My hopes of fleeing the cocoon are foiled again: Layla and I only make it as far as the overgrown grass in front of Dad’s vegie patch. Sticking her tongue out at me, Layla drags two beanbags from our rumpus room, tussles them into shape, then waves me over. It’s quiet in this corner of the yard. Just us two.
Just us two and Max, a half-blind chocolate-brown Labrador digging a hole next to the clothesline.
‘I thought you took him for a run?’ I say.
Layla’s flopped on her beanbag like a rag doll. ‘He’s a machine. He just goes and goes. If I don’t stuff this job up, he’ll have me running marathons by the end of the year.’
She fidgets around until she finds the perfect position, then pulls her hat down low. I look over at Max, who’s nose-deep into Dad’s carrots, then follow Layla’s lead, letting my body sink down into my beanbag.
‘This is a real job? You’re getting paid to babysit it?’
‘Yes, Mr Judgmental, and it’s called puppy-sitting — and I can now add dog-walker and dog-sitter to my CV. Who knew this job even existed? There have to be hundreds of pooches in Durnan needing extra cuddles and love. It’s perfect!’
She flings her arms wide in excitement and our palms brush for a second. We snap our hands back as a jolt of static electricity crackles between us.
‘That was you,’ I laugh, shaking my hand.
‘Yeah, it was.’
Even she knows she has electricity running through her veins.
I stare up at the sky, kicking at the dirt with my sneaker. ‘You know what I told you at the hospital? About leaving for Timbuktu?’
‘Yeah?’
‘I’ve been thinking about it a bit. Leaving, I mean.’
Tilting her hat back, Layla swivels to face me, her beanbag crunching and shifting beneath her. ‘You’ve had a bad few days. Okay, a bad year. But it doesn’t mean you have to leave town and … everything. Right?’
‘I guess.’
‘So it’s decided: the Durnan dream lives on.’ Layla pushes her hat down again so her face is covered. ‘Phew, Max, that was a close call, wasn’t it? We nearly lost him,’ she says in a muffled voice. ‘Timbuktu … you crazy monkey. No more scaring me like that, Milo D — I hate you.’
‘Hate you the most, Layla M.’