Page 16 of Washed Up

‘Well, hellooooooo, Dylan,’ said Sally.

Sally had short red hair in a pixie cut, and pale blue eyes that were a bit too big for her face and always made her look a little like a starved Victorian orphan. Today she was sporting her favourite pair of bell-bottomed jeans and a faded Garbage T-shirt. A true child of the 90s. She had come over with her family as a baby and had been Frankie’s best friend since before they could conceive of such a thing. Always, basically. When her family moved back to Guernsey, Sally decided to stay on at the hotel, and Frankie was grateful every single day that she had.

‘Where did you find this?’ said Sally, indicating Dylan but turning to Frankie, eyes still wide.

‘This?’ said Dylan, one eyebrow raised. ‘I’m fairly sure you’re not allowed to refer to me in that manner. Not politically correct, you know.’

‘This was asleep in Heron Cottage this morning,’ said Frankie with a grin, ignoring him completely.

‘Which God did you pray to for that to happen? I must try it,’ said Sally.

Dylan snorted at that, which Frankie also elected to ignore. ‘Seems his mates dumped him on the ferry last night when he was drunk. Now he can’t get back because of the weather.’

‘Their loss is most definitely our gain,’ said Sally, continuing to look him up and down.

‘I am standing right here,’ said Dylan.

‘Hush now,’ said Sally. ‘Don’t spoil this moment with words.’

‘Charming,’ said Dylan, who was clearly loving the blend of casual sexism and blatant yearning that Sally had down pat.

‘I was hoping I could dump him off with you,’ said Frankie, pleadingly. ‘He’s been a right pain, to be honest.’

‘Hey,’ said Dylan. ‘Only the tiniest bit.’

Sally stood up and raised her eyebrows at Frankie. ‘Are you sure about that?’ she said. ‘I mean, I feel like maybe he’d like to stay with you.’

Frankie laughed. ‘At the Manor? Are you serious?’

‘Wait, you never told me you live in a manor house,’ said Dylan.

‘You never asked. Honestly, Sal, I just need you to let him have a room and not make a big deal about this, okay?’

Sally held her hands up. ‘Fine. But for the record, this is a big deal. How often do we get a…’ She waved a hand at Dylan.

‘A Dylan,’ he ventured.

‘Yes, right, a Dylan. How often do we get a Dylan washed up on our shores?’

Frankie scoffed. ‘Don’t get used to it. He’ll be gone tomorrow.’

‘Oh thanks,’ said Dylan, then he turned to Sally. ‘Yes, thank God, I’ll be gone by the morning. When is the first ferry, out of interest?’

‘Nine thirty,’ said Sally. ‘Although it will depend on the weather.’

‘What weather?’ he said quickly.

Frankie gave him a nudge. ‘Good one.’

‘I try,’ said Dylan.

‘Are you sure you two don’t want a room together?’ said Sally, her eyebrows raised almost to the heavens.

‘Definitely not,’ said Frankie.

‘Harsh,’ said Dylan. ‘But no. Just your finest single room, please, and a phone charger if you have one, and I’ll be happy.’

Sally tapped at the computer in front of her. ‘I have a suite, will that do you?’