Page 12 of Washed Up

‘That’ll do,’ he said, heading up the narrow stairs. ‘I’m just gonna find that phone.’

‘Course you are,’ said Frankie under her breath, heading to the kettle.

She’d never been bothered about mobiles, herself. Never saw the attraction. She’d had a rusty old brick of a phone for a while so she could text her friends – Sally, basically – but she rarely carried it with her. The idea of someone being able to get hold of you wherever and whenever they wanted, that didn’t appeal in the slightest. And from what she’d seen of Instagram and channels like that, all that sharing your carefully curated and totally not-real life with a bunch of random strangers… Frankie would rather have pulled her own teeth out.

Dylan came down the stairs with his face glued to the screen, just as she knew he would.

‘I can’t get any internet,’ he wailed. ‘No signal, either. And my battery’s nearly dead.’

‘Oh no,’ said Frankie, trying not to sound too sarcastic as she poured hot water over coffee granules, the familiar rich aroma filling the tiny kitchen.

‘I can see some missed calls but I can’t even tell who they’re from,’ he went on as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘I’ll try texting.’

‘Good luck with that,’ said Frankie. ‘If the signal’s down, it’s down. Won’t be for long though, don’t worry.’

Dylan looked up at her. ‘What the hell am I supposed to do until then?’

‘Oh my God, are you actually serious?’ she replied, concentrating on not letting her jaw drop to the floor.

Dylan huffed out a sigh. ‘I’m… in… a… band,’ he said slowly, as if she was a simpleton. ‘As I believe I’ve already said, people will be looking for me.’

Frankie nodded at his phone. ‘It doesn’t really seem like they are,’ she said, stirring the coffee a little too enthusiastically and spilling some on the counter. ‘Bugger.’

‘How would you know that? I’ve got no signal,’ he replied.

Frankie mopped up the spillage with some paper towel. ‘Whatever. And also, defensive much?’

‘When I get signal again, I’ll prove it to you.’ A muscle in his jaw was feathering, as if he was resisting the urge to shout.

That might be quite fun, thought Frankie.

‘I couldn’t give a damn’ she said, enunciating every syllable. ‘You could be in the royal family for all I care.’

Dylan looked at her for a long moment. ‘Why are you like this?’

‘Like what?’

‘So annoying.’

‘I could say the same,’ said Frankie, handing him his coffee as she stormed past him, marching up the stairs for no other reason than to get away. When she got to the top, she stood for a moment or two, trying to think of a good reason to be there.

‘What are you doing now?’ said Dylan from the foot of the stairs, sipping at his coffee with a look of distaste.

‘I’m checking something,’ she said, throwing him her best scowl before marching into the tiny second bedroom and sitting down on the bed. As she did so, the floral scent of their fabric softener wafted into her nostrils. The sheets were at least clean in here. A-ha. That was it. The sheets.

‘Actually, I’m changing the bed you slept on without being invited,’ she threw down, flouncing back out onto the landing and pulling some new sheets out of the cupboard. Rain spattered on the skylight roof above her and she shivered involuntarily.

‘Fine, then. And again, I’m very sorry about that.’

‘Fine.’

A pause.

‘Do you want some help?’

Did she? ‘Bloody hell. No thanks.’

‘Oh charming,’ he said, although he sounded amused.