Page 106 of Washed Up

‘Normal. You’d think you’d all end up like cultists or something, living out here. Or that’s what I would have thought before I got dumped on that ferry.’

Frankie smiled back. ‘That’s what you thought for a while after you got here, too, admit it. Or at least, that we were a bunch of hermits. If that’s not a contradiction in terms.’

The food arrived at that moment and Dylan smiled at her as Andy put down their plates with a little flourish and retreated.

‘You are a bunch of hermits,’ he said in a low voice. ‘The Herm-its! That can be your band name!’

She laughed a little too loudly and several of the nearby guests cast disapproving looks their way. ‘Why have I never thought of that before? Herm-its. Maybe that’s where the name came from.’

‘It’s pretty good. Or should it be Herm-ites? Hmmm, Herm-its is better, I think. I bet there’s not even a collective noun for them, too much of a contradiction.’ He picked up his phone for the first time during the meal.

‘Ooh, I do love a good collective noun,’ said Frankie. ‘An aurora of polar bears. That’s my favourite.’

He laughed as he tapped out a Google search. ‘I love that you even have a favourite. A walk of snails is a pretty good one. Now there’s a contradiction.’ And then, eyes on the screen, ‘There actually is one, would you believe? An observance of hermits. That’s rather nice.’

‘That’s lovely. Even if it is a paradox.’ She folded her arms, watching him carefully. ‘I hadn’t picked you for a grammar nerd.’

‘Don’t tell anyone.’ He laughed.

‘I won’t. You have a reputation to uphold, after all.’

‘I used to,’ he said, suddenly serious.

They both fell silent as the food arrived, and as they were munching their steak and chips, the mood shifted as they contemplated the weight of those words.

‘Sorry,’ said Frankie.

‘Don’t be. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.’ He looked at her so intently then, she thought she might combust.

‘I’m still sorry,’ she managed.

‘Appreciate it,’ he said.

As they finished their meal, a thought struck Frankie and she blurted it out before she could hesitate. ‘Tomorrow,’ she said, ‘it’s Saturday and I’m owed a day off. I know you need to write, but do you fancy coming for a puffin walk with me? You haven’t been to Herm properly until you’ve done the coast walk.’

‘I don’t,’ said Dylan.

Frankie’s heart sank. ‘Oh, don’t worry, sorry, it was just a thought. Probably a daft one.’

He chuckled, low and soft. ‘No, I mean, I don’t need to write.’

‘What?’

‘I said I needed to write so I could have some space. Not from you,’ he added, hastily, ‘but so I didn’t need to explain being a hermit.’

‘Ha.’

‘But I’m not writing. I can’t write right now. It’s too painful. The words won’t come.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ Her heart twisted.

‘The last song I wrote…’ He cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, I’ve mainly been staring at the walls these past few days. So I’d love to come on a puffin walk. Whatever the hell that is.’

‘You’ll see,’ she said, trying to keep her voice level. ‘I’ll come pick you up at 9am sharp. Before all the tourists arrive.’

‘Fine.’

‘Fine.’