Page 10 of Washed Up

‘Oh relax,’ said Frankie, waving a hand. ‘You look tremendous.’

Uber cool Dylan was now dressed in a pair of yellow welly boots, some dark green chinos, a stripy Breton top in navy-blue and a yellow raincoat. Frankie stifled a giggle.

‘I feel like I should be in nursery school,’ he said with a wail.

‘Nonsense,’ said Frankie, biting her lip. ‘It suits you. But there is one thing missing…’ She walked to the far wall and retrieved a chunky woollen jumper in mustard yellow. ‘Your trip won’t be complete without a proper Guernsey jumper.’

‘Does it have to be yellow?’ said Dylan, wrinkling his nose.

‘No, we have lots of other colours,’ said Michael.

‘Yes,’ said Frankie. ‘It brings out your eyes. Trust me.’

Grumbling, Dylan shrugged off the raincoat and pulled the Guernsey jumper over his head. His top rode up a little as he did so and Frankie definitely didn’t notice the tanned strip of flesh visible above his chinos. He yanked it down hastily and held out his arms for inspection.

‘Now you really do look like you should be in nursery school,’ said Frankie with a snort.

‘Damn you, I knew it,’ said Dylan. But he didn’t take the clothes off. ‘I’m bloody warm and toasty though, dammit.’

‘Told you,’ said Frankie triumphantly.

‘Your turn,’ said Dylan, raising one eyebrow at her.

‘My turn for what?’ said Frankie.

‘To get changed,’ he said, his eyes roving over her body. ‘Not that I’m not enjoying the skintight look. But you might catch pneumonia and then where would we be?’

Was he… flirting? What the actual hell was going on?

‘Oh my God,’ said Frankie, her whole body flushing with shame. He was right. Her skirt was clinging to every curve. ‘Give me a minute.’

She disappeared behind the changing curtain with a pile of clothes and a flourish, Dylan still watching her as she went.

CHAPTER SIX

‘Now we look like the Paddington twins,’ said Dylan, as they braced themselves at the door ready to face the rain again.

‘I think you both look very nice,’ said Michael. Frankie was now wearing red welly boots, some soft tracksuit trousers, and a red waterproof jacket over a black hoodie, which was doing a very inadequate job of keeping her damp curls in some kind of order. She didn’t look remotely nice but, as she told herself, at least she looked less like Paddington than Dylan.

‘That’s because you’re a nice man,’ said Frankie. ‘But it doesn’t change the facts. Why don’t you close up and head to the pub, Michael? Charlie’s got a lovely fire going and you won’t be having any visitors today, the ferry’s stopped.’

‘I had you two,’ said Michael, cheerily.

‘I know but…’ she glanced at Dylan, ‘we’re a special case.’

‘That’s for sure,’ said Dylan. ‘Can we go and get my phone now?’

Frankie clicked her tongue. ‘You’re obsessed with your bloody phone.’

‘Don’t forget your clothes,’ said Michael, bundling their sodden effects into a bag.

Frankie grabbed the handles. ‘I’ll get them dried at the hotel. Thanks, Michael.’

‘Yeah, thanks, buddy,’ said Dylan.

‘Before you go…’ Michael began.

‘Yes…?’ said Dylan.