Page 112 of Washed Up

‘Oh, no thanks,’ said Jake, stepping back. ‘You can keep that “but” if you don’t mind. I’ve heard enough.’

Tears prickled Frankie’s eyes. ‘You don’t even know what I was going to say.’

Jake shrugged. ‘Whatever you say, it won’t be good. But… you met this guy and lost your head. But… you don’t love me back. But… you need to get out and travel the world. Whatever it is, I really don’t need to know.’

Frankie’s arms dropped to her sides. She was inches away from Dylan, who was leaning forward on the bench, arms on his knees, his whole body tense.

She looked at Jake for a long moment, trying to picture herself with him, trying to remember what it had been like to kiss him, wondering if they had any kind of future. But try as she might, as much as she wanted in some way to be able to make him happy, to give him what he thought he wanted so much, she just couldn’t. Her head was full of Dylan and whether or not his was really full of her, she had to take a chance. She had to see if it could work. No one, not even Jake, had ever made her feel the way she did when Dylan looked at her. And that for now had to be enough.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, resisting the urge to give him a hug, holding herself as still as she could on the cliff path.

Jake swallowed hard, then nodded. He turned to Dylan and held out his hand. ‘Take care of her, man,’ he said as Dylan stood up, grabbing his proffered hand and clapping him good-naturedly on the back. ‘And if you hurt her,’ Jake went on, in a low voice, pulling him in close, ‘I’ll hunt you down, chop you into tiny little pieces and use you as bait.’

Dylan went white. ‘That’s very inventive,’ he said, slowly backing away a little.

‘Fishermen can be creative, too,’ said Jake, and to Frankie’s relief a slight smile twisted his mouth.

Dylan gave a nervous laugh. ‘So I see.’

‘Ignore him. He’s an oyster fisherman,’ said Frankie, ‘it’s not like he’s out finding great whites or anything.’

‘You can’t hunt great whites,’ said Jake.

‘You know what I mean,’ said Frankie.

Dylan didn’t look reassured. Jake gave him one last glare, then began to back away, his eyes still on Frankie’s.

‘Jake,’ she said, the word catching in her throat.

‘It’s okay,’ he said, giving her a faint smile. ‘Just don’t forget me when you’re in Hello magazine or whatever the kids are reading these days.’

Dylan snorted at that, the colour returning to his cheeks.

‘And Jake?’ said Frankie.

‘Yes?’ said Jake, kicking at invisible stones on the path before him, clearly desperate to leave. Who could blame him?

She took a deep breath. ‘Look, when you get through this, which, you know, you absolutely will, and probably much sooner than you think…’ Jake scoffed but she kept going, regardless. ‘When you do, there’s someone else who, you know, might not think you were the worst thing ever.’

Jake frowned. ‘Please tell me we’re not talking about your mum again.’

Frankie shook her head so vigorously it felt like it might fall off. ‘No, God. No. Anything but that. It’s someone much less married, for a start. Someone… not a million miles away from here.’ When Jake didn’t respond, she carried on. ‘Someone you might know. You know, you should look into that is all I’m saying.’

‘Do you mean Sally? Does she mean Sally?’ said Dylan, looking from one to the other as if he was only just catching up.

Jake smiled weakly. ‘I got it, thanks.’

‘Good, because I wouldn’t want you to be alone and…’ Frankie went on. ‘Give it some thought, you know? She’s a great girl.’

‘I think he’s got it, Frankie,’ Dylan cut in, and Jake gave him a grateful look. Too far. She’d gone too far now. ‘Give the guy some space, eh?’

‘You’re right. Sorry, Jake, I’ll stop now.’

Jake smiled fondly. ‘Good luck, you guys,’ he said as he walked away.

‘And you, man,’ said Dylan.

They watched until Jake had disappeared around the next bend in the path, and only then did they both flop back down on the bench, looking at each other with relief. Relief, in Frankie’s case, and still that heavy weight of guilt of course. Had she made the right decision? Would she regret letting Jake go? She definitely needed to stop kissing boys on benches, that was for sure. Frankie tried to sit with her feelings, searching her heart for that familiar pang of regret, that desperate need to run after Jake, to throw herself into his arms and beg his forgiveness. But no. Nothing. Stony silence. Maybe she was just a heartless cow.