Chapter 30
Thirty
always celebrate being alive
Dylan
I hang up from my group FaceTime with Mum and Tahlia, their out-of-sync singing still ringing in my ears, and prop the two
cards I’d packed and saved to open on this day on my bedside table.
I fold the empty envelopes into the smallest squares I can. There’s a slight hollowness in my chest hearing Max moving around
in the kitchen, just returned home from wherever he went after silently slipping out of bed earlier.
He must’ve decided to go for a run this morning instead of joining me for a walk, and I do my best to push the unexpected
disappointment down. It’s not like he could’ve known what today is. I didn’t tell him.
But when I open the door, I’m met with an arm blocking my path, a word I can’t quite make out scribbled on his skin.
‘Don’t come out here!’ he says.
‘Can I go for a wee? Is that allowed?’
‘Oh.’ He lowers his arm and looks at me suspiciously. ‘Yeah, that’s allowed.’
When I come out of the bathroom, he’s there again.
‘Bedroom,’ he orders, and my breath catches. He steps aside so there’s just enough space for me to squeeze past. ‘And don’t look.’ This, of course, makes my gaze flicker over his shoulder, and he immediately puts his hand over my eyes. ‘You looked!’
‘I wouldn’t have looked if you hadn’t told me not to look!’ I argue, while he shepherds me the rest of the way into the bedroom. There’s really no need for him to be leading
me all the way to bed, especially once I’m through the doorway, but I let him.
It’s only when my calves hit the mattress and I fall backwards that he removes his hands from me, instead bracing his arms
either side of my head. ‘Stay in here.’
‘Fine, fine,’ I say, making no move to escape the cage he’s put me in, too reminiscent of other moments he’s hung over me
like this, shoulders eclipsing the light, anticipation surging through my veins.
He smirks and dips his head, lips fluttering against my throat. ‘And get dressed. We have plans.’
My fingers sink into the silken strands of his hair, longer than they were when we first arrived. He lets out an appreciative
hum while I ask, ‘What should I wear?’
‘Clothes that are appropriate for walking.’
‘Are we going on a walk?’
‘Someone call Sherlock.’ I give him a droll look he can’t see, and he continues, ‘And by the way,’ he drags his mouth along
my jaw, ending his route with the softest kiss to the tip of my nose, ‘happy birthday.’
A few minutes later, he opens the bedroom door again, and immediately, his eyes draw to the green plaid shirt I’m wearing
over my leggings, the top two buttons undone. He leans against the doorframe, gaze burning across the bare skin at my chest.
It’s an expression I haven’t seen before. Somehow both hungry and sated. Like me wearing his shirt is enough to both ignite
and quell a craving.
‘Mine,’ he says quietly. For one desperate moment, I get the distinct impression he’s not talking about the shirt. Then he
blinks, and the corner of his mouth tips up, and I cast the thought aside. ‘That looks familiar,’ he says.
‘This?’ I run the material through my fingers, almost threadbare with the amount he’s worn it, a loose thread poking out from the bottom hem. It smells like him, but my stomach flips when I realise it also smells like the detergent we’ve been sharing for weeks. It smells like us.
‘I don’t remember saying you could go through my things.’
We drift closer. ‘A man on a train once told me it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.’
‘You listen to me?’
‘Someone has to.’
‘It looks good on you.’
‘What, listening to you, or the shirt?’
By the time we meet, I know the heat in his eyes mirrors my own. God, I’ve never wanted someone so constantly before, so urgently. Before I can do anything about it, he clears his throat and says, ‘Let me show you why I deal with cameras
and not crafts.’
I follow him into the living area, to find a string of bunting running from the kitchen cabinets across to the light fixture
above the sofa.
‘I had to be resourceful,’ he explains. ‘Patrick gave me paper and pens, but I had to use cooking twine from the kitchen to
hang it up. I intended to do it all before you woke up, but I started chatting to Eileen earlier when I came to collect the
string and, well, you know what she’s like.’
‘What is it?’ As I step closer, I see that every triangle has a birthday message, all signed by a different person. I spot
a long, looping message from Jude, a line from Toby, and a bubble expands in my chest cavity, making extra space in there
for my ever-growing heart. ‘You did all this for me?’
‘Everyone helped. It was a hassle getting Jude not to write an essay, and Bertie only gave me his message last night, but
it—’
I cut off his explanation with a kiss, holding his head between my hands and feeling a little like I’m holding that bubble,
desperate to capture it in my grasp before it bursts.
When he laughs into my mouth, it’s a full sensory experience: the soft pulse of his breath, the vibration of the sound against
me, the way his lips change shape to accommodate his smile.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
His hands slide to my lower back before he tugs me towards him, leaning over me so aggressively that I have to arch my spine
to stay connected. I feel like I’m supporting his entire weight with my mouth, and if I make one wrong move we’ll both tumble
to the floor. But then he slowly pulls me upright and I realise he had me all along.
He doesn’t release me from his arms, but pulls his face from mine to look down at me with that familiar sparkle of mischief
in his eyes. ‘How does it feel to be twenty-five?’
‘The same,’ I reply, though it’s not quite true. Something fundamental has shifted, but I don’t fully know what it is yet.
‘We could ignore my plans,’ he murmurs, palms shifting to my waist. ‘I could stay here and give you,’ he draws my hips to
his for a moment before pushing them away, ‘twenty-five presents, if you want.’
I raise an incredulous brow. ‘Twenty-five seems a bit much, even for you.’
‘Even for you,’ he repeats. ‘A backhanded compliment and a challenge is a lethal combination, Dylan.’
I loose myself from his grasp, if only because the longer he holds me, the less likely we are to leave the cabin today, and
my curiosity is itching to find out exactly what he’s planned. ‘What’s next, then?’
He rubs the scruff at his jaw and inclines his head towards a packed rucksack on the counter. ‘We’re going on a picnic.’
‘A picnic?’
‘I grabbed a few breakfast things we can eat en route, but the rest is for our top-secret destination. We should head out
soon if we wanna miss the rain.’
‘I genuinely had no idea you could be this organised.’
He shrugs. ‘I’ve learnt from the best.’
I pass him his camera from the dining table, before heading to the door to put on my trainers. As we leave the cabin, I catch
sight of the piece of bunting at the far end of the line, attached to the living-room light. In a messy scrawl, it simply
reads:
Happy birthday, Tiny
You deserve everything
‘In another life, I think I’d be a horse girl,’ Max says, filming the animals grazing ahead of us, their appearance a pleasant
surprise on top of this grassy cliff.
‘As in, you live in a fancy manor house and have riding lessons, or you live on a ranch in the countryside and your only friends
are furry or feathered?’
‘Feral farm child, obviously.’ I’ve been following Max this whole way as he uses a set of directions that Patrick printed
for him, though he grabs my phone every so often to check Google Maps, zooming in and turning the phone this way and that.
Contrary to my entire life’s experience, it’s surprisingly, unexpectedly nice letting someone else take the reins.
We’re walking along a rocky clifftop, steel-grey ocean stretching as far as the eye can see, the sky a dusty blue that’s not
quite cloudy, not quite clear. Just within sight over the cliff edge is a crescent of dark-golden sand lining the water. And
while a lot of the coast looks the same, something about this spot tugs at a memory.
Max moves ahead of me to stand between two wooden posts; what looks like the top of a staircase, and when he looks back at
me, his eyes are alight. ‘Do you know where we are yet?’
I join him, and that’s when I see it. Nestled into the cliff is an old chapel camouflaged against the rock, not even half
the size of our cabin. He’s taken me on the walk we missed during the chaos of Tahlia’s move-in day, and for some reason my
eyes sting with tears.
He sets off down the stone steps, left hand grazing the rusted metal rail, and I follow.
If there weren’t a staircase leading down, telling you to stop by, you could easily miss it.
It makes me wonder how many more of these secret places the world might have to offer, and longing fills me at the realisation that I’d like to discover more of them, one day.
‘You know,’ Max pauses on his step, ‘I was gonna invite everyone on this hike, but I figured you’d probably implode from the
attention.’
‘You would be correct.’ Something inside me lights up at the fact he knows me well enough for this.
‘I’ll never understand it,’ he says, moving down again. ‘Being the centre of attention is one of my favourite pastimes.’
‘Don’t worry, on your birthday, I’ll plan a surprise party with a hundred friends and acquaintances and will make sure everyone
showers you with gifts and affection.’ My heart stutters at the slip. Thinking about future birthdays with Max feels a little
too close to something we’re not supposed to be.
But he plays along, saying neutrally, ‘Confetti is not optional.’
‘Of course. Nor is a champagne fountain.’
‘Please, Tiny,’ he lifts a hand to stop me, ‘prosecco’s totally fine. I’m not a diva.’
When we reach the chapel, I admire it for a few moments. I know it’s from the Middle Ages, and I could swear it grew directly
from the ground back then; sun-weathered and precisely the same colour as the cliffs around it. Its walls and roof have barely
crumbled over the centuries, and I can’t tell if it’s been refurbished, or if some elemental magic keeps it intact.
Max has his camera focused on the building, but then he lowers it and faces me. ‘Can you be my subject?’
‘You’ve never cared about my permission before.’ I wipe my shoe on a rock to get rid of a clump of mud.
‘I want you on my camera.’ At first, I swear his grimace is embarrassed, but it morphs into a grin before I can be sure, and
he says, ‘Your gift to me today should be to let me film you.’
‘I don’t think that’s how birthdays work.’
‘It is.’ He moves closer. ‘As someone with two birthdays, I’m actually an expert on the matter.’
‘Okay. Go ahead,’ I say through a reluctant sigh, perching on a nearby boulder. He brings the camera to his face, fingers moving over the buttons and dials instinctively to adjust the settings. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Be yourself.’ I glare at his unhelpfulness. The rock is cold through my clothes and my stance is awkward, and I’m possibly
the least photogenic person in the world, but for some reason he says, ‘That’s perfect.’
When my eyes are trained on the lens, it feels like I’m looking straight into Max’s soul, so I turn my face out towards the
sea, breathing in the faintly briny air that’s become so familiar to me by now. Exhaust fumes and stale food on the Tube feel
so far away.
‘You say you have two birthdays,’ I begin. The wind whips my hair into my eyes, enough that I don’t mind looking in Max’s
direction again. ‘Is it because you celebrate the day you . . . came back?’
‘My rebirthday,’ he says simply. ‘It feels like a good occasion to commemorate.’
‘It is.’ I force my words through the lump in my throat. After today, after this whole trip, after everything that’s happened,
I need him to know. ‘The world is better with you in it, Max.’
He’s quiet for a few moments while he films me, shifting his weight on to the opposite leg, adjusting the framing by a few
millimetres every time. He lowers the camera just enough for me to catch his expression. His face fractures, and in that moment,
I see everywhere he’s tried to stitch himself back together. I see how he’s used light-hearted jokes and reckless flirtation
as patches over his scars, how he’s messily sewn them up with a wretched kind of hope.
His voice is almost lost to the wind when he says, ‘I’m glad I still get to see it.’
I stand and close the distance to wrap my arms around him. I can’t imagine a universe where I don’t know Max, not while he’s
here, reassuringly solid against me. This man who causes chaos and upends plans and brings people into his whirlwind, who
walks in gold in the hope that someone will be able to find his footprints in the dark.
The moment I register his camera digging into my chest, he sets it behind him, before pulling me closer. For the first time, his hold is desperate, and when he leans into me, I set a hand to the back of his head and clutch him tighter.
Let me take some of it, I think. I can carry the weight.
Like the building behind us, I’ll keep standing.
He loosens his hold and rests his forehead against mine for a few laboured breaths. My fingers weave through his hair and
I ghost my fingers along his scalp, savouring the way his shoulders relax the tiniest amount when I apply more pressure.
When we eventually pull apart, emotions I’m too scared to name thrum through my veins.
The rational part of my brain reminds me that this thing between us isn’t meant to last. But impermanent or not, maybe we’re
exactly what the other needs right now. Maybe, when we split back into two, we’ll be better for it. We’ll be better alone
because we became better together.
‘Shit,’ he says, running a hand along his jaw with a weak smile that makes me ache. ‘I typically only crumble under the weight
of my own mortality when I’m by myself.’
I analyse him, the storm in his eyes, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. ‘That seems very lonely.’
He watches me too, then reaches out like he’s about to tuck my hair behind my ear, the way he always does. Before I know it,
he’s swiping a thumb across my cheekbone, collecting the tear I hadn’t realised had fallen. He keeps his hand there, fingers
cupping my jaw, thumb still brushing my cheek.
‘It’s not always a nice place up here,’ he says, pointing at his head with his free hand. ‘It can get very dark. Sometimes
it happens so quickly, I don’t even notice the storm’s come in until it’s too late.’ He lets out a shaky exhale. ‘So I guess
I just want to thank you. For joining me there.’
My heart pangs at his admission. I wonder how many times he’s sat there, alone in the dark, trying to claw himself out.
I take his hand in mine, and I make a promise. ‘I’ll always leave a light on for you.’