ‘I think I’ve seen this film before.’
‘It’s not like that.’
She grins, and I don’t trust it, but she asks, ‘Has the trip been good so far?’
Movement through the dining hall windows tells me the chef is setting up for breakfast, but other than that, the only creatures
to accompany me are the birds above and sheep bleating in the distance. ‘It’s been fine. Different.’
‘Woah, rein in the passion, Dyl.’
I let out a quiet laugh. ‘I like my campmates. But it’s weird. I feel like I might’ve bitten off more than I can chew.’
Luckily, Tahlia takes this to mean the trip as a whole, and not the idea of sharing an enclosed space with Max Monroe, because
she says, ‘It’s supposed to be you getting out of your comfort zone. It’ll feel uncomfortable for a bit, but you just need
to settle in. That’s what you’ve been saying to me about uni.’
Her brow furrows, and at the concern in her eyes I plaster on a smile and try again.
‘I’ll be okay, you know me. I’m just a homebody, that’s all.
’ Tahlia worrying about me when she has so much going on in her own life is absolutely not what I want from this conversation.
I push the focus back to her. ‘Was there anything else you needed from me? We’re cycling today and I don’t think I’ll have my phone with me. ’
She doesn’t let me change the subject. ‘What are you doing right this second? I see sky.’
‘I’m on a walk. Breathing in the fresh air, running from dive-bombing seagulls, etcetera.’ I flip my camera and show her the
patch of sea visible from my vantage point.
‘Great view, but speaking of great views, where’s Max?’
I flip the camera back to me. ‘Will you ever stop asking this?’
‘No, I’m a theatre kid, it’s in my nature to be annoying.’
I avoid a small puddle and lower my voice, even though the paths are empty. ‘He’s not here. If he was, I’d be intentionally
avoiding him.’
‘Why on earth would you do that?’
‘He’s worse than I expected.’
‘Hotter? That must be so hard for you.’
My eyes roll instinctively. ‘I’m not sure I’m cut out for sharing living space with someone like him. He takes up too much
room and has no regard for punctuality and I swear, he is unbelievably messy. Like, worse than that plumber Mum dated that time.’
She grimaces. ‘There’s no way.’
‘There is a way. Max has found it.’ I groan. ‘I can’t take another six weeks of this. I can barely walk to the door without
tripping on something, including his laptop, which you’d think he’d care about someone stepping on, but apparently not.’
‘Anything else?’
‘It’s been less than three days and he’s somehow hoarded almost all of the drinking receptacles.’
‘Dehydration is the silent killer,’ she says solemnly.
‘Is it?’
‘Dunno, I just made that up. But have you actually spoken to him about it? Being messy?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve been avoiding acknowledging the fact we’re even living together.’
She peers at me. ‘Why don’t you set some ground rules like you did for us?’
I pass the big cabins that should’ve been ours and heave a sigh. ‘I’m not sure gold star stickers are quite the same incentive to a man in his late twenties as they were to six-year-old you.’
‘Eighteen-year-old me as well, to be frank.’ I turn the idea over in my head while Tahlia continues, ‘Look, you’re both adults,
aren’t you? You should lay out your expectations and maybe compromise on a few things and figure out how to live together
in a way that makes you less likely to commit homicide.’
It sounds nerve-racking. Getting my little sister to do her chores was one thing, but confronting a grown man? With Jeremy,
I fit around him, because it was his flat and his rules. He had no desire to change his ways. What if Max is the exact same?
But maybe today’s version of me could at least try. One conversation, for the sake of my sanity.
‘When did you get so wise?’ I ask. ‘It’s weird.’
‘I’m an adult too now, remember?’
‘All grown up,’ I say, and she grins like she’s proud. And then I realise I’m proud too, because my sister is my favourite person and the world is going to be hers for the taking in a few short weeks.
‘As we both know, rules are the bedrock of society,’ Tahlia says, parroting one of my many mantras over the years–usually
provided after I told her that yes, she did have to wear her school uniform, and no, she wasn’t allowed to ‘just try’ vodka
at age eleven.
I walk up the path to my and Max’s cabin and think it through. I do love rules. Rules keep things in order. If we’re going
to successfully cohabitate for the next six weeks, we need boundaries.
And Max strikes me as someone who has no boundaries whatsoever, so setting them has to be all on me. If all else fails, I
could probably dare him to follow the rules, and he’d take it as a challenge.
‘Okay. I’ll do it,’ I say, a lot more confidently than I feel.
‘You’ve got this,’ Tahlia says, as I approach our blue door. ‘Love you!’
‘Love you too.’
I pocket my phone and stare at the door, my palms starting to sweat. I can be assertive. This is Pembrokeshire Dylan, not London Dylan. This Dylan is willing to be uncomfortable for the greater good.
I steel myself as I open the door, but for the second time today I’m greeted with a Max-less cabin. The only sign he’s been
here since I left is the lemon-scented steam still hovering in the bathroom and clouding the mirror over the messy sink.